#last ficlet prompt for this round

[cricketnationrise]

Took me forever to send you this because I couldn't decide which Beyoncé lyrics to send (if the ones I picked aren't inspiring, feel free to request different ones, there's so many to pick from!) so I hope i'm not too late 🙃 this is so fun, thank you for organizing this fest!

9:26pm, the brownstone, Alex Claremont-Diaz, "Private show with the music blasting / He like to call me Peaches when we get this nasty", rated E 😈

My Ao3 username is Calou 😊

fitting that you were right under the wire in submitting because it took me almost five months to get to this prompt. i hope its worth the wait!

a big thank you to everyone who submitted and to everyone who's been reading and commenting along the way. i love doing the ficlet fests, the prompts are always a delight and let me get out of any writing funk i find myself in. yall rock.

as a parting gift for Ficlet Fest 500, please enjoy exactly 1000 words of straight gay up filth, as requested in the GC.

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

9:26pm, the brownstone

Alex’s brain falls out of his head when Henry comes downstairs. He apparently took Pez’s dress code seriously for once; he’s dressed to fucking impress. (Alex is so far past impressed he’s having heart palpitations.) Henry looks good in everything, from a full suit to sweatpants, but when he lets himself relax, lets himself lean into being one hundred percent himself, he ascends to a whole other level.

His white shorts are going to be the death of Alex. They’re short, showing off strong calves and stacked, polo-playing thighs, and just this side of respectably opaque. But if there’s a strong enough backlight, anyone who isn’t intimately familiar with Henry’s particular topography, will be. The shorts would be enough to cause Alex a factory reset, but then he notices the shirt. It’s halfway unbuttoned, straining to accommodate Henry’s wide shoulders, and short enough in the torso that he’s baring midriff. And it’s one of Alex’s shirts. The novelty ice cream cone print has never looked so fucking good. 

Alex can see the tops of Henry’s hipbones—they’re mouth-wateringly obscene. Henry shouldn’t be allowed out of the house like this; he’s a danger to everyone around him. Drivers will run their cars off the road, pedestrians will walk into poles, et fucking cetera. Really, Alex has a fucking duty toward public safety to tackle Henry onto their couch and take him apart with his teeth. 

So he does.

Henry makes a noise somewhere between a squawk and a whimper and Alex wants to lick it out of his mouth. He captures Henry’s lips in a kiss as they land, barely letting him breathe, let alone put up a token protest because he feels like they should be social. Henry groans and melts into the cushions, letting Alex do whatever he wants. The trust Henry puts in him is heady, and Alex spirals that much higher when Henry throws his arms around Alex’s neck to keep him in place. His own hands are busy mapping every bit of exposed skin on Henry’s chest, slipping beneath Alex’s own fucking shirt to reach the scant inches that are still hidden below fabric. Alex takes advantage of Henry’s gasp of pleasure when Alex scratches lightly at his bicep to slip his tongue inside Henry’s mouth.

Both of them are already breathing hard, the sound of spit and panting filling the air. Alex manages to stop kissing Henry’s mouth, but only to nip down his throat, pausing at the pulse point to bite down. Henry always complains about having to be careful of covering the marks Alex leaves, but he never actually asks Alex to stop. (They were thirty minutes late to meet Nora for brunch last month when Alex caught Henry pressing down on a hickey in the bathroom and Alex had to bend him over the sink about it.) Henry’s moan at the graze of Alex’s teeth against his neck is a siren song; the way he tips his head to the side to give Alex more room, a gift from the gods. 

Henry pushes at his head, directing Alex with a pleading whine. Alex is only too happy to oblige, nipping and licking and sucking down Henry’s sternum, fingers fumbling to open the shirt. He spends a few minutes teasing Henry, alternating kisses with quick bites across his soft belly. Alex noses along his waistband, inhaling the scent of sweat and something uniquely Henry. Alex’s hands tighten on Henry’s thighs involuntarily when Henry’s fingers find a home in his hair and pull tight. Alex can’t wait another minute to get Henry’s cock in his mouth.

Alex liberates his curls from Henry’s hands and rearranges them so that Henry is sort of upright and Alex kneels on the floor between his legs. Alex means to dive in at once, but he has to take a second to fully absorb the fucking daydream of a man in front of him. Henry’s eyes have darkened, pupils blown wide and clouded with arousal. He’s sagging into the couch, relying on the furniture to keep him sitting up, seemingly unable to count on his muscles to do the job. Henry’s flushed from his cheeks to his hips, his hairline starting to darken with sweat. Alex’s gaze keeps snagging on the hickey he left—one fine day he’ll give into the desire to leave a whole goddamn collar of them.

Henry shifts, drawing Alex’s attention to his erection, straining against the white fabric of his shorts. Alex can’t help but to give him a firm stroke to his bulge, delighting in the strangled gasp it pulls from Henry. He can feel Henry twitch beneath his palm, can feel Henry’s racing pulse through the fabric, and then he’s moving—undoing Henry’s fly and pulling down his shorts and briefs in one fell swoop.

Henry actually shouts when Alex takes him to the root in one long smooth motion—he’s never been more glad for his lack of gag reflex. He stays there for a moment, breathing through his nose, the tip of Henry’s cock right at the back of his mouth. He looks up at Henry through his eyelashes. Henry’s practically shaking with the effort of holding himself still. How unnecessarily gentlemanly. Alex pries Henry’s hands out of the couch cushion and back into his hair before moving his own hands to Henry’s hips. He blinks twice, their nonverbal green signal, just to really drive the point home. With a mumbled curse, Henry starts thrusting and Alex closes his eyes, groaning every time Henry’s cock dips into his throat.

Alex’s jaw aches from the stretch, and his own cock is leaking and pressing uncomfortably against his zipper, but he couldn’t care less. He’s got Henry filling his mouth, surrounded by his hands and thighs and noises and taste—

They’re definitely going to be late to Pez’s party, if they even make it out of the house. Alex couldn’t give less of a fuck if they don’t; there’ll be other parties.

[lauronk]

sorry it took so long 🙈

[jaggededges123]

i’m almost at 300 works on ao3. fucking,,, what???

[oneforthemunny]

summerween |modern!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie is itching to decorate for halloween. the only problem is, it's still summertime.

still on my fall shit, and still on my fluff shit. very fluffy and sweet for these two (i love them). short little fall ficlet. all fluff. language, that's really it. just fluff.

“It’s not even August.” You stare him down from your place behind the counter, arms crossed your white tank top, adding emphasis to your statement. It was hot, late July hot, too hot for Halloween decorations. 

“Getting started early this year, sweetheart.” Eddie grinned, flashing a dazzling smile that had your chest swelling, cheeks tingling with warm rushes of emotion. “Never too early to get started.” 

“This feels like too early.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Despite your protests and snide comments of how many weeks away October was, you still helped Eddie clean. Vacuum and mop, wipe down everything the way you always did before decorating. 

“Kids aren’t even back in school, and you want to decorate?” You lifted a brow, cringing at the thud of the totes collecting a cloud of dust in the air from the dusty storage unit they’d been homed in since last November. 

“Yeah, c’mon, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Eddie trilled dramatically, tearing the lid off the first box. A plethora of black and orange and purple figurines poked out, a waxy, plasticky scent following from the stored heat. 

“Besides, everyone’s started putting stuff out. I keep seeing it on Instagram, people are finding all this cool shit. I wanna get what we have out, and then I was thinking we could go shopping tonight. Or tomorrow, just dependin’ on when we get done.” Eddie rambled excitedly, pulling out the tangled garland, eyes meeting yours with a sickly sweet pleading gaze. 

You rolled your eyes, snatching the garland in dramatic irritation, sitting down on the couch to unravel it. “We’re putting all of this out today? What if I had other plans today?” You challenged, lifting a brow. You didn’t have any, of course, Eddie had already asked you that yesterday when he’d planned this.

“I’ll help you do them, baby. I promise. We don’t have to go shopping tomorrow if you don’t want to.” Eddie hummed sweetly, brown eyes rounding in the most adorable way towards you. “I just thought we’d go to Fort Wayne tomorrow. Take you shopping over there.” 

Your lips pursed, too stubborn to relent so easily, but melting under his affection the way you always did. “There will be a million fuckin’ kids there tomorrow, Ed, school starts back in a week.” 

“We can go first thing in the morning.” Eddie countered, proudly setting a plush ghost pillow next to the others. “Before it gets insane. I’ll wake up early for you.” He winked playfully. 

Your lips rolled, fighting back a grin, chin ducking towards the garland. “Yeah, right.” You muttered. “You’ll sleep ‘til noon.” 

“Nope. I’ll set twenty five alarms if I have to.” Eddie declared, unwrapping the glass figure carefully, wadding the paper back up. “You have my full consent to dump cold water on me if I don’t wake up after the third snooze. That’s what Wayne always did, and it always worked.” 

You snorted lightly, facade breaking and a grin taking over your scowl. “Cold water? Like in a Disney Channel movie?” You lifted a brow, a snarky tease still in your tone. 

Eddie grinned, dimples creasing deeply. “Yeah, I was a heavy sleeper. ‘Specially after I hit puberty, ya know? I think it was my seventh or eighth grade summer, I started playing Neverwinter Nights and would stay up all night. Then when school started, I didn’t stop, and I’d stay up the whole night and Wayne would be so pissed at me in the morning.” He shook his head lightly. 

“One morning I wouldn’t get up, and I thought he’d finally just left me, was letting me stay home, and he came back, like, five minutes later with this popcorn bowl of ice water and dumped it on me.” Eddie snorted in laughter. 

You barked out a laugh, an edge to your giggle that had Eddie blushing, his own laughter bubbling thick in his chest. “So that’s how he got you to get up?” 

“Worked like a charm.” Eddie nodded, a half grin pulling at his lips. 

“Good to know.” You lifted your brow, lips curled in a devious little grin. Eddie’s knees weakened at the sight. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time you sleep through my cousin’s gender reveal.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes lightly. “Baby, that was- c’mon, even you agreed that it was insane that they had it at ten in the morning. Who has a party that early?” 

“Parents, Eddie.” You huffed. “Adults.” 

“Alright.” Eddie shook his head, trying to diffuse a fight he could sense was looming. “Hey, look, I forgot you got this.” He pulled the bright pink ceramic ghost out of the tub. 

“Oh, I forgot about that.” Your face lit up, pulling the final knot loose of the garland’s chords. “Put her on the shelf- no, on the other side, Eddie.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance, nodding harshly towards the empty shelf on the TV stand. 

