#my first oneshot in years

[ps-cactus]

ROOTED – Sebastian Sallow & GN!Reader & Ominis Gaunt oneshot – 1864 words

tags and warnings: no smut, no obvious romance, however - established relationship, unreliable narrator, haunting atmosphere, mystery, dark magic, death and resurrection, identity loss and confusion, obsession, (a bit of) predatory instincts, survival instincts, blood, symbolism. Also posted on AO3

A/N: characters here are in their early twenties, not long since graduation. established relationship - you've been living with sebastian and ominis after graduation - you can see this as friendship (might be challenging, but you still can) or anything else; here it can be whatever you want.

Inspired by several songs: In the woods somewhere, Like real people do - Hozier / Rebirth - Poets of the Fall / Funeral of Hearts - HIM <- that's where the 'moonlight' and 'firelight' come from, and i liked how they worked together for these characters

Summary: You died. Here is what happens after a short while.

ROOTED

As you open your eyes, you’re struck by the absence of any memory that might explain your presence here, on the icy ground surrounded by trees.

The cold greets you first. It presses against your skin—a new sensation, a pleasant one. The last thing your body recalls is the suffocating heat of a fever, endless and draining. You don’t know how long it lasted or why it broke, you’re only glad it did.

You push yourself upright, steadying yourself on a large stone nearby. Intricate carvings cover its surface. Runes, whispers something deep within your clouded mind. Important, yes, but too complex for your dulled thoughts to hold onto now.

Your legs barely obey you, but you walk. Distance and time lose their meaning. You just know you must keep moving, must find… something. You don’t know what you seek, only that something is missing.

Had your mind been clearer, you might have noticed him sooner. A man—taller than you, but his frame feels neither threatening nor overly strong. The forest around you is pitch black, the thick canopy blotting out even the cloud-covered sky. And yet, you see him as though the darkness does not exist.

“Sebastian?” he asks. You find the sound of his voice comforting, and you take a step closer.

Perhaps he’s the one you’ve been searching for?

His blonde hair, light-coloured eyes, and pale skin evoke something ethereal. If nature had human embodiments, he would surely be the moonlight—the light you suddenly crave to bask in. Drawn by that resemblance, you step even closer.

He’s been facing you for some time now. He doesn’t approach, doesn’t move—he simply waits. When you stop before him, the forest’s silence envelopes you, undisturbed by your laboured steps anymore. Slowly, your weakened mind starts picking up more. It’s still hard to grasp and analyse the details, but you guess the man has been crying recently.

He points something at you—a wand. The word surfaces in your mind just like “runes” did—it’s important. Meaningful. Dangerous. The faint red glow at the wand’s tip pulses slowly, and you don’t like it pulsing in your direction.

“Hello?” Puffs of mist from his breath linger briefly before vanishing. Though you’re only steps away, he peers around as if still unsure of your presence.

“Hello?” you echo quietly and no mist follows your words. Your voice trembles, both hesitant and hoarse. He feels like the moonlight you crave, and you’re desperate for him to speak again.

“Is it... truly you?”

You stay silent, not because you’re incapable of answering, but because the question itself eludes you. Your thoughts are growing sharper and clearer, but you find no answer within you. Only the softly rustling trees seem to know what “you” means, and you haven’t been able to listen closely enough to grasp it yet.

“Hey?” His tone grows louder and firmer, and he takes a cautious step toward you.

“Hey,” you reply instantly. Your voice is louder this time but remains frail and faint.

The man approaches with deliberate slowness. The instincts generations your ancestors honed over centuries lie dormant within you, leaving only the faintest trace of awareness in the background of your mind. You don’t move as his hesitant fingers find your hand, trail to your shoulder, and then settle on your cheek.

“Hey,” you say once more.

His hand retreats sharply. Flecks of earth cling to his pale fingers, melting into mud speckled with fragments of old leaves. He doesn’t meet your stare, though you keep looking into his eyes. You can’t be sure about anything now, yet his eyes shine with something different—in a way that draws you in.

