#nearly lost things carefully tended

[thusspoketrish]

Yo, there's way too many. there's so many stories, short and long, that have deeply touched me. Every day I read something new that literally takes my breath away. I'm so grateful for this fandom.

fuck it everyone tell me about one fanfic which has changed your brain chemistry

[kaiijo]

SUPER-GLUED JAR PRANK — [WIND BREAKER]

characters: sakura haruka, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma, togame jo content: gn! reader, a (very old) tiktok prank notes: they’re so silly, i love them

sakura haruka ✶

in hindsight, you should have known giving sakura the super-glued jar might not have been your best idea but his bright pink face paired with an inevitable tirade were too good to pass up. you can’t take all the credit for it — kotoha played a role too, supplying you with a nearly-empty jar of sprinkles and some acting. 

your boyfriend is sitting with nirei and suo when you emerge from cafe potus’s pantry with the jar. she feigns disappointment when she asks, “any luck?”

“no,” you say, shaking the jar in your hand for effect.

“it’s such a waste to just let all that stuff sit at the bottom.”

you turn to sakura and asks, “can you try opening it, sweetheart?”

sakura’s face flushes at the pet name, which makes his friends giggle, and he takes the jar from you. with each attempt his make, sakura scowls more and more, huffing as he sets it down. nirei suggests that he tap the lid against the edge of the table but sakura uses just a bit too much force and the glass breaks. you gasp and the trio at the table jumps back with fast reflexes. 

kotoha’s already running to grab a broom and dustpan and you’re reaching down to pick up the big pieces. sakura’s hand closes around your wrist before you can and he says, “are you crazy? you could hurt yourself, let me do it.” 

“no one touch it,” kotoha orders as she sweeps the shards up. nirei is apologizing profusely and sakura mutters an apology, complaining about how he almost had it and how they shouldn’t make jars that sealed that tight. when you come clean to him about gluing the lid, he’s huffing and puffing at you, and you make it up to him with a lot of food and a lot of kisses and cuddles in private. 

umemiya hajime ✶

you find umemiya on the roof of furin high, tending to his garden. your heart swells as you hear him coo at his plants, carefully and lovingly watering them. you almost feel bad about this little prank. almost, but you remember the prank he pulled last week with that fake rubber bug in your lunch so you don’t feel too bad.

you thank every star in the sky that sugishita’s not here at the moment because you’re pretty sure this prank would be the last thing you’d get to do if he was. “hajime?” you call to him.

 his head immediately swerves to look at you and his smile is as bright as ever as he set down the water can and makes his way over. he presses a loud, messy kiss against your cheek, and you don’t even have to ask umemiya; he notices the jar in your hand and says, “i can help you open that!”

“thanks,” you say and he takes the jar from you. 

he’s beaming when he replies with a breezy “no problem, baby!” and firmly grips the lid, giving it a firm twist. his smile dims a little and he tries again with no luck. umemiya squares his feet and gives it another go, and you can’t deny that seeing his arms bulge with exertion against the sleeves of his white t-shirt is in any way unpleasant.

he slides on his gardening gloves and tries again. the lid doesn’t budge and umemiya is pouting at the jar and mumbling, “i’ll be right back.” he disappears into the school for about twenty minutes. he comes back with a look of defeat, shoulders slumping. “i can’t help you,” he says. “i’m really sorry.”

oh my god, you feel your stomach twist in sympathy and you answer, “i know. i’m really sorry, haji, it’s because i super-glued the lid.”

he blinks once, twice, and then his smile is back on his face. he wipes some sweat off his brow and sighs in relief, “phew! i thought i’d totally lost my strength there for second!” you can’t help but stare at him as he grins, outshining the sun. what did you do to deserve this angel?

hiragi toma ✶

you walk into your living room, where hiragi is setting up a movie for the two of you to watch. “any movie in mind?” he asks as he leans back in the couch, remote in hand. 

“howl’s moving castle?” 

“again? we watched that last weekend too.”

you grin at him. “it’s not my fault howl’s so cute.”

your boyfriend rolls his eyes, grumbling, “he’s not that cute. and he’s not real.” before you can argue, hiragi motions at the jar in your hand. 

“can you help me open it?” you ask him, holding it out to him. 

he eyes it suspiciously. “you hate pickles.”

“i want to try them again.”

“but why buy an entire jar if you want to just—”

“can you please just open it? help me start this new journey in my life?” he still looks confused but, ever the dutiful boyfriend, takes it from your hand. 

one attempt. two, then three. by the fourth, you feel a giggle threatening to burst forth but the familiar sound of the air pressure releasing has your jaw dropping. hiragi doesn’t take the lid off entirely, letting it sit on top as he hands it back to you. he takes in your awed expression with a frown. “is everything okay?” he’s already reaching for his stomach tablets. 

“i super-glued this,” you say, still a little starstruck. “like, with a lot of glue. you weren’t supposed to be able to open it.” 

you show him the lid and as he swallows down the pill. he sighs, “you’re going to be the death of me.” 

togame jo ✶

“these looks so good!” tomiyama says, marveling at the spread of sandwiches and snacks you had brought to the park. he had been the one to propose a shishitoren picnic, though togame was the one who had pared it down to just a couple of people to make it more manageable. 

“thanks! help yourselves!” you reply, watching on with a small smile as the boys dug into the food you had prepared. you lean against togame, who rests his chin on your shoulder. 

he leans forward for a sandwich, handing you one as well. it’s your favorite variety of the ones you made and you’re thrilled that your boyfriend remembered that. as you take a bite, you figure this the perfect time to execute your plan. you reach into your own bag, pulling out a nearly-finished jar of chili oil. you nudge togame. “you think you can help me open this? i tried all morning.”

“sure,” he says, gently lifting it from your grasp. his arms are still around you as he makes his first attempt and you feel the quick breath he exhales as he tries again. he eventually untangles himself from you, eyebrows furrowing. “shit,” he says, “i don’t know if i can.”

tomiyama makes grabbing hands at it. “let me try!” togame hands it over to his friend and tomiyama tries a couple of times, pouting when he can’t open it either. he hands it over to sako, who glowers when he fails too. the jar gets passed between the shishitoren members present and each one is unsuccessful. the last guy hands it back to you and togame sighs, “sorry we couldn’t help, baby.”

as everyone else apologizes to, you feel a little bashful as you admit to gluing it. you’re relieved when they take it in good stride, letting out relieved cries and playfully protest. you pull out another jar of the same chili oil, this one totally super-glue-free and give it to those who want it as a peace offering.  as the group settles into a nice rhythm, you lean back against togame and his head finds its place in the crook of your neck again.

[alicewritez]

Heart to Heart - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1202

summary: you disobey a direct order from hotch and now you’re injured

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: implied age gap but nothing too descriptive or explicit. again, i’m only just getting back into writing so bare with me while i get into the swing of things again. hope you enjoy regardless 💕

You disrespected a direct order and got hurt on a case. After he found out you were going to be fine, he went straight to the silent treatment. No words, no glances exchanged on the ride to the hospital, nor on the jet, nor even on the ride back home.

Now, he's sat busy rewrapping your bandages, still maintaining the silence. You watch his hands carefully tend to your wounds before you decide to finally speak up and break the silence which, right now, felt even worse than him shouting.

"Say something at least," she pauses. "Shout at me.. storm out, I don't care just.. anything other than silence."

He finished rewrapping your bandages and looked up at you. "Don't be an idiot again."

"Is that it? Is that all you have to say?" You respond, expecting him to say more, but nothing came.

He sighs. "It's a miracle that you're sitting here talking to me after all, you know that?"

"A miracle?" You scoff. "Hotch, I had it under control, besides it's just a few scratches." You argue your point.

He raises a brow and looks at you incredulously. "A few scratches? Remind me again how many stitches you got?"

"It's not even that bad!" You argue again. "It's a few stitches, so what?"

"So what?! A few stitches? Have you lost your damn mind?! Is that all that’s left up there? You could have been killed, can’t you see that?”

“I was doing my job!” You raise your voice to match his own.

He raised his further, trying to prove his own point. “Your job is to obey when I say ‘pull back’!”

“If I had listened to you, those poor young women would have been murdered.” You state coldly to him, trying to get him to understand where you were coming from. “I was doing my job and yes I got injured but I’m fine.. and they’re safe.”