Eddie flicked on the switch, the dim bulb fluttering to life before sticking it on the shelf, proudly. Normally, he thought pink decor- especially Halloween- killed the vibe. It was supposed to be scary and dark and gloomy and moody, not pastel. Until he met you. Then pastel pinks, oranges, purples, all made their way into his dark and gorey decor. Happy, cute ghosts with his grim reapers and skulls. 

“Did you get this at Target?” Eddie pushed the ghost so it was center, spine straightening as he stood. 

“Mm, I think so.” You hummed, hooking your foot on the edge of the tote, sliding it closer to you. “Maybe Home Goods.” 

“I think they have that huge Home Goods in Fort Wayne, don’t they? We could go there tomorrow. Look for more.” Eddie slid beside you, throwing a hand over your waist, squeezing your hip gently just to feel you squirm. His lips pressed to your jaw, soft and pillowy, leaving a burning heat of excitement in their wake. 

“Fine,” You relented, melting into his affection, letting him pull you into him victoriously. “But I want to go to Anthropologie too. I want to see if they have those cute witch glasses I saw.” 

“Yeah, we can do that. We’ll hit the mall first then Home Goods.” Eddie muttered, nose nuzzling against your cheek. 

“I think they’d be so cute on the bar cart, don’t you?” You hummed, nodding towards the tiny gold bar cart in the corner of the kitchen. 

A new edition to the apartment. Eddie had searched high and low, finally found the one you wanted on Facebook Market and drove all the way to Muncie to get it. You had been so excited when he showed it to you, beaming in a way that was rare but felt exhilarating to be the reason for it. Right now, it was donning a tequila theme, one you saw on Pinterest and had to match. 

“Yeah that would be. You know, Gareth used to date this girl, Ayesha, and she always got this wine called Witches Brew. It had a cool lookin’ label on it, that would be cool to add to it too.” Eddie tucked his chin down to look at you. 

“Ooh, that would be cool.” Your eyes lit up, just enough to have Eddie’s chest swelling with pride. “Isn’t there a Total Wine near the exit? We can stop and look there.” 

“Sounds like a date to me, baby.” Eddie squeezed you closer to his chest, fingers barely brushing your sides so you squirmed. He paused for a moment. “Are you sure you’re ok with me putting this up? I-I can wait if you really don’t want me to, I just, I’m just excited ya know-” 

“-I know.” You turned, shifting in his arms to look at him. “It’s fine.” You sighed dramatically, a teasing in your tone. 

“At least if we get it up now, we can see what we need to add. Get it before it sells out.” You muttered, spinning the tiny fake spell book in your hands. Eddie grinned, eyes shining with excitement. 

“But,” You lifted a finger, face dropping back to something serious. “Not outside yet. Only inside.” You pointed your nail at him threateningly. “Don’t want the neighbors to think we’re total freaks.” Eddie snorted, arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer to his chest so you were chest to chest, nearly nose to nose. “Please, a little late for that, babe.” Eddie snorted loudly. “They already know we're total freaks, what do you mean? They’ve definitely heard us being total freaks before- oof!” You cut him off, smacking him with a bat shaped pillow.

[cha-melodius]

Hug prompts ( are you stil doing these?)

The hug where you hug them so tight and lean into them a little too much that they end up stumbling backwards because of the added pressure, both of you bursting out into surprised laughter.

(This'll be the last firstprince one of these I'm doing! This one was also requested by @eusuntgratie and @rebeccas09. It got a little unhinged, but what are you gonna do? And thanks also to @ninzied for providing a bit of inspo. read all the hug ficlets)

28: The hug where you hug them so tight and lean into them a little too much that they end up stumbling backwards because of the added pressure, both of you bursting out into surprised laughter. 

He’s well into his run in the park when he rounds a bend in the path and sees him: the hot guy with the beagle, a.k.a. the love of Alex’s life even though he doesn’t know it yet.

Alex doesn’t actually know his name, which is ridiculous. They’ve been meeting up in the park for months now, finding time in their busy schedules to chat about books they’ve been reading or movies they’ve watched, about family and careers, about everything and nothing—which is precisely why Alex can’t exactly admit such a thing now. It was an accident, he’s sure, that David’s Dad, a.k.a. Blue Eyes, never introduced himself. He’d introduced his dog, but the two humans in this not-quite-a-relationship didn’t actually exchange names. Somehow, Blondie, a.k.a. Kissable Lips, knows Alex’s name, even though Alex is sure he never told him.

(Alex has considered ways he might find out—stealing the man’s wallet, tricking him into revealing it—but he’s never succeeded. He’d tried taking him for coffee, but Cheekbones, a.k.a. Too Tall, had simply stood there while Alex gave his name for the both drinks in the order. Which, come to think of it, is definitely how he knows Alex’s name, and also means he’s cleverer than Alex. Alex wishes he didn’t find that hot.)

Regardless of the fact that the situation is ridiculous and June and Nora tease him mercilessly about it, Alex’s real problem lately is that Return of the Jedi, a.k.a Austen Fan, had gone home to London for an unspecified length of time, and Alex hasn’t seen him in three weeks. A lifetime, really (shut up, JuneandNora). And during that time, Alex had decided that he was going to: 1) get the man’s number, 2) use said number to ask him on a date because he’s pretty sure that Blushes-A-Lot, a.k.a Definitely-Checks-Out-Alex’s-Ass, is interested in him too, and 3) find out his fucking name.

When Crinkly Eyes, a.k.a Toothy Grin, catches sight of Alex, he smiles so brightly that Alex’s heart feels like it’s about to explode out of his chest, and not just because he’s already run five miles this morning. This is how he knows it’s real, because he’s never felt like this before, like he’s lit up from the inside just because a guy who’s name he doesn’t even know looks at him like he’s made said guy’s entire day just by existing.

“Hello Alex,” he says on an exhale, like a sigh of relief, when Alex jogs up to him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Alex says, because he likes the pink it evokes in the other man’s cheeks, and also because he doesn’t know what else to call him.

“Christ, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” 

Alex probably looks disgusting and bedraggled, actually, but whatever. That’s certainly part of why he’s not expecting to be immediately pulled into a hug, but also, he didn’t realize they were on hugging terms, fuck. Not that he’s complaining. Not when strong arms curl around his waist and he gets a nose full of linen and fresh grass. Alex can’t help it—he lets himself lean into it a little too much, and that would have been fine, except for someone else got a little too excited by the proceedings.

That someone being David, of course. A pair of paws hit Alex’s butt, and the extra force makes him lose his already precarious balance from being up on his tiptoes so that he all but swoons into Prince Charming’s, a.k.a. Adonis’, arms. Fortunately, His Savior catches him, stumbling backward a step but keeping them upright, and they both burst out laughing.

“Davey, be polite,” Mr. Smells Incredible chides his dog.

“Aww, he just missed me,” Alex coos down at David, who has now gotten distracted by a squirrel. Reluctantly—well, it’s reluctant on Alex’s part, and he’s pretty sure he’s not alone—they separate, and when Alex meets his eyes again there’s something impossibly warm sparkling in them.

“He’s not the only one.”

Alex’s pulse is thrumming in his veins and he feels breathless, like he’s still running. He can’t get enough of it. “Yeah, well, we missed you around here, too.”

He raises his eyebrows and looks around. “We?”

“Ok, me,” Alex laughs. “I can’t speak for everyone else. Wanda did ask me where you were one day, though.”

Wanda feeds the birds on a bench near the waterfall. Somehow, Alex knows her name, but she’d just asked Alex where “his young man” was, so that was no help either.

His Young Man laughs, and Alex’s stomach swoops. “I realized after I left that I’d made a grave mistake,” he says, his expression going serious.

“Yeah?”

He pulls out a cell phone and holds it out. “I never got your number, love.”

(In the end, Alex finds out his name—Henry—in the most mundane way possible: from the buzzer on his apartment building.

He still prefers sweetheart, though.)

[cillyscribbles]

initially started a ficlet, drew this to accompany it, then took 3 months to finish said ficlet. joys upon joys! ☺️

When the little ones suggested she get the best of her old dancing wardrobe and throw together the costume of a fortune teller, Cassandra had initially thought it’d be a fun spin on her usual Halloween get-up – which was, admittedly, not much more than buying a sack’s worth of candy and putting on a witch hat whenever the doorbell was rung.

In spite of feeling a little breezy in the cold October evening and swiftly abandoned by her gaggle of sworn companions, she turned out to be quite popular among the neighborhood kids. Few could – or would – resist the show she made of looking mysteriously about an old, overturned glass bowl. She was slow and deliberate in her choice of candy to present to them, and did so with an air of utmost importance, delighting in the way they would accept it as carefully as one might a glass dish.

As the sky darkened and the evening went on, the littler ones began to be drawn back inside, and she had less and less cause for her playful routine. Still, for a while, she remained, exchanging candy with some and thanking others for their compliments of her costume. Finally, once she’d received a couple comments about being too old for this from a few of those sorts of people, she figured she’d fish the last of the candy out of her bag at last and go back inside; evidently, the folks who thought they were too good for playing a little dress-up were beginning their portion of the night.

Just as she tied her bag closed, though, she lifted her head – and just there, on the edge of the pavement as though they’d risen right out of the asphalt in the street, stood two – grown adults, from what she could tell, and watched her point-blank. And as soon as she locked eyes with one of the figures, they smiled identically uneven smiles and made their way to her bench, as though her acknowledgement had been all they’d been waiting for.

As they stepped under the light of the streetlamps, Cassandra found their smiles weren’t the only thing identical about them; in fact, she found it hard to differentiate between the two at all, with only perhaps half an inch of difference in height. They were dark cats, though spotted, with their fur clipped short and rounded at points. Entirely orderly, and, as far as she could see, woefully underdressed for the occasion.

It did not impede the apparent enthusiasm she could read out in their faces. They seemed, for a reason she couldn’t be certain of, delighted.

“Do you seek the future or fortune?” A quiet, fairly low voice came from them – one of them, Cassandra realized, was a queen, and so it took her a further moment to register that she was asking a question.

She cleared her throat – and, half-to prompt them again, asked – “Beg pardon?”

“When you look into the glass, do you watch for the broad strokes of a future?” the queen asked again, and the one next to her imitated the snapping beak of a bird with two fingers.

“Or do you pick at the thread of only a single person’s path?” He was a tom, if she was to go by the voice, but both of them were a proper enigma.

She cleared her throat again – it stung, this time – and fidgeted with the bowl and the bag, trying discreetly to get a better look at them without meeting their still-peering eyes.