“But how?” He glances around again, his wand finally lowering from its aim at you. “He didn’t… no…”

He pulls you by the hand, as you walk slow enough to match your stumbling feet. He guides you to a house tucked amid scattered trees. Some of the tension in your chest eases as you realise—you’re not being taken away from the woods.

With each step further from the denser trees, something deep inside stirs sharply. You’re too new to this—to your new instincts—to decipher their meaning. This is, after all, your first day with them. You only know you long to return. The forest clings to you, and every step too far away would tear at you like a root ripped from frostbound earth.

Light and warmth fill the house. The shift in temperature makes you tremble. You want to leave, unable to fathom why the Moonlight man would bring you to such an awful place.

“When did you return?” he asks, releasing your hand. His words aren’t directed at you, but you enjoy hearing his voice all the same. “I’ve been searching for you, but...”

The fire near the wall, encased in stone, is the most dreadful thing in the room. Slightly less so is the other figure—a man standing before the flames. When he turns, the firelight catches his messy brown locks, making you think of smouldering wood.

The Firelight man moves swiftly, closing the distance until he’s right before you. His hands clasp your shoulders tightly, his eyes scanning your face frantically. Freckles scatter across his face, and as he stands away from the dreadful fire, you can’t help but wonder—would this freckled skin feel cool beneath your touch or hot like embers?

“I’d stopped believing it was possible...” he mutters, his wide eyes finally locking with yours and freezing there.

He wraps his arms around you, pressing you against him. His clothes are damp and chilled, with only a few spots where the fire’s heat has left a trace of warmth. He talks a lot, but none of it makes sense to you. He keeps asking some questions you could never answer. His clothes’ scent—of moisture and woods—fills your lungs, soothing in its familiarity. The urge to retreat back into the forest grips you once more.

“Maybe I… can get the bath ready for you,” he says, resigned to your silence, pulling a twig and a few leaves from your hair. “Or let’s just—”

The Firelight man immerses your hands in a water basin and carefully cleans them. The dirt gives way to fine scars—patterns carved into your skin, trailing from your wrists up into your sleeves. These scars, fresh and tender, awaken an inexplicable attachment in you, and for the first time in this new, raw existence, you feel joy.

The Firelight man’s hands are wrapped in bandages, and where they meet the water, faint dark spots seep through. He dips a towel into the basin and carefully wipes your face. You don’t object. You don’t know what else to do, so you simply stand there, feeling the cold water against your skin. The Moonlight man slips something over your shoulders from behind. The softness is nice, but the warmth is less so. You barely notice it’s a wool blanket before he steps away.

You crave moonlight—if not his presence, then the faintest touch of its radiance from the sky. You glance toward the window, but it reveals only shadowy blackness. A hand wrapped in frayed bandages carefully shifts your face back.

The water loosens one of the wrappings on his hand, exposing already familiar patterns carved into his skin, echoing your own scars.

The icy touch of the water on your face stirs a longing to return to the forest, to its pure and unyielding cold. But you still don’t know what you’re searching for or what truly matters, so you simply remain where you are. The Firelight man’s tousled hair glints in the firelight, its colour like deep mahogany, and you can’t tear your eyes away.

“You can hear me, right?” he asks, and your gaze shifts back to his eyes—brown flecked with green, like fallen leaves scattered on the woodland ground. “Want some water?”

Your eyes settle on the glass in his hand, but you feel nothing for the water within—no more than for the moisture still clinging to your skin.

“Or the tea, you must be so cold.”

“Sebastian, stop—just shut up for a moment,” says the Moonlight man, massaging his temples as he paces the room. “What is going on? Please, what have you done?”

“The thing you’ve desired above all else yourself,” the Firelight man retorts, the glass hitting the table with a resounding thud as he turns away.

“Tell me you didn’t go through with that ritual. It’s forbidden; they warned us—explicitly.”

“I never promised you anything regarding this, Ominis.”

“Do you even understand what you’re talking about?”

They keep arguing, their voices climbing in volume and speed. They’re unbearably loud, and it feels so wrong here. You look out the window, drawn closer to it—to the serenity of the night. Beyond the glass lies peace itself—the dense weave of branches, the cushion of moss on the ground and trunks, the gnarled roots snaking through the forest floor. You can see it all so clearly and it mesmerises you.