He sighs. “And you nearly joined them at the morgue.”

“What is it with you? What’s this all really about?!” You emphasise the second part of the sentence. You had never seen him get so wound up over something like this before. Usually it was a stern telling off and he’d let you go, but not today.

“It’s about you! Don’t you get it? I can’t afford to lose you.” And there it was. The whole reason he’d got so upset in the first place, it wasn’t just because you were one of his best profilers; there was something much deeper.

“Hotch..” you spoke gently, features softening. He sat back down and looked over at you. He was quiet for a minute before speaking up again.

“Do you think it’s easy for me to see you all beaten up?”

“I-I didn’t know you felt like that.” You stuttered out, choking back a sob. Your gaze was locked onto your hands in your lap, fiddling with a ring on your finger.

He stared at you for a moment before sighing softly. “I do. And I’m terrified. I don’t know what I’d do without you..” He held his arms out for a hug and waited for you to scoot closer to him, which didn’t take much prompting because no sooner had he opened his arms, you’d lunged right into them, burying your face into his chest.

He pulled you close and held you tight, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Thank goodness you’re alright, sweetheart. You have no idea how scared I was.”

You sigh, pulling away a little to look up at him but not wanting to let go completely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.. I just wanted to save them.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t want to see you in any danger, that’s all.” He pulled you back to him, this time placing a soft kiss to your lips. When you pull away, you look up at him.

“I guess we’re not just ‘boss’ and ‘employee’ anymore..” This makes him chuckle, a smile forming on his lips, the first genuine smile you’d seen all night.

“Nope, we sure aren’t. I guess you’re not just ‘renegade agent who doesn’t listen and likes to make Hotch worry’ anymore either..” he smirks.

You give him a bemused look. “I’ve liked you for a long time, and the for the last time.. I was doing my job. You know you would have done the same thing if the roles had been reversed.”

He raises a brow at your statement but he couldn’t argue, knowing what you said had truth behind it. “I can’t say that you’re wrong. But I still don’t want you taking risks like that.”

“You nod your head slowly, knowing he was right. “It won’t happen again.”

“I know. Just think about my heart next time.” He sighed and brushed some hair out of your face. “That poor thing can only take so much.”

“I forgot you were old.” You pout playfully. “Well, not old but.. well- you’re older than me.” You start to ramble then stop. “I’ll just shut up.”

He smiled and chuckles softly. “Don’t you dare shut up.” He looks down at you, bringing a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your eyes and tucking them behind your ear. “I love it when you ramble on and on about random stuff. That’s one of the things I love about you.. that and your beautiful smile. And your pretty eyes. And your amazing personality.. and your..”

“Yeah okay, okay, I get it.” You bury your face into his side, feeling your face heat up from embarrassment. He chuckles again and gently runs his fingers through your hair. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are.” He pauses for a few seconds, looking you in the eyes. “Even with a few bruises and some stitches.”

You wince as he traces his fingers over some of the cuts and bruises that littered your face; he realises the mistake he’s made when he sees you wince. “Oh.. I’m sorry.” He moves his hand away quickly and looks away, hating to see you in pain.

“It’s okay.” You smile softly, taking his hand into yours and leaning further into his side. “I love you.”

His face softens at the confession. “I love you too.” He kisses you on the forehead and lets go of your hand, much to your dismay, but quickly wraps his arms around your waist instead. Pulling you back into his chest for another hug.

“I could stay like this forever.” You sigh in content, making him chuckle. “I could too.”

He kisses you on the forehead once more before pulling you even closer to him and whispering in your ear. “You know I can’t stand it when you’re all hurt, right?”

“I know.. but at least I have you.” You smile at the thought. He kisses you softly on the temple. “You always will. I’ll always be right here you know that, right?”

“I know.” You smiled as your head rested against him, eyes closed in content at the feeling of being near him.

It was in this moment you knew, Aaron’s words had never been more true.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Maybe, Possibly, One Day.

Summary: All the years that went by before Daryl realized you loved him.

Pairing: Reader!Greene x Daryl Dixon

Era: Starts at the Greene Farm, ends at the Commonwealth

Genre: survival, comfort, falling in love

Word count: roughly 2800

Warnings: TWD typical violence, character death, grief

        The first time he saw you, you were tending his wounds. His eyelids had barely parted, so little that you couldn’t tell he was awake. The gunshot barely missed him, just grazing over the side of his head. You couldn’t help but think about the scar it would leave. You felt bad for him, always searching tirelessly for that lady’s little girl and getting hurt in the process. 

        The bullet graze was oddly the least of his worries, though. The bolt that pierced through his abdomen may not have caused too much internal bleeding, but it was already nasty and oozing with pus. Your daddy made comments about going through the antibiotics so fast, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t bare to see another person die, not after so many had gone.

        Through the slivers of his nearly shut eyes, he followed you around the bed. He watched you check his bandages, clean his wounds, rewrap him carefully. He took note of your gentleness. Hershel, Patricia, Beth, Maggie — they all had careful hands. You, however, were the most gentle and tender person he’d ever been touched by. You were so afraid of hurting him, even when you thought he was out cold. He couldn’t help but admire your softness, even if it meant you might not be cut out for the world.

        He’d take notice of you after that. He never really did before, honestly. You were just one of the farmer’s daughters he’d met in passing, nothing more. After he was back on his feet, though, you’d catch his eye often. You were young. Younger than Maggie, older than Beth. He knew he couldn’t look at you that way. You know, the way that encouraged lingering gazes and any excuse to brush a finger against yours. No, he instead opted to look at you as someone to protect.

        He told himself if things went bad, if the farm went up in flames and the dead were chomping their jaws at every turn, he’d look for you. He’d make sure you made it out of there, because you deserved that. And so, he did. When the farm was burning to ash, when walkers plagued the land and took out so many of your people, he looked for you. He found you, after Carol was already on the back of his bike. 

        He would have thought you were a walker had he not recognized your frame from behind. You were dragging your feet slowly, traumatized and exhausted from the events of that night. He slowed his motorcycle beside you and called to you. “Get on.” 

        There wasn’t exactly much room, and you found yourself hugging tight around Carol to prevent you from slipping off the back. Carol had to hold Daryl tighter to avoid slipping off with you. And there he was, chauffeuring two women he’d allowed himself to care for to safety, or some semblance of such, at least. 

        That night was a blur. You lost a lot. Everything, really, except the remainder of your family and your newfound friends. 

        The winter on the road wasn’t much easier. You had all learned to operate as a team, tactical and careful. Silence became your best friend. 

        Sometimes you’d find yourself staring at people, reading them, appreciating them for who they were. Daryl wasn’t exempt from this habit. You’d always been an observer, reading people well. You could tell he was a tad softer to you and Carol than the others. Sometimes he’d make sure you got the canned food you liked if he could save it for you. Sometimes he’d just give you that knowing look and remind you that he understood, that you weren’t alone. 

        He wasn’t chatty, not even when the prison became home. Still, he made time for Carol and you sometimes. He’d bring back a little trinket for you or a flower for Carol. They were tokens of his appreciation to you both, two soft souls who reminded him he could be soft too.

        When the prison fell, when he lost Beth, he had given up hope. After the Claimers, when he found Rick again, he reasoned it couldn’t be that bad. Things could finally look up for him and his family, maybe, one day.

        Terminus seemed too good to be true, because it was. The one good thing, he was reunited with most of his family, and especially you. When he saw you in that train car, when he heard your voice, he couldn’t stop himself from embracing you. It wasn’t a long intimate hug, but it was tight and secure and you felt something when he did it. That was the beginning of something, but neither of you knew it yet.

        After Beth died, morale was at an all time low. Days blended together without food or water. You barely had the strength to keep walking. Daryl was a shell of himself after the events at Grady. You took notice but you didn’t pry. You did, however, sneak off after him once. It was one of many times he’d break away from the group and meet them back on the road. You had begun to think he had the right idea. It was exhausting carrying on with everyone in the street, trying to keep your mind set on survival instead of the image of your little sisters brains splattering all over you. 

        You followed him quietly, albeit not quiet enough to go unnoticed. You didn’t have the skill he had when it came to stepping perfectly on the crunchy leaves to not make a sound. It peeved him a little, truth be told. He went out to think of Beth, to cry, to let himself feel something finally. When he found a suitable spot to sit, he did, with no regard for your presence. You sat too, against a tree just a few feet away from him. 