“Oh, I’m not sure which way I’m supposed to do it,” she admitted – they seemed odd enough for her to wonder. It would’ve been just her luck to meet a pair of genuine fortune tellers the one day in her life she was out masquerading as one. Sheepishly, she explained – “This is just a costume, I don’t really...”

“There is no wrong way to do it,” the queen interrupted, and glanced with some restrained excitement from Cassandra to the tom, whom Cassandra thought would’ve been strange to assume was anyone other than her brother.

“No such thing as a wrong way,” he seconded – and they sounded alike, too, in an uncanny, complimentary harmony.

Cassandra raised her eyebrows and looked down at the bowl she held on her legs. The bowl, which was indeed only that, did not offer any crystal ball-worthy advice for the situation. She wondered what was behind the question; what was the difference – what did it even mean?

“I suppose I’d focus,” she guessed, carefully, and looked up at them. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

The queen only smiled wider, and, as her brother nodded his head in that strange manner people did where they may have been better off just shaking it, she said, “Oh, no, not at all.”

“On the contrary,” the tom agreed, and Cassandra hummed in what she hoped was polite listening. They certainly took it as such, and the tom gestured with fluidity as strange as the rest of them as he explained: “To crystalize meaningfully the path of a chosen individual is grueling work.”

“You must blow away the fog of uncertainty... and pick out a reflection from the puddles it leaves behind.” The queen was nodding, now, but at least she had something to nod about, Cassandra thought. The queen brushed her hand against the tom’s with some intent and added, thoughtfully – “It is thankless.”

“Agonizing,” the tom said, and they twined their hands together without so much as looking at each other.

Cassandra chuckled – she’d expected most of the things that happened throughout the evening, but this was quickly and unequivocally taking the cake. Still, she looked at them, gazing down at her with smiles brighter than the lamplight, and felt just a little embarrassed at her whip-stitched costume and her faded bowl. “Perhaps I should go with a theme I’m better-versed in, next year.”

“No, no, it wasn’t our aim to heckle you,” the queen said quickly, and glanced at her brother, whose expression had been suddenly tinged by worry at her words.

“We don’t mean to upset. We only so rarely get to discuss this.”

“Few will listen for even the time you have,” she said to Cassandra, who, at her appreciative tone and gentle expression, felt less soothed and moreso a little touched. Suddenly, though, the queen’s expression shifted – she looked as though she had remembered something, and touched the tom’s arm with some insistence. “But we have trapped you.”

“Yes, we will go along, leave you to a lovely evening,” he agreed, covering her hand with his own before they both let go as though coordinated. As she turned, though, he stayed her decisively with a hand against her stomach, and his smile widened at her curious expression; it seemed the first time, to Cassandra, that they were not so eerily in sync. “Would you consider reading my sister’s fortune, beforehand? Since you prefer it.”

Before Cassandra could remind them that she didn’t really prefer anything of the sort, and was indeed woefully inexperienced in the field they seemed so well-versed in, the queen all but gasped in quiet joy and scratched at her own chest with short-trimmed claws.

“I’d be ever so delighted to have it read; when was the last time?” She looked at the tom for confirmation. Cassandra had, without too much surprise, apparently assumed correctly in the two being siblings. “We were nine...”

“We were nine.” The tom smiled at her, very fondly, and here his expression was quickly mirrored again. Cassandra hated to disappoint them, truly, and they seemed quite sweet, but there was not much she could offer them.

“I can make something up, if you like,” she said, a little helplessly, and tapped at the sides of the bowl idly with the tips of her claws. She stopped when the sound made them both scowl, even as they refrained from saying anything about it and fixed more pleasant expressions back onto their faces before she could react. She chuckled to herself, glanced down again; she wasn’t even doing anything yet, and apparently she was already doing it wrong. “Again, I don’t know the technicalities of this.”

To her surprise, the queen nodded eagerly, and took a step closer to the bench – just one small, restless step, followed immediately by her brother. “Yes, that is, of course, a way to do it as well.”

“No false manner of doing it, none,” he assured her, and she wondered if they did any horoscope writing in their free time. Then she felt a little mean about it. “It is through unconscious association.”

“The things your mind sees before the eyes do,” the queen said, a little dreamily, and Cassandra nodded along. No, they had to have been writing horoscopes in their free time. “You don’t have to be clairvoyant.”

Something in her expression made Cassandra feel a little too perceived. She shifted to meet the tom’s eyes instead, only to find there, predictably, exactly the same sharpness to the sensation as he seconded his sister – “Simply observant.”

Everlasting – she hoped thought-reading wasn’t a part of their repertoire. She would’ve been terribly embarrassed if they were to learn from her that they sounded like the folks that wrote horoscopes.

To be fair, clairvoyant or not, bills needed paid.

“All right, well,” she said, finally, and, with one last burst of fiddling with the bowl, she lifted it from her lap and put it on the bench beside herself, looking up at where they stood expectantly. “You could show me how to do it? And then I could try myself.”

They shifted quick, and looked between each other. Cassandra tried not to crack a smile at the clear mortification that passed between them, albeit she wasn’t sure why that was.

The queen turned first, nodding as seriously as though they’d broken some untouchable rule of etiquette. “Ah – that would be most polite.”

“Yes, we overlooked our manners again,” he said, a little as though he was already used to it and so did not overthink it; he urged his sister forward gently, touching at her back. “Tantomile would read your palm.”

Tantomile, Cassandra thought. Before she could think anything else – anything other than That’s a really nice name, or, Wow, I’ve never heard that one before, Tantomile saved them both the embarrassment with the quickness of someone more than used to it – “It is my favourite. Coricopat’s is cards.”

“And dice,” Coricopat added. The name – fit him, she supposed. He looked like a Coricopat. Perhaps because neither of them looked like anyone else. Except each other, Cassandra noted. Naturally.

”And dice,” Tantomile conceded, and gestured lightly to the space beside Cassandra. “If I may sit beside you?”

“Right, yes.” She was moving out of the way before Tantomile had finished her sentence, her smile quirking up sideways as Tantomile lifted her tail to sit down. Cassandra glanced at Coricopat, and, surely enough, found his tail raised carefully as well, even as he stood still. She hummed, “I feel like you’re better suited for this spot anyway.”

”She is,” Coricopat said for her, and, when Tantomile raised her head, they looked wordlessly between themselves for a reason Cassandra could only begin to guess. They broke their gaze together, but Coricopat’s was the first to return to Cassandra, along with his smile. His sister, with no time to waste, took Cassandra by the hand. “But this is the night to play pretend. We can hardly pretend to be that which we truly are.”

”It would be silly,” Tantomile agreed, and, after casting just one exploratory glance at Cassandra’s palm, chuckled herself. Albeit Cassandra would never have known what for, Tantomile did not seem bothered by her confusion. She only idly patted her on the wrist and she glanced up for a moment before focusing on her palm again. “See – you’re a natural, Cassandra.”

She traced gently the lines in Cassandra’s skin, and Coricopat watched closely, and they treated her as carefully as they might a statue of glass. As Cassandra laughed, the wind carried away some of her inhibition – and, among other things, even the quiet, prodding thought that she had never told them her name.

[xanthippe74]

On Tumblr:

Masterlist of Microfics (ranging from 50 to 1.5K words based on prompts from drarrymicrofic)

Birthday gift ficlet for phdmama

Cheek to Cheek

How are Drarry enduring the pandemic?

On AO3:

🎧 indicates podfic available

Last Goodbye It's Leaving Day, and Harry Potter has to say goodbye to more than just Hogwarts.

This Heart Shut Wide It’s New Year’s Eve and Draco refuses to talk to anyone at this wretched party in the Eighth-Year common room. He’s going to ignore Harry Potter and not think about snogging him in the staircase earlier. And he’s definitely not going to let himself fuck up both their lives by continuing the reckless game they’re playing. As usual, nothing goes according to Draco’s plan.

The Comfiest Armchair In which Harry and Draco won't stop fighting over the best armchair in the Eighth-Year common room, Hermione takes matters into her own hands, and Harry sees a (ahem) side of Draco that he's never seen before.

In the Midnight Blue On a Christmas Eve broom ride over Hogwarts, Harry shows Draco that he’s braver than he thinks.

Momento mei 🎧 It seemed like a blessing at first.

Spooked in Salem 🎧 When his holiday with Draco in Salem, Massachusetts, doesn’t go to plan, Harry takes a walk to figure things out. A story about saving someone you love from the ghosts that don’t go bump in the night.

Under the Table A string of nearly-insufferable dinner parties has made Draco acquainted with Harry Potter’s completely insufferable, social-climbing boyfriend. But tonight it seems like Potter’s finally had enough, and Draco’s more than happy to watch it all play out from across the table.

A Hiss To Build a Dream On Harry fancies a certain Slytherin. Draco has a snake that’s refusing to eat. When Draco asks him to use his Parseltongue skills to help, Harry sees the opportunity he’s been waiting for. There’s just one small problem: Harry can’t bring himself to tell Draco that he isn’t a Parselmouth anymore.

A Hippogriff for Christmas 🎧 Draco is desperately trying to fulfill four-year-old Scorpius’ dearest wish for Christmas: a visit with a real Hippogriff. Harry is desperately trying to be left alone, safely tucked away from the attention of the wizarding world as Hogwarts’ Keeper of the Keys and Grounds. It might take more than a father’s persistence to convince Harry to help make Scorpius’ Christmas dream come true.

Lockdown Lurgy When a dangerous virus comes to Britain, the Ministry orders a mandatory lockdown to control its spread. If Harry wants to spend the next two weeks with Teddy, he’s going to have to share Andromeda’s guest room with none other than Draco Malfoy, England’s Number One Prat. Andromeda’s collection of romance novels might save Harry from boredom, but nothing can make living with Malfoy bearable… until Harry has the inexplicable impulse to kiss him.

Statues Crumble (with art by @fictional) Between one war and the next, Draco has lost his parents, his home, and his menial Ministry job. All he has left is the secret (and anonymous) work he does to help Harry Potter overthrow another government—oh, and that statue he stole from the Ministry Atrium.

A Dreadful Invasion (of the Feline Persuasion) Most of the time, it’s easy for Harry to forget that Draco Malfoy is his next-door neighbour—until the night Malfoy seemingly goes round the twist in his back garden. Of course Harry has to investigate.

Vortex The idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Follow the Water Harry Potter’s life is fine. Maybe a little dull and predictable, but he shouldn’t complain about that, right? When he unexpectedly finds himself at Luna’s house one afternoon, Harry gets invited to join the secret wonderland that she’s creating with a surprising group of friends. Maybe a summer outdoors is just what a former hero needs to bring some zest back into his life.