The clamour behind you doesn’t stop; it feels wrong and chaotic, but truly—means nothing. Their voices fade into the background as you stare at your hands again, now spotless except for the delicate beautiful patterns carved into your skin.

The narrow crescent moon emerges from behind the weighty clouds, and your gaze is drawn upward immediately. For the first time, you can inhale fully, as though the moonlight’s pale, ghostly light exists purely to let you breathe.

The scents around you grow vivid. Wooden floorboards, some damp and others dry and warm. Pungent and earthy, herbs waft from a table nearby, mixed with the burlap’s rough aroma. A dusty sofa carries the weight of years, while the blanket on your shoulders smells of wool and spices... and then you smell blood.

You tear your gaze from the crescent moon, drawn to find the scent's origin. The frayed bandage on the Firelight man’s hand is seeping with warm blood. You’ve never seen fresh blood spilling from human skin before in your life, but instantly, it’s all you desire to see. This is what you were meant to find. Your hands ache to reach out and feel it.

You swallow at the idea of tasting it with your lips.

Without even looking, you sense the moonlight’s gentle touch where it slips past the clouds to grace your skin. It soothes and strengthens you. But it could do so much more outside, beyond these walls. The forest waits for you, as much as you long for it—along with the presence that you know now lingers deep in the darkness.

Your growing instincts warn you that arriving alone would not be accepted. You don’t rush. You stand still, inhaling deeply. The scent of blood dominates the house now—it’s all you can perceive.

The dispute continues in the voices lower but still tense. The Moonlight man’s cheek glimmers faintly with the tear. The Firelight man lifts his eyes to you, his words ceasing, plunging the room into silence.

Everything finally makes sense—you’ll be genuinely embraced there tonight if you don’t return alone. They must come with you.

And you will stop at nothing to ensure it.

[grave-farewell]

not to be stardewposting again but

Elliott can't fucking say this shit when I'm dressed like THIS

What made him see me leave the house and kiss him looking like THIS

WITH THE JINGLING BOOTS. and decided "Yes, his courting plumage is immaculate. I must bed him immediately."

[saintwyrm]

i played oneshot (just finished solstice today) here is some art. expect more soon maybe

[follineo]

New year new photo with my papercraft collection!!!

There aren't many because I'm very slow in gluing, I just finished Apple Lisa 1 just before the new year (I did it half an hour before midnight maybe) and she just became the tenth one in the collection, but I'm still happy with this!

I will have to remove everything else from the top shelf of the table for the next figure, but I can't get my hands on it, but I will do it and it will be completely for my figures!!!... Well, for small figures, I plan to glue bigger ones in the future, but with my speed it won't be soon eheh

At some point I switched from ordinary paper to thicker paper, because of which you can see the white middle of the paper on some figures on the fold lines, and then I realised how I can cut the figures from the INNER side, I only realised this on the fourth figure when I was gluing Javier hehehe oops

Here we have:

Yes man, Po3, Edgar x2, AM, Hal9000 and Hal9000 on the wall by @holymaccaronii

Artur Morgan, Javier Escuella and John Marston by @snuize

Niko by @kedama-craft (I make them bc my friend played OneShot and I remembered about him everytime when I see this figure. It is weird? Yes I know but I don't care)

Apple Lisa 1 by Rocky Bergen (planning make every papercrafts from here!)

Thanks for attention! And sorry for pings creators... You have very cool papercrafts!

[struniolos]

wish you were sober! pt. 1

“kinda hope you're followin' me out, but this is definitely not my crowd.”

chris sturniolo x fem! reader.

synopsis: when reader is overwhelmed at a party & finds herself in unlikely company. (no fame au.)

warnings: none!

“i’m just going to do another shot!” one of your friends yells in your ear, trying to overpower the music thudding in the background. two other join her, linked arms, as they make their way to the kitchen. you wonder who’s house this even is, as you hadn’t been invited directly, only dragged along as a plus one.

you are now left with two of your friends, who both look at you with raised brows. the thick summer air only gets worse as you feel like you’re being closed in on.