        You enjoyed the silence of the forest. The sounds of nature and critters around you was second nature at that point. You didn’t even register it. You did, however, notice the two shoelaces tied around Daryl’s pants at the bottom. They were different colors, dirty and worn, and the familiarity brought a constricting feeling to your chest and throat. 

        “Are those hers?” You croaked, barely above a whisper. He glanced down at them, and looked over to you. His eyes were glossy and sad. He nodded and pressed his lips together tight, tears aching to burst through the damn of numbness he’d confined them behind. You sniffled and let out a quiet sob. The weight of your pain was too much for his hardened shell to bare. It cracked under the pressure, knowing he failed you, knowing he failed Beth, knowing she was gone and she wouldn’t have been had they not separated. It was just another tragedy to bare the burden of, just another notch on his belt. He broke. He cried. So did you. 

        You were the first to pull yourself together. When you stood and walked over to him, he looked up at you. It was a pleading, helpless look. Maybe it was forgiveness or comfort or something in between that he was begging you for. You didn’t know. But you crouched down beside him and curled up right there on the forest floor, laying your head in his lap and sharing your grief with him. It was like you gave him some of your own sadness and took a little of his in return. It was a lot to shoulder, so you’d do it together. 

        He flattened his legs as his knees were originally up toward his chest. Your head fit perfectly on his thigh. It was comfortable. You didn’t look at him. Your eyes were far away and spaced out. He watched you, though. He took in all of you. The imperfections on your soft skin, the layer of sweat that seemed to permanently coat your face and enhance your radiance. He saw the way your hair stuck down to your clammy flesh, the flush of redness from heat and sunlight. He watched your breathe and familiarized himself with the pace of your breaths. He admired you, much like he always had, but somehow it was deeper than before. 

        He found himself placing a hand on your side, and the other found the top of your head. He didn’t rub you in delicate circles or anything too affectionate. Just touching you felt like such new territory, but he was there. The weight of his still hands on your body was enough. You felt as whole as you could feel given the circumstances. 

        “C’mon.” He’d whisper after maybe fifteen minutes. “Can’t let ‘em get too far ahead.” 

        You stood and offered him a hand, which he only took to be polite. He didn’t use you to hoist himself to his feet, he used his own strength. 

        At Alexandria, when you all slept on the floor of the living room, he was the last to shut down for the night. He picked a spot close to you. Close enough to hear your breathing, but not close enough to draw attention or touch you. 

        He searched for you when the wolves attacked. He looked for you when he came back from recruiting with Aaron to let you know he was back home and safe. He’d find you when you were missing from dinner. He skipped gatherings with you. He grew fond of you in a way he hadn’t for anyone else. 

        He didn’t kiss or compliment you. Hell, it wasn’t so romantic at all, really. He’d just get that fluttery feeling when you stood close enough to touch shoulders, or when you’d both look each other in the eye and communicate silently. You always understood each other.

        Your company was peaceful and welcome. You were soft and kind, sure. But, you weren’t weak. The only thing you’d never done that others had to do was kill someone, and that time was sure to come when the situation called for it. That day would come sooner than either of you thought.

        You went out on a hunt with him once. Your duties at Alexandria were fulfilled for the day and you decided to tag along for some much needed peace that could only be found when you were alone with him in the woods.

        There weren’t many tracks to follow that day, so you spent a lot of the time just wandering with him. He normally would turn back when he realized there was little chance of finding food. This time, though, you were there, and he could tell you needed the escape, so he accompanied you in your stroll and pretended to search for signs of edible life.

          A snap in the bushes drew both your attention in the direction it came from. Daryl’s crossbow raised, your knife in hand. You suspected either a walker or an animal, never a group of rugged men dressed in rags and muck. 

        The men circled you both, outnumbering you by three more. They reeked of dirt, sweat, and blood. They eyed you with a predatory passion, the kind that a woman feared coming from a man. As hard as you fought, you and Daryl were no match for them. Daryl managed to take one out, you managed to injure another, but the other three managed to overpower you both. 

        One held you both at gunpoint while the other two went to gather some wood for a fire. Whatever they had planned for you, it wouldn’t be good. They intended on keeping you both for the night, that much was clear, but past that you were uncertain. While the other two were away, and the man you injured was wallowing in pain, the guy keeping watch over the two of you with a rifle was making sure Daryl understood just how angry he was at him for killing one of theirs. 

        You’d scream and beg him to stop but the man beat Daryl down nonetheless. Eventually Daryl stopped fighting, the pain becoming overwhelming and the fear that retaliation would result in harm coming your way creeping at the back of his mind. 

        Still, you begged, and when the man didn’t stop, you scanned your surroundings for anything of use. Your eyes landed on a gray rock with jagged edges. You glanced over at the man who was still kicking Daryl into the ground, then down at Daryl, who was watching you with a knowing look. His eyes said everything that needed to be said. He was telling you to do it. 

        Without a second thought you rushed over to the stone and ran up behind the barbarian, slamming the rock into the back of his bald head. The man stumbled and grabbed his skull, but he hadn’t gone down. You gripped the rock tightly once again and smashed him in the temple. He fell to the ground with a thud, but he was still moving, and that meant you weren’t done yet. You couldn’t be. 

         You climbed over him and straddled him, raising the rock high above your head with both hands, and brought it down on his face. You weren’t really sure if it worked. You had never killed anyone before — let alone in such a brutal fashion — so you kept going. Hoisting the heavy stone up and bringing it back down as hard as you could. By the time you stopped to catch your breath, the man’s face was smashed in, non recognizable. Blood and brain matter were speckled all over you. 

        You looked at the rock in your hands with horror and dropped it to the ground, scrambling away from the body in disgust. You were panting, hyperventilating.  When Daryl finally pushed his aching body off the ground he rushed over to you.

         His face was bloody and bruised, but you were his main focus. He dragged you to your feet and pulled you back toward home, all the while replaying the events of the day in his mind. 

        He always knew he’d kill for you. Hell, he’d die for you. But he never thought you’d do the same for him. He didn’t think you could. He didn’t believe you should have had to. He was meant to protect you, to keep your pretty skin free from the gore. He may have failed at that, but he did learn something: you’d kill for him.

        He didn’t forget that, either. Not when he helped you clean up that night, not when he relayed the events to Rick and Deanna, not when months passed and it was all in the past. He was reminded time and time again what you’d do for him. When you killed Saviors, when the war was over, when Rick died and you made sure to stay for days at a time with Daryl at his camp in the woods. 

         It took him years to realize it, but he thought maybe you could love him. He thought maybe he loved you too. He thought, no matter what, he’d always find you, and you him. 

        After the Whisperers were gone, at the Commonwealth, between caring for Judith and RJ, he’d find as much time for you as he could. And one night, at your small apartment, he’d stand outside the door, playing with his fingers and gnawing at his cheeks until he took a deep breath of courage and knocked.

        You’d open the door and smile at him the way you always did. Soft and subtle, but real. You’d step to the side and let him in. He’d follow you to the kitchen where you’d pour a drink for you both. He’d take a sip, then two, maybe three. He’d wait for the buzz to set in enough to gain some confidence in himself. Then, he’d find himself staring at you, taking you in as everything that you were. You’d ask him, “What?” With an awkward giggle. You’d wonder if you had something on your face that he couldn’t look away from. 

        He’d shake his head and shrug, unsure if he could find the words to articulate what he was thinking or feeling. He never had a way with words. 

        He couldn’t find the right thing to say, he’d realize. But he did think he knew what to do instead. 

        So, in the midst of the thick silence that consumed you both, in your dimly lit kitchen, he’d step closer to you. You’d stare up at him. He’d get close enough that you could feel his soft breaths tickle the baby hairs on your forehead. He’d reach up, slowly, unsteady, until his hands found your jaw. Then, he’d lean down, and his lips would find yours. 

Masterlist // Taglist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

Divider credits can be found on my masterlist!