Crimson Neon 🎧 Winter, 1999. Harry thought going to New York would help him get his head on straight, but all he has to show for it are sore feet and a fridge full of takeaway containers. And now he’s homesick on top of everything else. It doesn’t help that his mysterious neighbour in 2C keeps cooking dishes that remind Harry of home and all the people he lost or left behind.

On Your Shore Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too. But both the house and Draco Malfoy have secrets to uncover, and Harry might be in deeper water than he thought.

The Last of What the World Left You If the wizarding world won’t give Draco a second chance, he has a plan to survive: live in his Animagus form, a carrion crow, in the Forbidden Forest. Not only does Harry Potter come along and ruin it, he’s radiating a strange aura of power. With nowhere to go and a Life-Debt to his mother that Potter insists on repaying, Draco puts himself into the hands of the reclusive Boy Who Lived. Will the bleak corner of Yorkshire where Potter makes his home be another dead end or an unexpected refuge?

Riptide (sequel to Vortex) Fate brought them together. Now the real work begins, as Harry and Draco try to merge their starkly different lives without being torn away from everything they hold dear.

Safe As Houses After five years abroad, Harry’s thrilled to be home and working at the most prestigious ward-building firm in Britain. But everything gets turned upside down when he's assigned to work for Draco Malfoy—who somehow grew up to be just the sort of sexy bastard Harry goes for. As if that isn’t enough, Malfoy seems strangely on edge, his wards are a mess, and Harry keeps feeling like he’s being watched in the garden. It’s going to take all of Harry’s ward-crafting skills—and self-restraint—to help Malfoy feel safe in his own home again.

I Won't Let You Fall Apart Harry has spent the year after the war staying out of the public eye, dodging political battles, and standing firm against pressure from his friends. But he has a secret plan to get away from it all. He just needs to testify at one more Death Eater trial: Draco Malfoy’s. Little does Harry know what his act of compassion will cost him—and Malfoy.

Skybound No matter how much Harry Potter wanted to believe he’d left danger behind when the war ended, it found him again anyway. All he had to do was step out his own front door on a Tuesday morning. A Drarry re-imagining of Howl’s Moving Castle.

[desertfangs]

Record and Play - Armand/Daniel - 1564

This is just a short little ficlet for the @vamptember prompt "Tape Recorder."

Daniel set the tape recorder on the table. Armand stared at it warily like it might jump up and bite him. But soon curiosity got the better of him and he snatched it off the table.

It was small, the size of a deck of cards and half the width, a hundred times smaller than the one Daniel had used in the 1970s when he’d interviewed Louis. Hell, this one didn’t even technically have a tape. It was all digital. He would have to plug it into a computer to extract the files when this was finished.

Armand turned it over in his pale hands. He pressed the buttons on its side: record, play, rewind, fast forward, stop. He studied the tiny little digital screen, a black and white read out that would provide a time stamp for the audio. A tiny red light on the black recorder’s corner would illuminate to indicate when it was recording. 

“It’s small,” Armand said. 

“Neat, isn’t it? Imagine just having that in your pocket! It can hold up to thirty hours of audio,” Daniel gushed. He and Benji had gone to Techland a week ago, a store in the East Village, where Daniel had spent hours talking to one of the workers about different recording options. He was amazed how much technology had progressed since he was lugging around his large tape recorder and microphones. 

Armand continued to study the tiny machine, his head bent over it, his long russet curls falling into his face. Tension gathered in the air and Daniel worried he was going to bolt now that they were actually here, equipment literally in hand. 

Armand had not dressed for the occasion. He wore an oversized sweatshirt—one of Daniel’s, a green one with an illustration of a trilobite fossil on the front—and jeans. Casual clothes. Daniel wasn’t sure what that meant, if anything. He’d expected Armand to wear a suit or finery, but then, why? This wasn’t a video recording. And his outfit did mirror Daniel’s clothes: a purple sweatshirt, gray t-shirt, and jeans. 

After letting Armand fiddle with the recorder for a bit, Daniel held out his hand. Armand hesitated, then placed it in his outstretched palm. Daniel put it back in the center of the small round table and plugged in the microphone he’d purchased to go with it.

Once he was sure the set up was good, he looked up. 

Armand was staring at his ring-adorned hands that lay flat on the table in front of him. 

“Are you ready?” Daniel asked.

Armand did not move or speak. 

Daniel swallowed uneasily, but he didn’t want to push too hard. So he waited,  drumming his fingers on the table and looking aimlessly around the room. There wasn’t much to see.

They were sitting in one of Trinity Gate’s smaller sitting rooms. In it was the table with two chairs on either side, and a window that looked out into the courtyard garden. It was private, though that wasn’t really the point - they were alone now in this massive house. Everyone else was in France and soon they’d join them. He’d chosen this room because the small size, small window, and thick wallpaper would help the sound quality. 

Daniel waited, his nerves jangling. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. The idea had come up during a hard conversation they’d had last night about Armand’s book. But he’d agreed, hadn’t he? Daniel hadn’t forced his hand. 

Armand remained motionless. Infuriating how he could turn into a statue like that! It always driven Daniel past all reason when he went utterly still. 

“Do you—” He started.

“It’s not for them, Daniel.” 

Daniel blinked. “What isn’t?” 

“Our story,” Armand said. “It’s not for David, or even Sybelle or Benji. And it’s not for public consumption, anymore than it already has been. That's why I left it where I did.”

Pain and frustration twisted inside him. He could still remember the way Armand’s dismissal of him in his book had felt like a knife right through his stomach, how he thought he’d never stop bleeding from that particular wound. Armand, his maker, the person he’d given up his entire life for, had reduced to him a few bitter paragraphs. 

It wasn’t the worst thing Armand had ever done to him but it had stung—no, more than stung; it had cut him open and torn out his heart. Daniel had been freshly restored to his own faculties and eager to reconnect with him, only to read that he was hardly an afterthought, and not a fond one at that. 

Daniel bit back a retort and took a breath. “You weren’t shy about discussing your past with Marius,” Daniel said, trying to keep his voice even, lest this explode into another fight. 

“More time had passed.” Armand turned away, looking out the window. “With you, the wounds were still raw.” 

Daniel looked down, a lump forming in his throat. The last time they’d seen each other before Armand dictated his story to David Talbot, they’d fought viciously and carelessly, venting their spleens and marinating in the bile. They’d been cruel to each other, maybe crueler than they’d ever been, and then Daniel, having hit his limit, walked out the door.

Not forever. He never intended that. But once he was gone, he kept going, and didn’t look back. It was fair enough for Armand to assume he was done with him when he’d yelled exactly that before slamming the door so hard it had cracked.

It had been mean of him and he’d wanted it to hurt Armand at the time. 

He just hadn’t known what would happen next. That not long after Armand would go into the sun, without so much as a thought to how Daniel would endure the centuries without him. 

Daniel ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands. Hot shame washed over him, along with regret and frustration. Armand glanced over at him and then reached across the table, taking his hand. 

He squeezed, his hand cool against Daniel’s blood-warmed skin. Such a small, simple gesture. The touch tingled up his arm and his shoulders relaxed.

Armand let go and gestured to the recorder. “Do you wish to begin?” 

Daniel swallowed and nodded. He reached over and hit the little record button on the device. 

“So, tell me about the night we met,” Daniel said. 

Armand straightened in his seat. He looked up into Daniel’s eyes which he held as he spoke: 

“I heard a familiar voice from down the street as I approached the little house. I walked past it nightly, you understand, and checked on it.” 

“On Lestat, you mean,” Daniel corrected.

Armand waved a dismissive hand. “Louis’ voice was grainy and I knew that he wasn’t there. I couldn’t sense his presence. But of course it was strange to hear his voice coming from the house. I went to investigate and I found the most curious thing: a mortal boy, desperate and feverish, with recordings of his voice.” 

“Desperate and feverish?” Daniel asked, amused.

Armand cut his eyes at him. “No commentary, beloved. This is my story.” 

Daniel held his hands up in supplication. “Yeah, yeah. Go on.” 

Armand nodded sagely, but Daniel caught the ghost of a smile on his lips. “The tapes surprised me. I wondered why Louis had allowed his voice to be captured in such a way. But then I saw this beautiful creature pacing in the house, tall with soft blond hair and intense eyes. He had a frenetic energy and was walking from window to window as if hoping someone would appear. I knew at once Louis had probably been drawn to the boy’s beauty. Though I still didn’t understand why he’d spoken with such candor. So I remained outside and listened.”

“How long were you there?” Daniel asked. 

Armand considered. “Long enough to learn that boy was there for Lestat, who still lay sleeping. Not long enough to decide if the boy should live or die. That was why I had to hold him until I could examine his belongings and learn more about him.” 

Daniel, of course, remembered being knocked unconscious and locked in the cellar for three days. How delirious and desperate he’d felt when he’d seen Armand again, how full of awe and desire! Those days were a blur now, but he remembered the strange cocktail of emotions that would become his life for the next few years: terror, curiosity, and burning desire. 

“And? What did you find?” 

Armand smiled wryly. “That he was a harmless fool in pursuit of danger. But he was beseeching and bold and I found that fascinating.”

“Yeah?” Daniel sat forward.

“For all he knew of our kind, the boy’s excitement at seeing me was equal to his fear, and I was intrigued.” 

“Intrigued, huh?” 

Armand paused, tilting his head as if in thought, eyes burning into Daniel with such intensity he could feel the heat of it.

After a moment, Daniel asked, “Are you going to call me ‘the boy’ the entire time?” 

“If you wish for me to continue, you must let me tell it how I see fit,” Armand said. 

Daniel smiled at him. “Sorry, boss. Go on.” 

Armand scooted his chair closer to the table and continued his story. 

[palfriendpatine66]

Anakin likes to work out naked (don't try this at home kids) and Obi-Wan comes home early one day to watch

Send me a nsfw prompt and I’ll write a 5 sentence ficlet

The unexpected perk that came with having an unfortunately messy, would be if finances allowed for it gym bro for a last minute roommate was the, essentially, soft core porn that now took place in Obi-Wan’s own home.

He had never meant to ogle the younger, very fit, very tanned undergraduate who had worked his way into Obi-Wan’s formerly organized, busy life.