“aren’t you going to do shots? you’ve barely drank anything tonight.” one asks, tilting her head.

“i really don’t feel great.” you confess, your face screwing up in bitterness. your stomach ached, as well as what felt like your brain thrashing around in your skull, clawing at the inside.

“maybe try making yourself vomit? sometimes that helps.” the other suggests, trying her best to be accomodating in her drunken state, while clutching onto your arm for stability. it wasn’t a terrible idea, as you did feel like you were going to throw your guts up at any given moment. but also, it was a good excuse to disappear into the bathroom for a few minuets undisturbed.

“i might try that, thanks.” you force a smile, before quickly slithering out of their grip, and making a bee-line for the stairs which in that moment seemed like the stairs leading to heaven. peace and quiet.

you jog up the stairs, while trying to hold down your skirt so you don’t unintentionally flash your ex-classmates. the hot air seemed to be worse upstairs, and you knew it all too well from living in a two storey home your entire life. heat rises. why on earth did your foggy brain think it would be cooler up here?

you manage to find the bathroom, sighing in relief when you found it empty. you closed the door hurriedly behind you, and make your way to the sink. you run the cold water under your hands, splashing it on your flushed face. your mascara had started to smudge under your eyes from the heat, and your lipgloss had completely melted off. real classy. as you begin to wipe your fingers under your eyes, a knock on the door startles you.

“yeah?” you call, not hiding your frustration.

“can i come in?” the voice asks.

you sigh, throwing your head back. so much for peace and quiet. you throw open the door, shocked at who you find behind it. chris sturniolo. you knew him and his brothers didn’t go to parties, not even in high school. you wonder who or what dragged them to this one. he was a year older than you, but you were well aware of who he was. the star player on the lacrosse team.

“you mind if i chill in here for a bit?” he asks nonchalantly.

you’re now confronted with the option of being a douchebag and saying no, or saying yes and then trying to weasel your way out. you scan his face, the bags under his eyes, the muss of his hair from the heat. he looked exhausted, you imagine that’s how you looked, too.

“yeah, sure.” you shrug, opening the door wider for him to come in.

he immediately makes himself at home, hoisting himself to sit up on the bench beside the sink. you take in what he’s wearing, a black singlet and cargo shorts with ugg boots. definitely a choice.

“did i walk in on something or…like you weren’t crying or anything?” he asks, widening his eyes at you and freezing in place.

“oh! no, no not at all.” you smile awkwardly, shuffling on your feet.

“right, you just uh, look…” he trails off, waving his finger at you.

“terrible?” you answer with a defeated laugh.

he laughs. “yeah.”

you find yourself smiling a little, too. “i feel terrible.”

“me fucking too.” he sighs, leaning his head back onto the mirror and kicking his uggs off. you envied his confidence.

“so, what brings you to the bathroom chris sturniolo?” you ask as you put the toilet seat down to give yourself a surface to sit on.

he gives you a funny look, pouting his lip and raising an eyebrow. “how do you know who i am?”

“you were only the star lacrosse player of southeast high!” you taunt, holding a hand to your heart and mocking the many fan girls he had at his beck and call.

he tsks and rolls his eyes, “nah, matt was always miles better than me.”

“he was.” you lie, a smirk creeping up on your lips.

chris chuckles, shaking his head. “anyway, to answer your question, i’m trying to escape my very drunk and gross friends, one of them vomited on my shoe, look!”

he points to his discarded ugg boot, which you now see has a splatter of dark liquid on it, and you find yourself feeling sick. “fuck that’s gross.”

“i know right! but i’ve had enough anyway, i want to go home but matt’s driving and he’s not ready to go yet, neither is nick. at least they’re having fun.”

“and you don’t drink?” you ask, crossing your legs criss cross applesauce style.

“nah, me and my brothers are sober. just don’t really see the point in drinking. got nothing against it, just not my thing.”

“you know, don’t take this the wrong way but, i honestly pictured you as the frat boy type.”

“ha, i’m far from it.” he laughs, “but that’s what all the lacrosse boys were like. it was painful having to put up with it.”