[merakiui]

victorian era doctor riddle rosehearts and his darling patient suffering from hanahaki disease.

dr. rosehearts who is the finest medical practitioner in town, renowned for his expertise and intelligence in the field. so it's only fitting that, as a noble and only child hailing from a wealthy set of parents, you are given the best treatment available. riddle sees so many affluent families and so you're no different. this disease, however, is an oddity. it's very scarcely documented in old texts, and most of the information regarding it has been lost to time. supposedly, the cure to this flowery ailment remains unknown. for riddle, this is as much of a challenge as it is an inspiration. he will cure you; that's his promise as a proud doctor.

so to better monitor you and keep track of your condition, riddle suggests you be moved into his home. a temporary arrangement, of course. it's not nearly as grand as what you're used to, but it is quite spacious. it's half hospital and half home, a place in which patients come to him. for isolation purposes, if their illness is particularly dangerous, amongst other reasons. and what reason would anyone have to doubt the great dr. rosehearts?

your parents are desperate. they'll do anything if it means you'll stop coughing up petals or complaining of a throat scratched sore by persistent thorns. riddle collects samples of the petals in hopes that the town's botanist rollo flamme can identify the exact species, where it commonly grows, how to safely manage it, and so on. it's a peculiar case, one riddle has only ever spied remnants of in old notes.

you rely so heavily on dr. rosehearts, your way of life compromised. you beg him to help you, to get rid of whatever's causing this. it takes time, but rollo identifies the flower. it's a curious finding. such a flower is not native to this part of the country. in fact, there should be no reason for it to be here, for it cannot thrive in this type of environment. riddle is left puzzled. just how did such a flower find its way into your system? what is sustaining it? is it sapping your life away? so many questions arise, yet none can be answered in full.

most importantly, what does the timeline look like if death looms on the horizon? how long does he have before the worst strikes?

it has been some time and, though he knows he ought to remain impartial, dr. rosehearts has found himself infatuated with his poor patient. he tends to you like one might a rose in a garden, diligently and ever so carefully, pruning away signs of sickness in order to keep you somewhat healthy. it feels inevitable, even more so when your legs give out and, much to your horror, little branches with tiny leaves begin to poke through your ankles.

so now you're placed in a wheelchair, and that is that. most days he thinks you're more doll than human, especially since your spirits seem far more dampened than they once were. you wither in your chair, quiet and wistful, longing for good health. though it's in his profession to save, he's never seen you in a more beautiful state. like a statue doomed to exist in stiff silence. like a single flower struggling to brave harsh conditions. like a doll destined to be taken care of by his gentle, capable hands.

he was never allowed dolls as a child. such toys were distracting according to his mother. but now he has one for himself and, even if he thinks himself too old to play with dolls, you're one he just can't put down.

perhaps it's for the best that your legs are broken and your lungs are weak and your entire body is supported by this parasitic plant. with this, he's given the chance to finally indulge in one of the many things he was denied as a child.

the appeal of a doll is that they are versatile. they can wear an entire wardrobe of clothes. they can be bent into various positions. they can look upon you with glass eyes and smile with rosebud lips. and they can't speak. never speak!

riddle doesn't need to be traditional for something so unethical. weddings and rings and courtship mean everything in his dreams, but he is a man watered with logic and sensibility. and you are just a quiet, fragile rose drowning in unwanted, suffocating affection.

[scara-hater]

Eyes like magnets scara/wanderer x reader

Not proofread!

Wanderer stares, and I mean a lot.

much to his denial, he can't keep his eyes off you.

"I can feel your eyes, Kuni." You say, tending to the home-cooked meal for you both.

"Like I would waste my time on something so useless." A little too defensive for someone being accused, kuni.

"Is that so?" You put a pause on the food and turn around to look at him directly.

If there's one thing he can't do when in your company, it's lying. His face is flushed, and his body tense, your poor little Kuni can't even make eye contact.

Now he's on the receiving end of your staring. Oh God, please say something he's so flustered at how forward this situation is, and his face is brimming with hues of pink.

Come on, the boy is a lowkey mess for you, and you're teasing him?

Do it again.

He's lost in his own head when you make your way over to him, gently touching his cheek in guidance to your face. That was enough to snap him out of it. The close proximity is too much for the boy.

So, putting an end to it, you lean in and carefully move his hair to kiss his forehead.

His doe eyes looked up at you. He was certainly expecting a kiss kiss, but something about that moment made him feel so... kunikuzushi. So loved.

Though that didn't last long, "W-what the hell are you doing? Touching me like some type of p-pervert." Pushing you, but not nearly enough as if he actually cared.

Smiling while walking back to finish what you were doing in the kitchen, "stare all you want, but don't do it like I'm going do disappear."

Yep, there's no doubt he loves you.

Of course I didn't proofread, and of course I don't care

SCARA SUPREMACY

[rekindlevn]

Niko anon here

I'm biting my pillow and my eyes sting IT HURTS SO MUCH (tho fair, talking on a personal level I STILL think about people that I haven't seen in so many years, life man)

“Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. ” Jane Austen, Persuasion This quote has been stuck in my head since the previous Niko ask.

Strong emotional ties do tend to leave lingering imprints on us, don’t they? Even years later.

For Niko it was the same. You were the most significant person in his young life. And he lost not only his lover but his best friend of nearly 15 years. That left a hole in his life that never quite healed.

I imagine that there were many times in the year or two after the final breakup that he picked up his phone to text or call something funny that happened or send a photo of something he found beautiful in his travel for work -- only to put it away again when he remembered that person was no longer talking to him. So many struggles in those first years that he needed to talk to his best friend, but they were gone. And many times he deeply regretted his own mistakes, but it was too late to fix them.

Even years later, you are the voice of reason in his head. The invisible presence that he talks to when things are tough. Yours are the happy memories that still give him comfort to look back on with fondness and longing. The only one that truly knew the hurting, insecure boy he was beneath the carefully crafted sparkling facade and loved him anyway.

Maybe… someday…

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Hi! Thanks for running this amazing blog! Lately I've been feeling like reading Drarry fics that would have some nice Harry & Ginny friendship in them, but haven't really been able to find any. You got any recs? Thanks again!

I cannot abide fics in which Ginny is the bad guy! Even in fics where the break up between Harry and Ginny is difficult and complicated, I fully believe that they eventually make it back into friendship. Book Ginny is such a badass, and has nothing but love and support for her best bud, Harry Potter.

Harry and Ginny Friendship

another bridge will have to burn. by anonymous (1,673 words, rated T)

Harry certainly didn't expect to see Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson at a queer Muggle club. He didn't see any of this coming, really.

Elocution by Shaddyr (1,721 words, rated T)

End of the year bonfire night at Hogwarts. Firewhiskey is flowing freely, Ginny is nosy, Harry is rambling and Malfoy just wants to help...

Silver Linings by @kittycargo (2,480 words, rated T)

Harry and Ginny have a long overdue conversation.

Knowing Who I was Before by @janieohio (2,670 words, rated T)

Breaking up is hard, but for Harry and Ginny, staying together isn’t an option if they each want the other to be happy.

Ginny | Your Local Lesbian's Guide to Wooing Draco Malfoy by @skooffuskaild (3,931 words, rated T)

Your Local Lesbian's Guide to Wooing Draco Malfoy by Ginevra Weasley (author of critically acclaimed tome Taking the Broom Out of The Closet: A Memoir and Six Signs You're A Lesbian) is a helpful step-by-step introduction to the confusing and exciting world of courting Malfoy heirs!

Or, Harry and Ginny bond over being queer kids, and manage to successfully ask out Draco Malfoy.

As it was (you know it's not the same) by queercodedvillain (15,832 words, rated T)

Harry's navigating a life he thinks he doesn't deserve and honestly, didn't really think he'd have. For some reason that means a whole lot of Draco Malfoy.

Seeker's High by @corvuscrowned (40,178 words, rated M)

Harry Potter doesn’t expect to take up running years after the war ends; it just sort of happens.

He also doesn’t expect that — as he fights tooth and nail to climb out of a post-war depression he didn’t realize he’d fallen into — he’ll end up running right into the arms of Draco Malfoy.

A half angsty drama, half romcom of Harry working on himself, learning how to accept help from his friends, and falling in love with his childhood nemesis.

Blood and Fire by @lqtraintracks (44,888 words, rated E)

Harry has spent the last twelve years in Romania, not returning to England as often as he knows he should. It's complicated. But when Ginny asks him to be her best man and help her plan her wedding, he can't say no. Having a reckoning with his choices, with himself, won't be easy. To say nothing of seeing Draco again.