It was just hard to ignore the sight of sweaty toned muscles sprawled all over the living room in various states of undress, especially when he’d already spent hours pouring over research documents only to be distracted by strings of soft groans and grunts from just outside of his office. It was too easy to give his eyes a break and allow them to wander over whatever absurd stretch had his roommate folded in half, cursing as he reached for he toes, with the globes of his perfectly rounded ass perfectly visibly from Obi-Wan’s little study desk.

But Obi-Wan had come home early last Tuesday to accidentally discover that an oblivious, ear bud wearing Anakin apparently preferred to do his Pilates in the nude, and even though he’d spent the week jerking himself off to the memory and then sternly telling himself off for it, he found himself easing the front door open at exactly 4:13 pm once more, unable to resist finding out if it was a weekly occurrence.

[phos-phorus]

Ok here’s the promised Simi ficlet

You can actually read this as platonic and romantic so I hope you guys like it.

I greatly appreciate any feedback and maybe even some prompts or requests if y’all want me to write more specific ficlets.

Anyway here’s Kimi being a gentle sweetheart and wiping away our golden puppy’s tears

Please ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes or dm me if they are too annoying lmao

In 2010, Vettel’s rise was meteoric. His sheer talent and the prowess of the Red Bull Racing team created a formidable combination. The first championship was a dream come true. Yet, even then, whispers of criticism began to surface. Some questioned whether his success was due to the car rather than his skill. The phrase “a champion built by engineers” started making rounds in the press.

By 2011, the whispers had grown louder. Journalists began to dissect every aspect of Vettel’s driving. “Does Vettel really have the racing intelligence of a true champion?” one headline questioned. Every maneuver, every decision on the track was analyzed with a fine-tooth comb. If he won, it was expected. If he faltered, it was headline news.

The 2012 season was perhaps the most grueling. The competition was fiercer, and Vettel’s dominance was no longer a given. Media outlets latched onto any sign of vulnerability. “Is the pressure getting to Vettel?” they asked after a rare mistake at the Malaysian Grand Prix. The relentless questions about his mental fortitude began to chip away at his once unshakeable confidence.

By 2013, despite securing his fourth championship, Vettel was exhausted. The constant barrage from journalists was relentless. At every press conference, the questions were sharper, the critiques more pointed. “Does Vettel’s dominance signal a lack of real competition in F1?” and “Is Vettel ruining the sport’s unpredictability?” were common refrains. It wasn’t just about his driving anymore; it was about his very presence in the sport.

In private, the toll was evident. Vettel, once full of vigor and passion, found himself questioning his own abilities. The joy of racing was being overshadowed by the fear of making mistakes that would be ruthlessly dissected. His team noticed the change, often finding him deep in thought, a shadow of the exuberant driver they once knew.

One particularly grueling press conference after the 2013 Japanese Grand Prix became a turning point. Despite securing yet another victory, the press conference that followed was anything but celebratory.

The room was filled with journalists, eager to ask their questions. However, this time, the tone was more aggressive and personal. One after another, they peppered Sebastian with questions that implied his success was hollow. The atmosphere was charged with a palpable tension, and it wasn’t long before the questioning turned hostile.

“Sebastian, do you think your success is more about Adrian Newey’s car than your driving skills? Do you think you’ve had an unfair advantage with the car?” one reporter asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.

“How do you respond to claims that your championships are less valuable than those of past legends because you never had real competition?” another chimed in, eyes narrowing.

His voice, usually steady and confident, wavered. “I have always given my best, on and off the track,” he said, his frustration palpable. “I respect the history of this sport and the champions who came before me. If you think my achievements are less because of the car I drive, then you underestimate the effort it takes to win consistently. This isn’t just about me; it’s about the entire team. We work hard for every single victory.”

The questions were thinly veiled accusations, each one more cutting than the last.

Vettel’s usual composed demeanor began to crack

“Do you think your dominance is ruining the sport’s excitement?”

“Isn’t it true that without the best car, you wouldn’t even be a contender?”

The relentless barrage of accusations and doubts hammered at Vettel’s psyche. He tried to maintain his composure, but the weight of the criticism was overwhelming. His answers became shorter, his voice strained. The room seemed to close in on him, the once supportive walls now echoing with doubt and disdain.

Finally, a particularly harsh question broke him. “Sebastian, do you think you’ll ever be as respected as drivers like Schumacher or Senna, given that your success is seen as less earned?”

Vettel’s eyes glossed over with a mix of frustration and hurt. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the words caught in his throat. “I… I think that’s enough for today,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. “Excuse me.”

He stood up abruptly, leaving the room in a hushed silence. The journalists, momentarily stunned, watched as he walked out, his shoulders slumped under the weight of their words.

Sebastian sank onto a bench, his head in his hands. The tears came unbidden, hot and silent, as he fought to keep his sobs from escaping. The weight of the season, the constant scrutiny, and the relentless pressure finally broke through his defenses. He felt small, overwhelmed, and terribly alone.

“Seb?”

The voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it cut through the fog of Sebastian’s misery. He looked up to see Kimi standing a few feet away, his expression as unreadable as ever. Kimi had always been an enigma, a man of few words, but there was something in his eyes now—a depth of understanding that Sebastian hadn’t expected.

“Are you okay?” Kimi’s voice was gentle, devoid of the usual sarcasm and aloofness.

Sebastian tried to muster a response, but the words caught in his throat. He shook his head, his shoulders trembling with the effort to hold back his tears. Kimi’s presence was both comforting and disconcerting; the Finnish driver had never been one for emotional displays, and Sebastian didn’t know what to expect.

Kimi took a step closer, then another, until he was standing right beside Sebastian. Without a word, he sat down on the bench, his arm reaching out to rest gently on Sebastian’s back. The gesture was simple, but it carried a world of meaning. It was an offer of solace, a reminder that he wasn’t alone in this moment of vulnerability.

After a moment of silence Sebastian lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with unshed tears. “I can’t do this anymore, Kimi. They keep tearing me down. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Kimi pulled him into a hug, strong and reassuring. “Listen to me, Seb. You are an incredible driver. You’ve proven it time and again. The media… they don’t understand. They don’t see the hard work, the dedication. They only see the results, and they twist them to fit their narrative.”

Sebastian shuddered, hot tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and Kimi leaned back just enough to be able to look into Seb’s glassy eyes and wipe away the tears while he spoke, his voice a soothing murmur in the quiet room.

“You’ve achieved so much. Four World Championships, countless won races. Don’t let them take that away from you. Remember why you started racing. The love for the sport, the thrill of the race. That’s what matters.”

As Kimi held him, he reached up to stroke a stray curl out of Sebastian’s face, the gesture so gentle and innocent that it broke through Sebastian’s defenses. A sob escaped his lips, and he buried his face in Kimi’s chest, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. Kimi continued to whisper soothing words, his hands stroking Sebastian’s back in a steady, comforting rhythm.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of Sebastian’s muffled sobs and Kimi’s calming whispers. Sebastian clung to Kimi, drawing strength from the Fins unwavering support. He felt the knots of tension slowly begin to unwind, replaced by a sense of warmth and security.

“You are a champion, Seb, my champion” Kimi continued, his voice steady and reassuring. “Don’t let their words define you. You define yourself by your actions, by your passion.”

Sebastian nodded against Kimi’s chest, the tears still flowing but the anguish beginning to ebb.

For a long time, they sat there in silence, the noise of the outside world fading into the background. Kimi’s arms remained a steady anchor, his silent support speaking volumes. When Sebastian finally lifted his head, he saw a small, understanding smile on Kimi’s face.

“Thank you, Kimi,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kimi’s embrace tightening around Sebastian. “You don’t have to do anything without me. We’re in this together. And no matter what happens, I’ll always have your back.”

[onthewaytosomewhere]

Dumpling first prince. Or first prince and kiddo.

thanks for the prompt luv

somehow this weekend's ficlets are all smut-free and are interwoven moments between firstprince and their son James - can all be found on ao3 if ya want

“Okay, dumpling, I’m gonna need ya to work with Papa here, we need to get you fed before Daddy gets down here so we can get you ready to go.” Alex attempts, in that soft negotiating with a not-yet-one-year-old voice, to persuade James to take the spoonful of mashed pumpkin on the special baby spoon they used when trying out new foods.

For some reason this spoon has been like magic for getting James to eat new things and neither is willing to jinx things by using a different one for first tastes. He’s hoping the spoon pulls through today, as they don’t really have time for a food rejection to further de-rail their day, he’s pretty sure they’re already going to be late, but now that they have the baby excuse people don’t seem to be quite so mad at them when it happens. Alex does not feel bad at all for taking full advantage of that while it lasts.

Alex watches as James’ face seems to show all the emotions and thoughts he’s having at this new taste. His little brow furrows and his eyes round, in what Alex’s hopes is a positive way, as he holds his breath awaiting the verdict. Before long, James’ mouth is opening for another taste and Alex breathes a sigh of relief. James has been a very good eater, but the few times he’s not liked something have been rough. In the food being spewed from the mouth across everything in its path kind of way.

Alex spoons another bit of pumpkin into James’ mouth and smiles at the way he beams up at him as his chubby arms smack the tray of the highchair. He’s hit with an overwhelming tenderness that catches him off-guard. He never really thought, before they got James, about how something so small as feeding their son would make his heart so light and give him feelings he’s not even sure he knows what they are. For not the first time, on this journey of child-rearing he’s blown away by the amount of love one person can bring into their lives. He’s always known he would love whatever child they eventually brought into their lives but he was not prepared for the depth of it, the way it just seems to infinitely grow with each milestone, no matter how small.

As he’s wrapping up Henry comes down the stairs, he stands leaning against the doorway watching Alex as he wipes the last remnants of pumpkin from James’ tiny cheeks. When he has James mostly cleaned-up Alex turns to him, his eyes still a little misty, and can’t help the smile that crosses his face. Henry smiles back and walks over, placing a kiss to Alex’s forehead, he says, “So, I take it the pumpkin was a success? Since you have that misty ‘I’m so proud of our lil munchkin face’ and aren’t wearing it.”

“Yeah, the magic spoon came through once again.” Alex laughs, rolling his eyes, as he takes James from his chair.

“Or, we just have the best little boy.” Henry winks, reaching out to tickle James under the chin, earning a squeal of delight, and a finger covered in the pumpkin that had still been lurking there. Alex can’t help the way his chest constricts for a moment, so utterly in love with both of them, and their little family—he treasures all the little moments like this.

[norcumii]

Last Line Challenge(s)

Rules: something something share the last line you wrote or drew and tag other people to do the same

@bluemaskedkarma has tagged me...several times, but due to brain weasels, pneumonia, and the fact that everything I've been writing lately has been for bangs (HOW.), I just went digging through the files to see whatall I could find.