“i can imagine.” you tell him.

there’s a lick of silence, and the bathroom was beginning to get stuffy- despite the window being open and letting a small breath of air through every now and then. you see chris wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, puffing out a breath. “it’s so fucking hot i think i’m going to die.”

you found yourself in a daze, looking at him now, really looking at him. he was cute as hell, how had you never noticed? the way his hair hung just over his forehead, how his arms were softly toned…

“hey, i never got your name. that was rude of me.” he says, turning to you.

you tell him, and he nods his head. “you look like that’s your name.”

“what?”

“you know how some people look like their names? i feel like i don’t look like a chris.” he elaborated, waving his hands around to emphasise his point.

“yeah, maybe a chad.” you chuckle.

“if i was a chad, i’d have already kissed you.” chris tells you, not looking at you, more like he was talking to himself. speaking into the abyss.

you widen your eyes, “what?”

chris kicks his feet back and forth, hitting the cabinets below. “nothing.”

there’s a pause, the only sound you could hear was your breathing, surrounding you, suffocating. you decide to be bold. i mean, what was there to loose, anyway? you couldn’t just sulk alone all night.

“i mean, i wouldnt say no.” you confess, avoiding eye contact, looking down at his vomit splayed ugg boot, discarded on the tiles. although, you could feel his eyes on you.

“to what?” he says, more confidently.

“if…” you begin, now looking up at him and loosing your train of thought.

“i kissed you?”

you freeze, blinking a few times to check you weren’t hallucinating and that your drink hadn’t been spiked. after a few breaths, you realised he wasn’t going anywhere, and that he was right there. only a few steps away. yet you couldn’t find your feet, we’re you supposed to make the first move?

before you could continue the battle in your brain, chris had slid back down to his feet, his hands bracing on the bench behind him, arms flexed. he tilted his head at you, almost like a puppy, waiting. he was waiting for you.

you stand up, and slowly, ever so slowly, make your way towards him. you bite your lip, your breath quickening and heart thumping in your chest like it would pounce onto him if it could. how had your night turned so quickly? weren’t you downstairs wishing you were anywhere else only 20 minuets ago?

chris reached his hand out to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, licking his lips. “you’re so pretty.”

you blush hard, looking down at your feet. “even with my smudged mascara?”

“yeah.” he chuckles, reaching for your hand to pull you closer to him.

you were now face to face, your eyes in line with his lips. you felt like your heart was about to fall out of your ass, with the way he was looking at you. not greedy, not like other boys did- if they did. it was sweet, like he was really looking at you, his mellow blue eyes scanning your face and landing on your lips.

he slid a hand behind your ear, leaning into you. you leaned in, too, unsure of what you were supposed to do. you had only ever kissed one boy, and it was in eighth grade as a dare during a game of spin the bottle. this time was different. it wasn’t a game, and nobody was watching.

chris kissed you gently, only testing the waters. it was only chaste, but you felt yourself ascend into another dimension. his lips were soft, and he was so warm. you feel something deep your belly, swirling around. your cheeks begin to flush a little more than they already were, your headache now a distant memory. he pulled away as soon as it happened, as if he had been snapped back into reality.

“sorry, i don’t um…usually do this. i feel like such a douche.”

“you’re far from a douche.” you reassure him, placing a hand on his forearm.

his hand that rested behind your ear was now playing with a coil of your hair. “i mean you were just so pretty, and i didn’t know how to-“

suddenly, you feel yourself swarmed with pride, beginning to smile. “chris! did you follow me up here?”

“um, no?” he says, as his eyes dart around the room comedically as a toothy grin adorns his face.

“you don’t seem so sure.” you tease.

he laughs, shrugging. “what can i say, it worked.”

you find yourself overcome with a feeling you didn’t recognise, something between overjoyed and astounded. you quickly press your lips into his, a little more assured this time. he kisses you back just as eagerly, pulling your waist close to his, breathing hot air into your lungs. you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands, so you snaked your hand into his soft, full hair. he groaned into your mouth, and you felt your stomach do flips.

this was definitely not how you expected your night to go.

part two.