Nearly Lost Things, Carefully Tended by @norelationtoatticus (46,653 words, rated E)

Three years after the war, Harry is lost, drifting, and feeling left behind. In an effort to get control of his life, he commits to cleaning out Grimmauld Place top-to-bottom and forcing it to be a home, whether it likes it or not. The rotten old house is stuffed full of antiques, and Harry is shocked to discover none other than Draco Malfoy running the local antique shop. Malfoy is polite -- too polite, and Harry soon finds himself with a mission: to annoy and bother Malfoy with the most hideous, absurd antiques he can find. But along the way, Harry comes to appreciate Draco, his work, and the power of connecting to the people who came before him. It's a hard lesson, but Harry learns that if he wants to build a future, he has to reconnect to his past, and Draco might just be the one to help him do it.

A Gift of True Esteem by @teledild0nix (53,965 words, rated E)

Professor Draco Malfoy believes he has something unique to bring to Hogwarts' History of Magic course. Professor Harry Potter is willing to be convinced.

Had To Be You @lettersbyelise (59,020 words, rated E)

Draco Malfoy is possibly the last person Harry expects to find at the wheel of a Muggle car, on a beautiful summer day on the road to London.

This is the story of how Harry runs into Draco once, twice, three times, and how he doesn’t leave their next meeting to chance.

Such Great Heights by aideomai (93,302 words, rated E)

Draco Malfoy, wide-eyed and pale and in a decidedly ragged shirt, was crouched next to the pile of whatever the dragon had been eating.

Harry threw himself to a halt and yelled, “Merlin, how many times do I have to save your life?”

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please remember to leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Lots of Love and Happy Reading!

[itsnotaphasemomitsanobsession]

My favorite fics of all time

For my birthday this year (I'm turning 30!!!) I thought what better way to celebrate the day I was born but also ✨ the day all my favorite characters died ✨ by giving you all some good fics! Happy May 2nd!!!

Running on Air (T): An oldy but a goody! I remember reading this a couple years ago when I rediscovered my love for drarry! I had spent my formative years on fanfic dot net obsessing over drarry and this brought it all back in one fell swoop.

Way down we go (T): I stumbled upon this one 2 years ago and I've been rereading it ever since. It's silly and lovely and they are in Alabama. What more could be said about it? A fantastic and beautiful story and I love it so much.

A big black sky (M): if I had to pick only one fic to read for the rest of my life, it would be this one. I love everything about this fic. It's sweet and loving and kind and wholesome and so sad and just wretchedly the best thing I've read. I reread this at least 2 times a year. And every reread it just gets better and better!

A pulled down shade (M): this one is newer to my list but I can already say this is a great and phenomenal fic! The author put their soul into this fic you can really tell, the effort and the love and the hard work. Truly an amazing read and an amazing story!!!

Nice things (M): I'm a sucker for an eighth year fic and this one is very good. I love a pot smoking draco something about it really gives me the vibes I don't know why. This whole fic is wholesome and it deserves so much love!

You've got the antidote for me (M): listen. Soulmate fics. I need more of them okay? I need so many. I love them so much they make me physically ill. Read this it's so good and sweet with a touch of sad.

Burn the witch (E): big fan of the bodyguard trope! This one also has Scorpius in it and I love when Scorpius is in things it makes me happy every time! But a good fic, very interesting plot and the characterization is very good and the ocs are super good too!!

I was late (you were early) (E): one of those "if we both aren't married in 10 years" fics and it's so good! There's also one in draco's pov I'll find you again (I always do)! It's a very cute story and I loved it a whole lot!

Everything a word can mean (T): a short and sweet little ficlet! It's of course a soulmate fic where they have names that their soulmates call them written somewhere on their bodies. And Harry's just so happens to be savior.

10:37 PM on the Floor of the Seventh Floor Corridor Near the Dancing Trolls (G): another short and sweet ficlet! Takes place during 6th year outside of the room of requirement! Very good and I love the characterization and I enjoy the authors take on this part of the books!

Say anything (M): professors au is one of my favorite aus!!!! And mic it with a French speaking draco and a secretly French speaking Harry! It only gets better!!

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) (T): I loved this fic a whole lot and really enjoyed the dynamic between Harry and Ginny in his oddly enough. I thought it was a very real and thought out fic that also at the same time was wholesome and sweet while going over sexuality and desire. I loved it a whole lot and it made my demisexual heart sing when I saw asexual rep.

Nearly lost things, carefully tended (E): antiques dealer draco and home owner Harry! Harry has some weird things for Draco to look at and he certainly doesn't pick the weirdest things he can find just for the blonde. Nah. Read it. It's great and silly and overall very fun!

I can't think of any more but make sure you leave comments and kudos if you like a fic!!

[roronoacherries]

We all know that Zoro would get along with someone interested in swords and all, but what if he was paired up with someone nearly the complete opposite of him? Shy, sweet, kind, nonviolent, maybe even a healer? I always find opposites attract stories quite sweet, like the gruff, cold guy paired up with the sweet and gentle girl! 😍

this is 10,000% the way i picture zoro's s/o, probably for self-indulgent reasons

but i have read a lot of fics that pair him with someone very similar to him, someone strong and bold and whatnot, and i can see that. it makes sense. but personally, i love writing him with someone gentle, sunny, and just generally loving s/o.

zoro is naturally protective of the people he cares about; the way i see it, you know zoro loves someone when he's willing to give anything to keep them safe. having a s/o who needs a little protecting, someone maybe a little klutzy, makes a lot of sense for him.

that doesn’t mean his s/o is entirely helpless, but he wouldn’t mind — and honestly, he’d kind of love — needing to keep a close eye on them, making sure they’re ok, safe and out of trouble. it gives him a sense of purpose. kind of like he's their knight in shining armor (and he'd absolutely treat them like royalty).

zoro loves through his actions and being able to protect the person he loves most makes that easy for him.

it’s especially true if his s/o is someone pure, and sweet, and full of joy. he’d want to do everything to make sure they never lost their light. he’d never allow any harm to come to them.

it’d be someone who can comfort him, ease his pain (physical and emotional), who reminds him that not everything has to be so serious. someone he can't help but smile around.

and he'd love to tease them, say things like

“can you do anything without me?”

“oi, wait for me. don’t want you getting lost, do we?”

the slightest hint of danger and he standing in front of them, hands on the hilts of his swords. it doesn't matter to him if they complain that they're capable of taking care of themselves; he knows that already, but he doesn't care.

and whether they're wounded after a fight or have a small paper cut, he's all over them. it's almost annoying sometimes, but the way his brows furrow with concern makes up for it.

and he loves having them tend to his wounds. there's nothing more soothing to him. feeling their gentle hands on his skin, carefully bandaging him up and scolding him for being so reckless, he thinks to himself, 'how could i not jump into danger for you?'

they'd keep him from picking fights (especially with sanji), but he'd fight their battles too, never able to bear letting anyone step over their kind heart.

it's a sight to behold, the way this brute will listen to anything his s/o has to say, doing anything they ask of him and letting himself be chastised like a child (a small smile tugging at his lips because all he can think is, 'they look so cute when they're mad').

and anyone would be amazed to see that when they're alone, zoro would be the one in their arms, regardless of whether they're smaller than him or not, allowing himself to feel safe and loved and cared for by someone else for a change.

[tearsonthemoons]

Out of the woods

Prompt: you’ve been in love with Coriolanus since you were just kids, when you end up finding him deep in the woods wounded, your feelings can finally be shared.

Pairing: Coriolanus snow x reader

Warnings: (none)

It was a cold winter day, I've decided to go for a walk in the woods. The snow was falling gently from the sky, creating a peaceful atmosphere, helping calm my remaining troubles.

As I walked deeper into the forest, I noticed a trail of blood on the ground, I'm not too surprised seeing that my whole district is fighting for their lives right now. War wasn't yet over.

Curiosity got the best of me, even though it was smart, I followed the trail, wondering where it could lead.

a few minutes of walking, I began to think of my father, there was enough blood to be concerned for my own family. the trail led me to a clearing where I saw a boy lying on the ground, surrounded by snow-covered trees.