I didn't manage anything for the Rex/Obi week prompts this last go-round, but I tried. From the start of an unfinished ficlet, which was focusing on a nice little picnic, I think.

“Sir,” Captain Rex asked in his most insubordinate, dry tone, “where are we taking this unexploded ordinance?” Obi-Wan bit back a grin before solemnly hefting the melon he was carrying. He did his best to mimic the same level of sass. “Captain, I’m sure you know I’ve had to sign off on requisition forms you yourself have filled out for various fruits, including, might I add, melons.” Even in full armor, Captain Rex was quite capable of shooting him a skeptical look. “Just because we’ve requested things doesn’t mean we’ve ever received them. Sir.” He ignored the expression, holding up the melon as if it were an object requiring deep study. “I did say I signed off on them,” he mused. “I might have also mentioned a few old favors owed by some friends of mine who are not always on the more...legal side of things.” He could hear the chuckle – and moreover feel the amusement through the Force – for all that Captain Rex conveyed a rather magnificent eyeroll. “Fine. Sir, where are we taking these unexploded melons? And why?”

~end

[gamerbot-22]

A Taste of Your Own Medicine

Prompt: Sleeping

TW/CW: Sequel to One Man's Trash is Another Mole's Treasure and Laid Up, some kisses on the head, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Word Count: 1,762

A/N: I'm back again! I got sick as shit right after getting back from my vacation but NOW I AM HERE FOR REAL! AND WE ARE GONNA FINISH THIS LET'S GOOO!!! And we begin the end with Natasha getting fucking. Treasured. As she deserves. Love this lady to bits, I tell ya. Jesus, that word count btw. We are back in business baby--

Translation Note: тише (pro. tishe, lit. "quiet") is just how you tell someone to "hush" in Russian. It can also be written as "ш" which is just the "sh" sound!

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here!

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Back pain was a normal part of aging. It's just a continuation of the body as it continued on and on on its journey through life. It was simply just something that happened, and there was no shame in it.

Unless the reason your back hurt was because you'd been hunched over a desk for three hours. Then there was a little shame. But nothing that couldn't be worked off with a bit of stretching. So with a sigh, and a hand braced against the sore spot above her hips, Natasha got up and stepped away from her desk to an empty space between the tiny waiting room and the first bed. The Clinic was empty for the first time in a long while, so she could take the time to get some lunges in before the next person--

*Ding-a-ling!*

Nevermind. Natasha got up from her half-lunge position and turned to face the door, her eyes shut in her usual, welcoming smile.

"Hello, what seems to be the problem toda--oh!"

She was just getting interrupted all over the place this evening! She didn't even get to finish her sentence before a tiny mittened hand grabbed hers and started to pull her towards the door. Natasha winced against the sudden jerking forward and the twinge of pain that accompanied it, but she kept a brave face as she addressed her would-be escort.

"Hook, what's going on? Use your words."

"Surprise!" The girl barked at her, her head whipping around to show off her determined, round little face. "Just come see!"

Natasha gathered up her skirt with her free hand and started to move, knowing she didn't have the strength to resist in any capacity tonight. "Alright, alright, I'm coming, Hook."

This was the second time this week that Hook had come to bring Natasha somewhere, and while Natasha was happy to go, she hoped it wasn't as long of a walk as last time. Natasha's back probably wouldn't be able to take those stairs in Rivet Town. Thankfully, this newest journey was mostly flat, with Hook marching confidently down the streets of Boulder Town, walking in prefect time across the lamp-lit, worn cobble paths until the two of them came to an alley just big enough for two adults to stand side by side in.

"Hook," Natasha said, straining to stand up straight while Hook hurried forward a few more steps. "Let's take a break for a moment, alright? I've had a long day at the clinic."

Hook whipped around, her eyes going wide before she scurried right back to her side, reaching for the doctor's hands again. "Hey, you can't stop here! We're almost there, come on!" She seemed especially insistent, which was already an achievement for the strong-willed leader of the Moles. She tugged at Natasha's arm once, twice, three times, and Natasha's patience was starting to come loose with it.

"Тише!" She scolded, although even that wasn't very harsh as she took her hand back. "Just be patient a moment, I'm not as young as I used to be!"

A door further down the alley creaked open, bathing the purple stone in a warm, ember light that spread like wildfire to where the frustrated travelers stood. A pair of shadows cut through the light, but the accompanying laughter more than made up for the missing warmth.

"Ha! Ain't that the truth! All in good fun, of course~!" Even backlit, Natasha could see Sampo's smile, quickly accompanied by another familiar grin.

"You're in the home stretch, Nat!" Luka said pushing out of the doorway. His step was sprightly--he always recovered fast--and he had his arms stretched out to welcome the doctor and her escort closer. "Come on, we've got some tea going on the fire and Sampo just finished making the bed."

Hook darted out of Luka's way and down the alley, slipping between Sampo's hip and the doorway before disappearing. He dove after her quickly, still smiling big, and the sound of their laughing echoed down the stone corridor.

With the new privacy, Luka let the victorious air fade away into a more personal smile. Natasha, on the other hand, pushed herself upright, standing up straight to better receive his company.

"Tea and a made bed," she said, breathless but smiling all the same. "It sounds like you and Sampo have been busy."

Luka waved her teasing aside, his prosthetic clicking gently under his chuckle. "Ah, it was nothing! Especially compared to all the work you've been doing lately." He offered her his arm, which she took, and he began to lead her down to meet the others. "Especially especially when you've been dealing with patients like me who keep trying to fly the coop."

"Oh, it's not too difficult," the doctor insisted, although she was grateful for the slow pace Luka had set for this final stretch. "It comes with the job, and I don't mind it much."

"Still, your poor back--"

Luka held the door open for Natasha and the little room was even better than the doctor could have imagined. There was a fire going and the kettle over it, shiny with wear, was already beginning to sing. There was a snug, woven mat in front of the fireplace with a plate on top, adorned with a half-finished sandwich that no doubt was Hook's doing going off of how small the bite marks were. Speaking of, she and Sampo had taken to playing a friendly looking game of chase around the tiny living room. Sampo was clearly letting the Mole get a head start on him, keeping his steps much shorter and slower so she had the chance to actually get out of reach before he moved to grab her again. He snapped to attention pretty quickly, though, once he saw Natasha looking at the two of them so fondly.

"Ah, just in time!" Sampo smiled, clasping his hands together and bowing slightly, as he always did to her. "It's like the kettle knew exactly when you were coming!"

"Would that make for another person in on this?" She teased gently. She watched Sampo take the kettle off the fire and bring it to the tiny little kitchen area to the right of the door. He poured three little cups of a rich brown tea, and motioned for Luka to come get his after scooping up the other two.

"For you, my fair lady~" He offered Natasha her cup and she took it with a chuckle, playing along with his show of chivalry with an "Oh, why thank you!" in return.

"Only the finest sleepy time tea for our Doctor, right?" Luka handed a bottle of milk to Hook, then raised his cup to her. She enthusiastically returned the gesture... only to hand the bottle back for him to open.

"Oh, you three are spoiling me now." As humble as she was, the honor and love she felt in her chest was bigger and brighter than any fire her three friends could ever hope to light. Hell, it almost made her forget the twinge in her back to see Sampo, Luka, and Hook all gathered together with her and smiling. "Thank you, everyone. Truly."

Sampo finished his tea in one swig--a feat that might have been more impressive if the cup wasn't so little--and flashed her his real smile, the one that actually pushed his eyes closed from how wide it reached across his face. "Ah, don't think of it as spoiling! Think of it as paying you back. For all the hard work you do for us."

"And for everyone else down here in the Underground," Luka chimed in, quickly passing the freshly opened bottle to Hook so he had a free arm to wrap around Natasha's shoulders. He was careful, of course, but the bend in her spine was still a little tender. "You're a godsend, Nat. Really."

"Oh..." She swore her heart would melt right out of her chest. She held her warm teacup close and turned to kiss the crown of Luka's head. "Thank you."

Then she gestured Sampo over, and he bowed to get a kiss of his own, right in the center of his forehead. "And thank you."

"Of course, 'Tasha."

Natasha sniffed, and if it weren't for the mist in her eyes when she looked at Hook, no one would have thought a thing of it.

The little Mole scurried over to Natasha, standing up on her tip toes so she wouldn't have to lean down too far. Unfortunately, she still had to bend almost in half, but the thought was there, same as the tea and the fire and the made up bed with clean white sheets in the corner, so it was alright. "And of course, thank you, Hook."

"It was my idea," she said proudly, earning a chuckle from all three adults. "Now finish your tea and lay down!"

That got a full belly laugh from Sampo, loud and strong and echoing off the walls as he braced against the door frame, nearly immediately collapsing into joyful tears and shaking shoulders. Luka was only slightly better at hiding his delight, at least turning his face away to laugh at Hook's best Natasha impression.

The good doctor took it in stride, shaking her head before taking a sip of her tea and shuffling off towards the bed. "Yes yes, Doctor Hook, right away!" She could afford a bit of playtime, as long as it didn't go to Hook's head, and as long as it meant she got to lie down for a little while.

After a little time and some help from Luka, Sampo got a hold of himself, and Natasha's three beloved friends came to wish her a good, long rest.

"If you need anything, just holler," Sampo assured her, taking her hand to pat it gently. "I'll come fluff your pillows, even!"

"I think I'll be alright, but thank you."

Hook lifted her bear up onto Natasha's lap, holding his head up to look at her. "If you have any bad dreams, just hold onto him and he'll make them go away."

"That's very brave of him. And very sweet of you, Hook."

Luka leaned down to give her a hug, and the other two followed suit until all four of them were wrapped up in one another's arms, warm and quiet and oh so comfortable in this tiny room underground.

"Love you, Nat."

"I love you, too."

"Get some good sleep."

"I will."

"No wandering off."

"Heheh. No wandering off."

[capim-tinybang]

2024 Cap-IM Tiny Reverse Bang Amnesty Week!

Round 6 has wrapped up with our two final fanwork prompts for the 2024 Cap-IM Tiny Reverse Bang. Thank you to all our wonderful creators for sending in their artworks and to our speedy fanwork-fillers, who have already created some lovely accompanying fanworks inspired by this year's TRB submissions.

We would now like to announce our Amnesty Week!