[doodlyreone]

Episode: Ayo, the new guy looks like a sausage

(Also Also check bottom of tagssss)

Untexted images under cut:

[morphestic]

i love rare pairs

[couch-house]

and while I'm back on the computer, I can finally make my end of year summary! yay!

I struggled to draw much for the first half of the year, but I eventually was able to make some preddy good comic pages at least :)

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

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

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

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

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

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

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

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

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

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

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

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

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

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what you both really wanted.

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

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

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

…Right. Luxury.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…You must be more tired than you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. "I am being serious."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “…Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mochiiniko]

day 4: old cocole art dump because its about time i posted these 💀

essay in the tags youve been warned lmao

[ficswjackson]

‘forever and a day’ | s.s & gn!reader.

a/n: this is my first proper piece of writing for like 12 years & im trying to get back into it. but i am aware it’s kind of all over the place & there’s not really a point to this, but we all start somewhere right? i am also aware i am in a predominantly marauders fandom, so if you see this & don’t want to read it - please just skip past it ! ‼️💓

pairing & tagline - professor severus snape & gn!herbology professor. it is talking about their future and also about their early relationship together. it is kind of all over the place, but i quite like it.

608 words - fluff & early relationship stuff. tried to keep it as gender neutral as i could.

‘you know what i am excited for?’ Severus murmured lightly, brushing his fingers lightly across your cheek as you both laid on the grass by the black lake, watching the sunset together.

‘this may be juvenile to admit, but i am so very grateful and fortunate that i get to spend the rest of my life with you’ he murmured slowly and quietly, making sure that only you were able to hear. ‘i really could not think of anything better than being able to spend the rest of my life with you, even if we end up living the most mundane life ever, it would never be boring as i would have you’.

Severus would tilt your head up, as he finished talking just watching you. his eyes would scan over your face taking in all the small details, which other people might not have noticed such as the light freckles which scatter over your nose, or the way that your lashes curl upwards, the fact that your eyes have small dark blue specs in them. he notices all of you, and he treasures it.

Until he met you, he never thought that he would love anyone after lilly. but you changed that, you with your quiet attitude & your ability to hide in the background, slowly started to pique his interest. he would start to pay more interest in you, watching you as you lived your life in the castle, teaching your classes and interacting with your students.

He would find anyway to be able to talk with you, providing you with potion ingredients for your practical herbology lessons or just being there if you needed to ask questions to anyone. over time, unbeknownst to him, he would slowly be falling for you and the simple kindness that you displayed to him, which he did not expect.

He would hide his feelings from you, never even hinting that he felt any romance towards you, as he did not want to risk the chance of loosing you as a friend. He would not make the first move, but he would instead leave you to do it and even after you admitted it, he would be skeptical around you at first, in case it was a practical joke.

But as time passed, Severus would realise that the feelings were reciprocated & it would encourage him to let his guard down around you. Early relationship with Severus would be very tumultuous and slow, but you would both make the most of spending any time that you could together. You both necessarily keep it a secret, but instead you would just get to know each other quietly, until it naturally came out, as you both were relatively quiet yourselves.

As you two got more serious, talks about the future started to happen more often leading to discussions about marriage or even having a family together. Severus confided in his worries about being a father, due to his abusive upbringing and you would do anything to ensure him that he would be an excellent father. The life that you two started thinking about, would be beautiful, pure and quiet. It is safe to say that you were both excited about that as well.

‘i am so very excited to spend the rest of my life with you too, Severus.’ You would answer back, looking over at him, as he stroked your cheek while talking to you. ‘Anything we do, will be something to look forward too. I cannot wait, I am so fortunate to have you’. You would then shift to lie against him slightly. ‘I will love you always, forever and a day’.

[karpowskaja]

Lamb & Peas

The sun had set behind the battlements and the air grew cold, her breath coming out in small puffs as the Inquisitor walked hand in hand with Cullen across the courtyard. "I'm really not in the mood..." he began again, but her blue eyes met his, uncompromising.

"Just give it a try, and then you can go back to your desk." Her voice was light, almost teasing, and he could hear the smile behind it. "You don’t have a birthday every day, Vhenan!" He shot her a warning look for speaking too loudly, but she ignored it, just as she had ignored his plea to do nothing out of the ordinary today.