My heart raced as I approached him, I realized who it was and my heart nearly leaped from my chest.

I've known him since we were just kids. We grew up in the same area, went to the same woods to play, and spent almost every day together in the same woods just being kids.

as we got older, my feelings towards him changed. I started to see him in a different light, noticing his soft smile, his charming wit, and his gentle touch. I fell in love with him without even realizing it. Without being able to change my feelings.

Corio, on the other hand, was completely oblivious to my feelings. He was always so focused on his dreams of becoming something greater that he never noticed my longing glances or my deep crimson cheeks.

I couldn't blame him, he had the talent and determination to make his dreams a reality, without me as a distration. I was always there to support him, cheering him on from the sidelines and celebrating his choices with him.

But as we entered our teenage years, things started to change. He fought and trained everyday, leaving me behind. I tried to keep up, but I just didn't follow him long enough.

It was during this time that I realized how much I truly loved Corio. I missed our childhood days, when it was just the two of us against the world. I missed our inside jokes, our late-night talks, and our adventures in the snow.

I didn't ever have the courage to tell him how I felt. I was afraid of ruining our friendship, of losing him altogether. So I buried my feelings deep inside and pretending to not be jealous of everything he did without me as we grow older.

Years went by and Snow never left my mind. even though we drifted apart, I never stopped loving him. Everything rushed back, every feeling, every touch, every thought i've ever had about him over took me. I ran closer to him.

"Corio?!" I said in panic noticing the deep gashes on his arms and legs. He was shivering and barely conscious.

Without hesitation, I knelt down beside him. 'Are you okay?' I asked, trying to get a better look at his injuries. He wasn't moving much, just a faint cough here and there. I felt tears go down my cheeks, I hadn't seen him in months, and even the last time i saw him, I didn't know him like I felt I did before, and all we said was goodbye.

Corios eyes fluttered open, Barely moving on the ground. he weakly nodded. "y/n?, Is that you?" he managed to say before closing his eyes again.

I quickly took off my jacket and wrapped it around him seeing there was blood from his head.

"Oh god, what's happened to you?" I said gently lifting his head up from the tree he was leaning onto. My thoughts began to become selfish, Holding his head brought me back to all the times i've got to hug him, all the times he's comforted me in our past. I hadn't lost my love.

All while I was thinking like this, I was trying to keep him warm.

I took my scarf and carefully wrapped it around his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. I gently tended to his injuries, I couldn't help but notice how he looked. even in his injured state. His hair was a snowy white, and his eyes were the color of the sky on a clear winter day. Just how i remembered him.

Once I was finished wrapping him up, I sat back and looked at him. He was still shivering, He looked so fragile. I took his hand in mine and rubbed it gently, trying to warm him up. he opened his eyes again and looked at me with a slight smile.

"Where have you been? I was coming back for you." he said, his voice was barely above a whisper.

Coming back? for me? I wanted to hear more explaining from him, but I couldn't be selfish and ask, I needed to know what happened.

I looked back at him. "What happened Corio?"

He hesitated for a moment before answering. "Something in the snow came up behind me, I can't tell you what it was, or who"

I couldn't help but let out a small tear. "i've got you covered up, Are you still cold?"

He very weakly sat up. His eyes were on mine, He has grown up, He looked older, more handsome since the last I saw him.

We sat in silence for a while Before his blood covered hand reached for my face, His hands were cold, and my heart was speeding up just by his slight touch.

I knew I had to get Snow to a hospital. But I wanted to stay with him this moment, I'd been waiting for what felt like 15 years. "Your hands are cold, Corio." It was all I could spit out. All I could think off.

"I'll warm you." He said while scooting his face closer to mine. I didn't understand why this was happening, but I didn't have enough care to ask. "May I?" he said, his soft pink lips are only inches away from me.

"but why?" I said trying to keep my eyes looking into his, instead of his lips.

Before I got any answer, his soft lips gently pecked mine. They were colder than his hands, but the warmth and comfort of his touch got me, it was all I ever wanted.

When we pulled away, I looked into his eyes, no words to share between us. He went back in, this time with more passion then before, not only could I feel his cold lips, But I could taste him, He tasted as he smelled, whiskey and comfort. The taste and feeling of him was exactly what I knew it would be, and I finally had him.

once I pulled away, He slowly removed his hand from my face and just stared at me with his piercing eyes. "Corio?" I said, trying to make sense of what's just happened.

"I came back for you." was all he said, with those words I knew, I wasn't alone in my love, he had come back for me, I was complete with him, He was finally mine.

[jedi-order-apologist]

The Whispering Lighthouse

Those that dabble in the dark side of the Force leave traces behind, and the Jedi are called on to clean it up. Written for Fandom Empire Monopoly 2024 - Prompt: "The Whispering Lighthouse" and Jedi June - Prompt: "Cross-lineage mentorship"

Read on AO3

Aayla shivered. Normally, she preferred to forgo her cloak whenever she could, but she was grateful she had kept it for this excursion, even if the cold had little to do with the actual temperature of the air or the mists rising from the waves that crashed against the rocks.

She pulled her cloak tighter against herself as she hurried after Master Windu as he strode ahead of her towards the imposing structure.

It was a lighthouse, meant to warn off water vessels. Or it had been, a long time ago. No light had shone from it in centuries, and seacraft had relied far more on their onboard technology for longer than that. But recently, the inhabitants of this planet had been seeing that technology fail, and lost many a craft against its shores.

The people had had their suspicions as to why. When the lighthouse had first gone dark all those centuries ago, it had been the work of some dabbler in the dark side of the Force, who had commandeered the remote lighthouse to conduct his twisted experiments. Though the culprit had long since joined the Force, the effects of those things tended to...linger.

Which was why the Jedi’s aid had been requested. No one else wanted to risk going near the place.

“Be cautious, padawan,” Master Windu said as Aayla caught up with him. “You may not share your Master’s gifts, but I recommend avoiding touching anything nonetheless.”

Aayla nodded. “I have the tools the archivists gave us.”

“Then let’s begin.”

Master Windu opened the door with a gesture. Both he and Aayla held their lightsabers aloft, spilling blue and violet light into the dark space as they advanced.

The place echoed. Even when they stood still, simply scanning the area for any sort of dark artifact, there were sounds, and things not quite like sounds that scratched and groaned and whispered in the Force. It bit at Aayla, trying to push her and Master Windu out, away from there. It very nearly rattled her, but she looked to Master Windu, who took steadying breaths, and copied his example.

She would not be controlled by fear.

Whenever they found anything that felt like trouble, with the tools the archivists had given them, they carefully handled the books and unknown instruments, and deposited them into the specialized storage containers.

When they were done, they would take these things back to the Temple, where the archivists would sort through them, and determine what could be purified, what could be sealed, and what needed to be destroyed.

It wasn’t as exciting as some field missions, and the cold whispers of past miseries seeping through the place made it downright unpleasant, but it was no less important work, and Aayla was, ultimately, pleased to fulfill her duties as a Jedi in this way.

[paranoidginger]

Moondrunk

(A Werewolf Spy Fanfic)

TW: Body Horror, Violence, Minor Gore, Mentions of Self Harm, Minor Alcohol Use

Just another day... Another evening. He had been falling behind whenever it came to his work on the field. The Blu team had lost once again... The Medic had called him on it, how sickly he had been looking as of late, his face gaunt in comparison to usual.

It had been nearly a month exactly since that... Thing had managed to get its filthy teeth on him. All he had wanted was a quiet walk outside... Some time to cool off after an especially worrisome bout of night terrors. He hadn't gotten a good look at it, it was massive, but he couldn't help but lie to himself and say that it was just some feral dog.

It had been late at night, and he was able to tend the wound himself. Distinct teeth-punctures half-ringing the middle of his forearm from where the beast had bitten him... He couldn't shake the feeling that the brief glimpse he had gotten of its eyes were oddly human...

He had refused to go to Medic when it had first happened, but today, he was beginning to regret that fact...

He sat in his room, his suit jacket hung neatly in his closet and his tie loosened around his neck as he sipped a glass of wine, hoping that the bit of alcohol would help ease his nerves as he tried to focus on reading the newspaper. He struggled to keep track of the words on the page, finding himself having to partially unbutton his shirt as he stood up, much warmer than he should have been. It wasn't long before he made his way to his window, pulling it open and sticking his head out into the cool night air, finding his room was becoming suddenly quite stifling.