From now until the end of September 6th, anybody can create fic, fanvids or podfics for the artwork prompts that were revealed in the six rounds of the 2024 TRB. If you started a ficlet, or missed a week and didn't get round to posting, now is the time! Maybe a prompt has grown on you, or a Cap-IM Bingo card has provided the perfect complement to kickstart a fic! Challenge yourself to some last minute drabbles and earn your badges!

All fanwork fills will be included in our final Tiny Reverse Bang roundup.

Rules and information on how to participate and post can be found here!

To see the existing fills for the prompts, check out our AO3 Collection. You can browse and leave feedback on all the fanwork prompts in our 2024 TRB Submissions Collection on AO3 or follow the link to each fanwork below:

Round 1 - Nomad | Winghead

Round 2 - Oath | Invincible

Round 3 - Silver | Serum

Round 4 - Extremis | Armor

Round 5 - Commander | Gold

Round 6 - Timely | Shellhead

Feel inspired?

Write fic of at least 100 words for any 2024 TRB fanwork prompt (note that you can also be inspired by several for one fill!), or create podfics or fanvids as fills - there are no minimum requirements for these formats. You have until the very end of September 6th (any timezone) to earn a badge for every prompt you write for!

[ladylynse]

A DP ficlet for @schwoopsiedoodles. The prompt was technically 'New Years' but, uh, that was more of a starting point than a focal point with this one.

Phantasmagoria [FFN | AO3]: At first blush, the new year seemed like it would start off normally enough, but Danny should really know better than to expect normal by now. Still, this was not what people usually meant when they talked about a new year yielding infinite possibilities.

-|-

“Happy New Year, little brother,” Jazz said as she wrapped Danny in a hug. Fireworks burst on the TV, some celebration they’d switched to just before midnight, but Jazz clearly didn’t think that was loud enough to cover her next words because she lowered her voice before adding, “We made it through another Christmas, and we made it through last year, so we’ll make it through this one, too.”

“Happy New Year, you two!” Maddie said as she joined them and turned the affair into a group hug, and then Jack was on the other side, wrapping them all in a bear hug, and Danny—

Danny was being squeezed too tightly from every side now, and he was getting hot enough and feeling trapped enough that not phasing out of everyone’s grip was more of an active decision than what should be the tangible default of remaining in place. Jazz’s hair was tickling his nose, but better the smell of her shampoo than the scent of ectoplasm from his parents’ HAZMAT suits that lingered despite the intense decontamination and washing protocols. He should say something, maybe force out a laugh or joke about Jazz not breaking into song like usual, but—

But maybe that was it.

Maybe that’s what was bugging him, why he wasn’t as happy as he should be even though he knew, objectively, that Jazz was right, that everything was as good as it ever was these days.

Jazz wasn’t singing Auld Lang Syne.

It shouldn’t bother him. It’s not like she had to sing it. She just always had; it was practically as much of a family tradition as the annual Christmas argument. She liked the song—she had for as long as he could remember—and Maddie would join in once she started. So would Jack, even though he couldn’t sing any better than he could aim.

So why skip it this year?

There was something niggling at the back of Danny’s mind, a sort of awareness that came slowly, creeping over his skin and making it crawl in the process.

He didn’t feel hot any longer, but the feeling of being trapped definitely hadn’t gone away.

Maybe that was a good thing.

That meant that whoever was doing this to him didn’t know he’d realized something was off.

This didn’t feel like the Ghost Writer. Even if he’d mercifully decided to weave his stories into reality without rhyme, Danny doubted he’d give up the background narration entirely. He liked being in control of the narrative too much.

Danny wasn’t ruling out this being a dream, though, or some other happy simulation designed to keep him under, to keep him from questioning it. Things hadn’t worked out last time when he’d been dreaming of his friends, so if this was round two of ‘keep Phantom out of things by keeping him asleep’, shifting the narrative to his family might make a sick sort of sense. It would make more sense than an attempted reality rewrite from someone like Desiree—or someone armed with something like the Reality Gauntlet.

This was too personal for that kind of thing.

“Uh, Dad?” Danny finally tried. “You can let go now.”

“I’ll never let you go,” came the response, but it wasn’t Jack’s voice, it was Sam’s, and he was smelling her shampoo now, not Jazz’s, and Tucker was sandwiching Danny between him and Sam, and—

Shouldn’t he feel sick after a transition like that? After a lack of transition like that? This was a dream, but if Nocturn or whoever it was was trying to keep him down, wouldn’t they at least make him a little dizzy? It all might have felt seamless, a shift occurring between one blink and the next, but the whiplash between what is and what was—

“Dude,” said Tucker as he released Danny and stepped back, letting Danny see that not only was he no longer in his living room but he was also no longer in his house. They were in Sam’s room, and it was decorated the same as always; nothing seemed out of place at a glance.

Then again, if this was a dream, and he thought he knew how everything looked, would anything feel out of place when he was the one imagining it in the place it was now?

This was making his head hurt.

It just didn’t hurt enough to wake him up and snap him out of this, which was annoying.

Tucker was biting his lip, but his words burst out of him a split second later. “I know this is kinda a stupid question considering everything, but are you okay?”

He really wasn’t, but fine, Danny could play along. That was easier now that Sam had let him go at Tucker’s words, which had the unnerving effect of lessening his feeling of being trapped even though he knew he was still very much trapped.

But if the shock of the transition wasn’t enough to snap him out of it, and the shock of realizing what was going on wasn’t enough, what would be?

“I’m fine,” Danny said, and Sam promptly punched Tucker in the arm, who yelped.

“What was that for?”

“Asking a stupid question,” she ground out, “that made Danny feel like he had to lie to us and say he’s fine when he’s not.” Her gaze flicked to him. “What Tucker means is that it’s okay that you’re not okay yet, but we’re going to be here for you for as long as you need us.”

Wait.

What?

Tucker blew out his breath in something that wasn’t exasperation or a sigh but something else, something closer to…regret? Jazz would do that sometimes—she said it helped her to centre herself and get her thoughts in order—but had he ever heard Tucker do it?

“Sorry,” Tuck said. “I didn’t mean are you okay okay, because obviously this being a new year doesn’t mean what happened a couple weeks ago didn’t happen. I meant it more as a sort of ‘are you okay because you suddenly seem less okay than you were ten seconds ago’ and I wanted to know if it was something I did. Or Sam!” Tucker’s eyes flicked to Sam as he quickly added, “Please don’t hit me again. That really hurts.”

Coldness pooled in Danny’s stomach again, spreading outward and freezing his lungs. It was harder than it should be to repeat, “A couple weeks ago?”

Tucker’s laugh was a little too high not to be full of nerves. “Or, like, last week, with the funerals. And Vlad.” Sam’s foot shot towards Tucker’s leg, but he was already dancing back in anticipation. “He asked!”

“What about Vlad?” Danny pressed.

Sam stopped her attack on Tucker and frowned. “What do you mean, what about Vlad?”

“See?” Tucker flung out an arm towards Danny. “That’s why I asked if he was okay!”

Sam scowled at him, but it melted away when she turned back to Danny. “Okay, I get that it probably doesn’t feel worse than what he was always trying to do, but the paperwork’s that much closer to being official now, and I just…. I don’t want to lose you. We don’t want to lose you. And if we can’t figure out some way around this….”

“We will,” said Dani’s voice from behind him.

Danny jumped before spinning to face her, the what? spilling from his lips before he could think twice about it. Danielle was in her human form but in a black T-shirt and shorts he didn’t recognize, and—

And that wasn’t all he didn’t recognize.

A far cry from Sam’s bedroom, this place was basically a white box, sharp clean lines and maybe twice the size of his bedroom back home. Not small, but not necessarily big, considering it didn’t have windows or a visible door or, well, anything.

Anything, he realized as he looked around again, except some poorly hidden cameras.

Crud.

Maybe he didn’t have to recognize this place to know where he was.

Danielle was ignoring the cameras, apparently. She must’ve seen them—Vlad had trained her and he wasn’t incompetent in that, Danny was pretty sure—but she wasn’t looking at them. “We’ll get out of here,” she said. Repeated, presumably. “I can’t tell you how, obviously, but we will.”

Danny walked over to the nearest wall, turned his hand intangible, and promptly failed to stick it through the wall.

He wasn’t surprised, considering he’d dreamed himself up what must be some luxury cell courtesy of the Guys in White, but it was really disappointing to confirm that he was aware that he was dreaming but couldn’t control it.

(This had to be a dream. Nothing except dream made sense.)

“If you keep doing that, they’re going to separate us.”

“No,” Danny said with an assurance that better suited Jazz than him as he studied the wall for what seemed to be nonexistent flaws, “they wouldn’t have risked putting us together if they didn’t want something.”

“Yeah, and giving it to them would be bad. Got that. Hence the whole ‘not telling you how we’ll get out of here’ thing.”

“Except even that tells them something.” He turned back to Dani. “It tells them you have a plan.”

“Or it tells them I want them to think I have a plan.”

“Which is still technically a plan. It’s just a poorer plan.”

“Like you’re an expert on plans.” Danny snorted, conceding her point, so Danielle continued, “All that really matters is they’re guessing. Which they are. Because they don’t know us. Not well enough, anyway. It’s going to be their downfall.”

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured.

“Of course I’m right. I’m me. Besides, I’m not spending my entire birthday locked in here.”

Danny didn’t bother to verbalize the look he sent her; even someone as dense as the GiW agents he’d run into in Amity Park would be able to interpret his confusion.

Dani rolled her eyes at him. “Fine, my chosen birthday. New year, new me. Everyone else can have resolutions. I want cake.”

Danny grinned. “Cake would—”

Alarms swallowed the rest of his words.

He jolted awake, fumbling without opening his eyes for the whatever-it-was that was making that racket so he could make it stop, and it took a precious few seconds to blink awake and remember and scramble to make sure there were no remnants of any ghostly tampering.

Nothing, as far as he could tell.

No helmet, no dust, no goo, nothing new or out of place. He was still in bed, but he was awake. The beeping had stopped by now, so maybe he had imagined it? Maybe it had simply been the last bit of a dream before it had woken him up?

Danny crawled out from under the covers so he could take a peek out the window, and he winced at the glowing green eyes of his reflection before blinking them back to blue. He really had been on edge if his powers were this close to the surface. Maybe he should head downstairs for some water and—

There was someone sitting on the roof across the street.

They were looking in his direction.

They’d probably been looking in his direction the whole time.

That wasn’t as bad as it could be, considering the things that could be explained away because this was the Fenton household, except that Danny knew the silhouette of that particular someone.

It would explain the beeping, too, though he’d never realized it was that loud.