She dragged him towards the tavern, and he tensed visibly, like a horse straining at the reins, but she was relentless, her smaller frame pulling him along with surprising strength. As they approached the open door, where voices and the sound of a lute poured out into the cold night, he felt a surge of unease, his mouth already open to tell her once again that he was in no mood to celebrate his birthday, not with the mission ahead. But then, to his surprise, she walked past the open door. He glanced at her in confusion, his defiance giving way to curiosity as she led him past the noise to a smaller door that led into the garden and the small chantry.

"Close your eyes," she ordered quietly. He sighed but obeyed, knowing he could never deny her anything - a fact she knew well and used to her advantage. She opened the door and led him through, her hand warm in his, the gravel crunching under their boots. He noticed the silence around them - the fact that there was only the sound of her footsteps and the rustling of the trees.

"You can look now." Her voice rang out, no longer so excited, softer. His grip around her hand tightened, his heart pounding, fearing the kind of surprise he loathed. But when he opened his eyes, he found something quite different.

The garden was empty, the gravel paths and corridors around it deserted. Even the door to the sanctuary was closed and there was no Sister or Mother in sight. The usually bustling garden was peaceful. He assumed she'd used her title to clear the garden just for them.

In the pavilion to his right, usually occupied by Morrigan, stood a table and two chairs, a single candle flickering, illuminating plates and glasses.

He blinked twice before turning to face her.

She smiled at him. "You said you didn't want a big party. So it's just you and me," she explained, her voice clearly more nervous than before, her free hand stroking a lock of hair behind one pointed ear.

For a moment he was speechless, only able to look at her. He cleared his throat, trying to hide how nervous he felt. "I didn't expect... I mean, this isn't..." He stopped, catching the light in her blue eyes, the affection there. "Thank you." What more could he say? He felt a pang of guilt, a reminder that he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her.

She rose to her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips warm and his heart quickened slightly. "Come, the food's getting cold and I know you haven't eaten properly all day."

He smiled, a reluctant pucker of his lips, admitting she was right as he followed her to the pavilion, not letting go of her hand.

They sat down facing each other. She lifted the lid and steam rose, filling the air between them with the rich scent of spices, vegetables and meat. The smell was surprisingly familiar, not like the stew they usually ate. Something in the scent tugged at his heart.

He looked at her delicate hands, steady as they served the stew and filled the glasses. There was something reassuring about the way she moved, a quiet confidence that made him feel... at ease. Cullen realized he was grateful, not just for the food, but for her insistence on taking him away from his work, if only for dinner. They barely had time for each other these days, caught between their duties and preparing for what was to come. Perhaps his birthday gave them at least a little more of an excuse than anything else.

She raised her own glass and made a gentle toast, and he hated and loved it in equal measure, the way she smiled and said sweet things about how happy she was to be with him. That she hoped they could be somewhere else next year, words spoken with the knowledge that logically it would not be so, but she hoped anyway. She was always like that.

He could feel her eyes on him after they had clinked glasses, clearly waiting for him to taste the food, waiting for his reaction. He looked down at the plate in front of him. A typical Ferelden stew - lamb and peas. The simplicity of it, the familiarity, struck him, and he felt a pang of guilt for assuming that she, of all people, would drag him into a party he clearly didn't want. Instead, here they were, in the quiet of the abandoned Skyhold garden, just the two of them, with a meal from his country, simple and unassuming.

He took the first bite and felt the familiar tug at the back of his mind. This dish was often on the menu here in Skyhold - warm, hearty, easy to make in large quantities - but this... this was different. It tasted of warm hands and soft kisses on his head, the spices evoking memories of an old wooden table in the small hut where he had grown up. He could almost see his mother's smile, feel her fingers brush against his as she slipped him an extra portion before he left them to begin his Templar training. The last day he had seen his parents, or his family for that matter.

He swallowed, the taste bringing back the bittersweet image of his last day in Honnleath. His fingers tightened around the spoon, caught in the vortex of memory.