He coughed slightly. Leaning on his windowsill as he took a shaky breath, a sharp pain shooting through his skull, and his chest feeling tight. He fumbled slightly as he removed his tie completely, struggling as he began to unbutton his shirt farther. Another jolt of pain shot through him, starting at the bottoms of his feet and creeping up his spine as the world began to spin around him.

Slowly and shakily, he lowered himself to the floor, grasping at his balaclava as he sat with his back to the wall, the mask beginning to feel suffocating, the way it wrapped and enveloped his head and face. He gasped, his breaths short and quick, as if he could not pull in enough air, no matter how hard he fought, dropping the face covering to the floor beside him. Blinding pain radiated throughout his body, a harsh scream escaping him, only to be muffled by his own hand pressed over his mouth.

Pain continued to blossom in his extremities, his head feeling as though it was about to split as he pressed his hands to the sides of his head, the heels of his palms pressing into his temples as he grabbed at his own hair, cracks and pops ringing out from the inside of his joints, his bones snapping and rearranging themselves as he began to seize and writhe on the floor, his teeth feeling too large for his mouth as he began salivating, his eyes rolling back as his body shifted and contorted against his will, whimpering screams escaping his agonized body. His clothes tore from the internal pressure as his form shifted beneath them, clinging to him in ragged shreds as he dug sharpened, claw like nails into his own shoulders, a soft trickle of blood beginning to work its way over his fingers and down his arms.

He lost himself within the pain... His vision blurring and going dark as his mind fogged, the splitting pain in his head only worsening as the bones of his skull warped and contorted beneath his skin, animal instinct taking over as his conscious thoughts ceased to be.

The Engineer paced slightly in his workshop, freezing as he heard the muffled cries from the Spy's personal room. On instinct, he grabbed his pistol, holstering it as he made his way carefully down the hall, doing his best to keep himself from causing a commotion, should an intruder have somehow made it's way into the Spy's quarters.

As he arrived at the entrance to the other man's room, he listened carefully, quiet whimpery sounds interspersed with animalistic growls and snarls coming through the door. The Engineer took a deep breath, exhaling gently as he began to open the door, his heart sinking as he saw the wreckage of the room. A wineglass broken on the floor, it's contents spilled, and his chair upturned, small blood smears marking a variety of surfaces in the room. He swallowed hard as he saw the tatters of the other man's suit strewn across the floor, torn apart with bits of blood staining the delicately made fabric.

"S... Spy? You in here?" The man called, looking around the dimly lit room, his hand on his pistol as he slowly pulled it from its holster. "If yer hurt, I need ta know..." He froze again, his gaze settling on the large, furred creature that sat crouched and curled against the wall. Deep crimson staining the thing's paws and fur... Good lord...

The man took a small step closer, watching as the beast took in shaking, shallow breaths, a quiet growl escaping it as it looked up at the man before it, unsteadily rearing onto its hind legs as it stood at its full height. Just over six feet, thin and almost frail looking dark fur grayed with age around its face and paws... The Engineer aimed his pistol at the things chest, readying himself to pull the trigger before noticing its eyes... He saw it clear as day, the fear and pain in those familiar grey-blue eyes... This wasn't just a beast, was it...

The creature could not help but flinch as the pistol was tossed to the floor, it's tall, thin form shaking slightly. He could not remember the face of the man in the room... Who he was, why he was there, but he was starving; Starving, and hurting, and terrified... He growled lowly, pointed canine ears folding back against the beast's skull as he lunged.

The engineer winced sharply as he was shoved to the floor, grabbing the beast's face and holding his muzzle shut as it snapped at him, staring at the familiar eyes of the creature as he struggled to keep it from biting down on himself.

"Dag nabbit, Spy! I know you're in there! It's gonna be alright, now... It's me, it's your Engie! I ain't gonna go and hurt you, sweet pea." He shouted slightly, gritting his teeth as he held the beast's mouth closed with one hand, pulling off his belt with the other and quickly tightening it around the lycanthrope's snout as the man he knew struggled and fought against him in this new monstrous state.

It was difficult, but eventually, the Engineer was able to wrestle the Spy's altered body down onto the floor beside the window, holding his head against his shoulder as he began to pet his head and the back of his neck, the Spy's efforts to escape dying down as the familiarity of the other man's voice worked its way into his mind. His stiff, shivering form relaxing slightly as he felt the warmth of the Engineer's hand combing gently through the fur that now covered his body.

"There ya are... 's alright... I ain't gonna let anything happen to you..." The Engineer spoke softly, holding the other man close as the night continued on.

-END-

This was inspired by @thatonesimp-e's Werewolf Spy AU idea!! This fic wouldn't have happened without them!

[lets-try-some-writing]

I know that you're super busy with class stuff, but (no rush) do you have anything else in that Ratchet snippet where he was stuck in a pocket dimension for many vorns being punished by Primus?

Its not a lot because Ratchet decided to go get milk for a few weeks, but here is what I have managed to write for this fic. I believe I may get a burst of inspiration and finish it soon.

Previous snippet here.

Time Locked: Snippet #2

When Ratchet woke, he was practically shaking. He paced around his garden frantically, his optics on the only real entrance to his prison. He marched around the borders of his garden, checking his crystals and tending to shoots that had grown out of place. He even dug up fresh earth for some of the new sprouts. Anything to keep his servos moving.

Then, by some miracle, Orion Pax returned to the garden just as the nearest star fully began its rise.

“Pax! It’s good to see you!” Ratchet’s servos shook, and despite the fact that he was covered in dirt from his anxiety driven gardening, he hurried forward to greet the archivist. Orion regarded him with a curious helm tilt before nodding. Only then did Ratchet notice that the Archivist had brought something with him.

“Likewise. I assume you have more questions, so I took the liberty of bringing a few items with me.” Orion stepped into the center of the clearing and unfolded a small table, the kind one would use to serve only one or two individuals. He clicked everything into place, locking the table into formation before putting down a box on top of it. Ratchet raised an optical ridge, but he was too excited to question further as he rested on his knees across the table from Orion.

“Based on your previous queries, I have come up with some explanations for you as well as these items of interest.” Orion placed down a datapad beside the box. That alone left Ratchet gawking. The thing was so thin and transportable. The datapads Ratchet used when he was free of his prison were bulky unwieldy things meant to be stored in huge archives just to ensure nothing was lost or broken.

“Here, take this. It is a collection of major historical events and changes across Cybertron.” Orion slid over the datapad and Ratchet was almost too afraid to touch it. Even when he was the CMO, he was forbidden to put a digit on the records the archives kept. He had to have an archivist grant him a copy or access to the documentation. To just be handed such valuable data-

He paused as he held the datapad. Orion didn’t know about Ratchet’s curse. The datapad would be all but useless when left exposed to the elements. Ratchet sighed as he enjoyed the clean and sleek look of the device. Modern technology… If this was a common item, how much had changed?

“I have also brought a selection of other devices to sate your curiosity.” Orion smiled in a cunning manner that had Ratchet instinctively clutching his new datapad against himself. However, the Archivist merely slid the box over, prompting Ratchet to glare at it in suspicion. 

“Open it doctor. I promise you that no harm shall come to you.” Ratchet hesitated before he carefully put the datapad back down and reached for the box. He searched for the series of hooks he was used to when it came to packaging, but his search was short lived as the box opened with a series of clicks. The lid came undone, and within was some sort of scanner and what looked to be a communicator. 

Looking up at Orion, the Archivist maintained his smile as he pulled the items out and laid them on the table.

“This is an identifier. I thought you might appreciate having the ability to know more about the flora which you cultivate.” Ratchet gawked at the device and its many glowing buttons. He never had anything nearly as high tech as this during his time as CMO. And it was a mere gardening tool? By the Allspark, he had missed a lot.

“And this is a communicator that you may use to contact me from now on if you so desire.” Orion held up the communicator as Ratchet placed the scanner with his new datapad. Ratchet glared at the device, feeling the mark on his spark flare in disagreement. He was not permitted outside communication, that much was clear.