Against his better judgement, Danny opened his bedroom window. It wasn’t particularly cold out—Jazz probably had her bedroom window cracked right now—so it wasn’t like he had to break through a seal of ice to get it open. The main reason he kept his window shut was to discourage ghosts from popping in on him, and that only worked with the polite ones. Still, mild weather or not, he hadn’t been woken by his ghost sense.

“Valerie?”

She heard him, or maybe she just saw the window opening, but either way, she called up her sled and slid almost silently through the air until she was less than three feet from him. Her visor wasn’t shielding her face, and her arms were crossed, which he was hoping to take as a good thing and not a bad thing. “How long?”

“How long what?” Even as he asked it, he realized what she must mean. Oops. She’d heard him after all. “Sorry. From the beginning. Like, the beginning beginning, not just since Technus gave you your new suit.”

Something in her expression tightened. “Please just be straight with me.”

“What? I am!”

“No, I mean—” She broke off with a frustrated growl. “Look. If you answer my questions, we can leave the past in the past. Start fresh. New chapters and all that. But if you insist on playing dumb, I have no reason to trust you—or give you the benefit of the doubt. So how long?”

“I don’t—”

“How long, Phantom?”

Oh.

“Could you, um, be a little more specific than that?”

He was waiting for the dream to shift on him again.

It didn’t.

As Valerie’s frown deepened, he realized that maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he really had woken up. “Please?” It never hurt to be polite. In theory.

“How long has this been going on?”

She was still watching him, but there was a catch in her voice that hadn’t been there before, and it seemed real enough.

Of course, everything else had seemed real, too.

If this were a dream, his response wouldn’t matter. His response might even shift him somewhere else entirely. If this were really Valerie, though? This Valerie looked lost and was doing a poor job of hiding it behind a show of familiar anger. This Valerie—

“And how long,” she croaked, her composure crumpling entirely as her voice cracked, “is this going to keep going on?”

Wait.

“I don’t want to do this again.”

The dream—not-dream, whatever this was—did not conveniently remove him from the conversation.

“Don’t want to do what again?” he asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“I can’t keep jumping through possibilities.” The words were soft, more of a reluctant admission than anything else. “If this is you, stop it. It’s cruel even if you don’t think it is, and you always insist that you’re the good guy anyway. If it’s not you….” She swallowed. “Help me. Please. Even if you’re not my friend, be my ally. I— Our truce doesn’t have to end when this is over.”

She sounded like she meant it.

Maybe he should hope this wasn’t a dream after all, if only so he didn’t have to worry about having Valerie on his back all the time.

Then again.

If this wasn’t a dream, she’d be spitting distance from his secret even if she thought Phantom—in a feat of spectacular stupidity—was currently overshadowing Danny while under the same roof as the people who hunted him down at every opportunity.

If she were being honest about what might be an indefinite truce, though, that might not be a bad thing.

Danny wouldn’t say this in Sam’s hearing, but Valerie was a better shot than her, and having Val back him up from time to time would be beneficial in more ways than him not having to worry about her taking a shot at him.

“Indefinite truce if we get out of this alive?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She didn’t look amused at his choice of words, but she swallowed whatever scathing insult she’d wanted to spit at him and shook his hand instead.

“Great,” he said. “Meet me on the roof? I should really change for this.”

That earned him an eyeroll, but she grumbled, “Fine.”

He really did change before following her, first out of his PJs and into clothes and then transforming into Phantom, but she was waiting for him on the Ops Centre without a blaster, so that was a win.

“Thanks,” he said, even though he hadn’t really thought she’d fire at him right after being the one to call a truce. “And—please don’t shoot the questioner—can you elaborate on the whole ‘can’t keep jumping through possibilities’ thing?”

She sighed and sat down, hugging her knees and looking out at the horizon instead of at him. “It means exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes it takes longer for the shift to happen, but whenever it does, I’m somewhere else, in a new situation, and most of them aren’t pleasant.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Case in point, finding you where I found you, because I don’t have to be a genius to figure out what’s going on there.”

Danny winced, and not just because his parents were proof that geniuses could be astoundingly blind when they weren’t looking for something. He didn’t want to get into what Valerie thought now, though. They had more important things to talk about. “I’ve been doing the same thing. The shifting between situations like it’s a dream thing.”

“If you’re going through the same thing, then which of us is dreaming?”

If Nocturn or someone like him was involved, it wasn’t necessarily one or the other. They could both be dreaming.

Or this could be something else entirely and neither of them were dreaming, since Danny wasn’t sure why Nocturn would want them both to be aware that they were dreaming when that meant they’d be actively trying to snap out of it.

Still, better that they were dreaming than some something horrendously damaging and somehow unforeseen had happened to the timeline and they were dropping through alternate realities like they were tissue paper faster than Clockwork could sort it out.

“Beats me,” Danny said, offering Valerie a grin in the hopes that it would cheer her up. He held out a hand, and she took it and let him pull her up. “Let’s find out.”

(see more fics | check out the awesome fanart for this fic)

[helianskies]

so last december 31st, i wrote a not-so-little post covering my 2023 and hopes for 2024. and i figured, well, why not do it again? so here's a little-ish post on how my year has been as a writer, and what i'm looking forward to in 2025 - my ninth year writing!

.°˖✧ INTRODUCTION

last year, i started my post with a bit of a moan because there was a lot of negativity going on that was bogging me down. this year, i feel i've had a bit of a better time. i've no complaints to lodge with anyone, other than the odd comment on a fic that has left me questioning why i'm still here (some people need to learn some tact or etiquette or straiht up manners!) - but, i am. i am here. and i'm still writing. cheers to that!

.°˖✧ 2024 REVIEW

time to look at the fics i've written this year! to pick three that i think are my favourites:

'Holiday' ⇝ i forgot i wrote this until i was scrolling back, and as soon as i saw it i smiled to myself. a bit of nationverse and another study of Antonio, with a sprinkling of TurkSpa

'Fortuna' ⇝ i still think about this one often, there'll be more stand-alones snippets from this au to come, i'm sure!

'Make A Wish' ⇝ it took three years for me to write this figurative revenge, just for maiva, but i love how it turned out. we love a mischievous, devious, wicked port ;)

following that, here are some of my favourite aus that have come from this year too!:

the au that is 'Fortuna', see above! nothing like a bit of crime and casinos to keep us going :)

the kingdoms au in 'Ripple'. this fic is a snippet from a world of a long-fic that i've been mulling over for, ooh, two years? there's a lot that needs sorting, but it's like a peek into a world i really hope to share one day. one day!

the ghoulish pirate au from 'Storm's End'! i wrote this fic somewhat desperately to round up hetaween, but it's an au i'd very much like to keep up!

the vineyard au as in 'Nightcap' UGGHHHHH i think i have a habit of putting Ned in business-y jobs eh. managers... accountants... he's a type, but it just makes sense!

as ever, there are tons of aus that have also been born this year that you've not seen. last year, i said i wanted to share my ideas more, and i don't actually think i've done that... food for thought!

and on that note, there are some general things from year i've taken note of that are a mix, i guess. just observations. things i've achieved or haven't achiever either way! things i'm proud of, or not proud of! who cares?:

i am on top of my ao3 inbox. since i cleared it out aat the end of 2023, i have not let it get too busy to be unmanageable, and feel i'm doing better at replying! it's nice!

i promised myself i would return to hetaween with a vengeance, and i sure did! i think this has been by best year to date and i'm so happy with everything i wrote! c:

'For Me?' and 'Bitter Teeth' - ouch! i haven't updated either since july, and i have to admit, i'm not rushing back. like there's a niggly feeling of 'that's a loooong break' but when i tell you i have zero motivation, i mean i actually have about -4 motivation to keep going on these two at the moment. just saying.

i got back on the ficlets and prompts yessss, it's been nice to slip back into writing short things here and there (particularly with point 3 on this list in mind!)

it's also been nice to, on occasion, have a go with different pairings. like it's very rare, but... i'm open to dabbling. with certain characters. and ships. those who know will know 👀

.°˖✧ 2023's HOPES

in 2023, there were some things i said i hoped 2024 would hold for me, or that i'd do. based on that list, here's what i have and haven't done:

i [also] hope 'Bitter Teeth' keeps going strong. i hope i let myself take breaks without feeling so guilty. i hope i get more into historical hetalia again. i really want to explore the implications of the events of 'Let Me Go'. i hope i learn to love my unfinished works or abandoned wips. i hope i start sharing more of my ideas. i hope i learn it's okay to not always want to write the same characters over and over, even if they are my favourites. really, i just want to keep moving forward. i want to keep writing. i want to keep loving writing. i want to keep exploring. i want to not succumb to negativity as much. i want to indulge even more in what i want and what i feel like.

a mixed bag. but overall, these are outcomes i'm happy with! i've generally had a more positive year with writing, slumps in motivation aside, and that's as good as it gets!

.°˖✧ 2025's HOPES

looking to 2025, then, i suppose there are some things i'd hope will happen.

importantly, i'd like to get back on board with 'For Me?' and 'Bitter Teeth'. if i could finish the former, that would be good, but with how i'm feeling at the moment, if i can update them at all i would like to think that 2025 helia will be happy (she'd better be!).

i also hope that i take the plunge and start a new multi-chapter fic with you. there are two options on the table at the moment, so i'm hoping one catches in 2025 and i find the courage to just go for it. to take that plunge and write. time to bring out a nice, big cast again, just like the old days of AE!

as a string of thoughts, i hope that in 2025 i explore more - more characters, more time periods, more ideas. i hope i find courage to share ideas or aus without worrying whether or not anyone will like them. now i really want to try more historical hetalia. i wouldn't mind indulging in a sequel or two to some of the fics i've written in past years. i hope that i have another amazing round of event fics. i hope i continue to love the random aus as much as the old classics. i hope i stay positive, learn and love, and stay proud of what i can do.

i hope i also become a better reader. i hope i read more fics. i hope i leave more comments. i hope i share more writing, be it stories written by people i know, or people i don't. i hope i read something different to what i'm used to, that's outside my little comfort zone. and i hope i learn things because of it.

.°˖✧ CONCLUSION

in all, 2024 was a pretty darn good year, both personally for me and as a writer. through it all, i just have to thank the friends i have here who talk with me, listen to my nonsense, share their ideas, and just... are amazing. so many people inspire me and i don't think i say it. so thank you. i love you. i hope you know who you are. and, to wrap up this review, i present you with cookies, hugs, and wishes for a very happy new year! 🍪🎉🍪🎉🍪🎉