He blinked and looked back at the woman across from him.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" she asked, her voice uncertain, her eyebrows knitted together, making the black lines of her Vallaslin curve. He blinked, her words sinking in, and suddenly he realized - this wasn't just any stew from the Skyhold kitchens. She had made it herself.

A wave of warmth spread through him at the thought. How had she found the time, with all the burdens she carried day and night? His chest tightened with affection, the corners of his mouth lifting into a softer smile.

"Maker, no!" he finally replied, realizing she thought he didn't like it, his hand reaching across the table to take hers, feeling the contrast of her soft skin against his rough calluses as he brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "It tastes of Honnleath... of my childhood," he continued, his voice thick with nostalgia and gratitude.

She exhaled, her shoulders visibly relaxing, and a small, relieved smile broke across her face.

"I'm so glad," she said quietly. Then, almost as if she needed to explain, she added, "I wrote to Mia." She looked down and finally started to eat. "I asked her what your favorite food was and if she knew the recipe... She was really helpful." She took another spoonful of stew. "I wanted to make something that would remind you of home," she added, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at her plate.

Cullen was silent for a moment, the realization that she had even bothered to write to his sister sinking in. He almost couldn't believe it - she had gone out of her way to make him feel at home. She always told him she cared, always showed it in countless little ways. But sometimes it still felt like a dream, like something he shouldn't have after all he'd done. Something he didn't deserve - didn't deserve her, or the chance to be so happy. Not when the world around them was about to collapse.

"I know that look..." Her voice cut through his thoughts, soft but edged with the sharpness that told him she had guessed what he was thinking - again. She was far too good at it, but it helped bring him back to the situation, back to the moment. His hazel eyes met hers, her blue gaze steady, searching. She reached out, her hand closing over his, her grip strong, her fingers threading through his. "You're starting to think again..." she added gently, her eyes filled with compassion.

"I can't deny it..." he admitted, shaking his head slightly, fighting the urge to apologize. He paused, searching her face, then finally added, his voice soft, "Thank you... for this. For everything."

She simply squeezed his hand again, her touch comforting and reassuring, not pushing him to say more. They continued to eat in comfortable silence, the candle flickering softly between them, and after a while she told him how she'd spent her afternoon in the kitchens, how the staff had been confused and how she'd had to order them to stop whispering, knowing full well it wouldn't work. He told her about those last days in Honnleath so many years ago, and about his parents, talking about them more than ever for the first time. He realized how much he wished he could introduce this woman to them, to show them that despite everything, he had found something good in his life…

[dagaan]

Inkubus

[fatherramiro]

if i wrote a oneshot today and posted it, i'd be able to say i wrote 20 1899 fics in two years

[lemonywings]

the brainworms™ as bee and puppycat. also happy new years :D

also short thingy. ive been working on a grimpulse fanfic off/on with my partner helping with beta reading. and despite taking me ages, (i had a plot layout and was ready to write but then realised the plot was just absolutely nothingburger fr. so i scrapped it and made something new and better im happy with-) ,im gonna be ready to post it soon i hope :3. im about halfway through writing chapter 1 and actually having so much fun. if your interested in that i should post a link to it within the week hopefully. aight thats all bye!

[wikiangela]

WIP tag game

tagged by @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @tizniz @shortsighted-owl @bucks-daddy-issues @aroeddiediaz

RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

god i have so many wips (most of which are on hold rn) and i keep adding more lmao - gonna list just the ones I wanna prioritize (I also have sooo many ideas but I'm tryin not to start them before i finish one of the bucktommy wips lol)

the alive shannon ifc

cheating fic

buddie death cast

bachelorette party

bucktommy smut (aka smutty sequel to 'i wanna breathe you in')

bucktommy barbecue

post 7-10 (bucktommy)

bucktommy leg pain

buck slowly moving in with tommy

there's a few more wips tbh, but they're on hold, and sooo many ideas I'd love to talk about but I'm trying not to start new wips lol

no pressure tags: @bidisasterevankinard @hoodie-buck @daffi-990 @loveyouanyway @theotherbuckley

@watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @your-catfish-friend

@jesuisici33 @kinard-buckley @evansboyfriend @bucked-it-up @eddiebabygirldiaz