“I can’t use that thing. It is forbidden.” Ratchet’s voice came out low as he leaned back, instinctually driven away from the thing before him. Orion’s helm tilted in curiosity, or perhaps confusion. Then, before Ratchet could react, Pax pressed the device into his servos.

“FRAG!” Ratchet screamed as he threw the communicator, watching as it fritzed and then exploded mere moments after he came into contact with it. He whipped around to glare at his companion, anger running hot in his processors.

“I TOLD you that it is forbidden! I can’t use those things!” He all but snarled. Orion for his part merely hummed and closed the box with a thoughtful expression.

“I see. I believe I may have begun to understand this situation.” Then without missing a beat, Orion turned on the datapad and passed it to Ratchet. The smile returned and Pax laid out his own datapad in turn.

“Since I am here, shall we discuss more of Cybertron’s history?” This mech was strange. Very strange. What mech found a random doctor in a garden in the middle of nowhere who acted as out of touch as Ratchet was and then decided to return for a second visit? Why was Orion so accommodating? Why was he here at all? Ratchet of course had no interest in complaining, but he could see an ulterior motive from a mile away. Pax wanted something, and Ratchet was unsure he could give whatever Orion was looking for.

Ratchet held his datapad and nodded distantly as Orion directed him toward a certain set of files. Ratchet obeyed and listened closely as Orion began to describe everything following the Quintessons wars. He nodded along in the beginning, having already learned a good portion of what was being told to him. He noted a few differences, small details and events that the Council had evidently seen fit to censor. In those instances he spoke up and Orion hastily made notes before continuing. But past a certain point, all Ratchet could do was listen with wide optics and look at the various pictures Orion showed him.

So much time had passed, so much had changed. And everything would continue to move on without him-

So long as he was trapped in his prison. 

“After the failure of Project Regen, the High Council diverted their efforts and implemented more restrictions on the castes. Too much freedom resulted in the death of the CMO of the time, a Prime, and quite a few well known scientists.” Ratchet’s optics widened as he listened closely. Everything up until this point had been largely information that he had been distantly aware of during his functioning but had paid little attention to. This was new.

“Castes were made more regimented, but also not quite as obvious. Social procedures took the place of numerical designators to denote castes and function. Medical knowledge also increased by leaps and bounds after the disaster of Project Regen.” Pax spoke with a smooth voice that hinted at vorns of performing this very function for others. Ratchet wasn’t startled much by the supposed leap in medical understanding. That was to be expected. When he was CMO he was already quite well aware of the new studies being conducted.

No, what caught his attention was the change from numerical designation to social procedures regarding caste.

“Once you have finished catching me up on our history, I would like to learn about the castes and the new medical system.” Ratchet made his request as he looked over the pictures of shining cities he hardly recognized. The history was all well and good, but it was the change in culture that mattered to him more. One had to know history to be familiar with culture, and by becoming familiar with culture, he could finally figure out just how out of touch he was.

Once he was the finest doctor on Cybertron. Once, he had sat upon one of the highest pedestals capable of being reached by a mech of his station. Did his knowledge and skill mean anything anymore?

“Of course, although I do believe we will not have enough time this cycle to complete this discussion of history.” Orion looked up, and it was only then that Ratchet noticed the nearest star beginning to set. He scrambled to his pedes, taking his scanner and datapad and hurrying toward the techtite tree in the center of his garden. It wasn’t much, but it would at least partially guard his new gifts from the weather. 

“What are you doing?” Pax questioned as Ratchet slid his gains into a small gap in the trunk of the tree. 

“Keeping these things safe. I can’t take them with me, and I don’t want them destroyed.” Orion made a curious sound and Ratchet shook his dirtied servos covered in grime. He felt the beginnings of exhaustion starting to weigh on his frame as he turned and tried to smile.

“Thank you for coming to my garden again. It has… it has been a very long time since I have seen anyone at all.” Again, Pax looked at him curiously with those cycling optics of his. Ratchet momentarily feared he had scared his newfound conversational partner away, but that fear eased as Orion nodded. That seemed to be his preferred reaction to just about anything.

“Please, come back to my garden on this cycle next vorn. I would like to know more.” Ratchet did not bow, he refused to sink that low. But he did try to make his genuine desire for further interactions clear with his tone. He had to keep this acquaintanceship. He had to. He wasn’t sure he could remain sane after being given a small taste of normal interactions again.

“You are quite fortunate that I am an archivist. My function is to teach and to preserve knowledge. Based on our interactions, it seems aiding you fulfills both those criterias.” Pax turned away, leaving the table he brought with him and only taking his belongings. Ratchet watched on quizzically but did not comment as the Archivist left his garden. 

Settling down against the trunk of his tree, Ratchet vented deeply. He did not think it was fair, but the fate he endured was a little less tormenting now that he had someone to talk to.

His digits brushed over the datapad in its hiding place as the light faded. His optics cycled slowly and his frame relaxed as weariness settled in. For once, it was a peaceful restfulness that overcame him. If Pax returned once, there was a good chance he would return again.

[nothingxs]

FFXIV Write // Horizon

The sun had yet to rise.

Taalamihi took a deep breath.

The smell of the sea filled her lungs as she turned her head east, looking deep into the horizon. She'd been on the ship for almost a moon.

"But finally," the First Mate had assured her, "today? We'll see land, lassie. I can feel it."

Today, she would finish something very important.

A trip across the salt she had waited on for thirty years.

Suruputwi had listened to stories told to them of Ketenramm's people. About the world across the salt. He had dreamed of such a world, a place where he and Taalamihi could go to explore the rest of the world and sate their wanderlust. When Taalamihi had bore him a child, Suruputwi was even more emboldened to make such a trip. He had no idea, of course, of what the dangers of being at sea actually might be.

With little Taawa approaching his second sun, he'd managed to convince Taalamihi to take the plunge with him. They had secured passage for themselves: a merchant ship, the Aergwilf, was due to leave within a sennight, bound to a place called Limsa Lominsa, and was in need of extra hands. Suruputwi figured after they made it over, he could pursue work as a crafter and tend for little Taawa while Taalamihi learned about the dangerous game of the region.

As luck would have it, Taalamihi would fall ill two suns before the ship was set to sail. Their carefully-laid plans had been thrown into disarray, and the window of opportunity to be able to cross the salt threatened to slip out of reach.

Taalamihi doesn't remember why she decided to tell Suruputwi to go on ahead without her. She said she'd figure out a way to get on the next ship. She said she'd join them after. That they would learn about the New World and carve something out for themselves there.

She was tough. She'd get better.

And so they set sail, Taawa a little bundle of joy in Suruputwi's arm as he pumped his fist in the air and promised they'd see each other again soon.

She remembers watching the Aergwilf slowly get lost in the horizon, running away from the sun and fading from view into the vast ocean of salt.

And so, she waited.

Three moons had passed, and no ships had sailed out of the Tuliyollal port headed across the salt. The few that did refused to take Taalamihi, citing any number of excuses.

Just a few days later, a ship came bearing news.

The Aergwilf had sank malms off the coast of Limsa Lominsa and only a few survivors had been recovered, and many were still unaccounted for.

She nearly died from grief on the spot.

The next sennights were a haze. Regret over the decision she'd made to stay behind. To send little Taawa along with Suruputwi, as if she had condemned the two to their deaths. She wondered if her presence would have made a difference; if they would have made it simply by virtue of having her there.

Finally, when the opportunity came to sail across the salt…

She couldn't take it.

Fear and despair had taken deep root, to a level Taalamihi found impossible to resist. The thought of traveling and confirming the terrible truth—that maybe Suruputwi had died, and her little Taawa along with him… it was too much to bear.

But her body demanded she do something. Anything.

She did the only thing she knew: she returned to the Hunt.

She didn't return to her tribe. She couldn't. What would she say to them, when she eventually faced them? What could she tell them about the terrible tragedy that befell her family?

The thoughts simmered in her mind over the years.

She could never forget the two. But more than that, she could never forget the day she heard the news.

Many were still unaccounted for. Words that rang in her head, over and over again. She had no hope that she might ever see Suruputwi again. He would've sent notice or letter or something if he had made it, she reasoned. She could only honor him in her thoughts and pray for his passing.

But what of her little Taawa? What had become of him? Did he grow up to be big and strong like his mother? Did he grow up to be compassionate and kind like his father?

Did he get to grow up?

Now, thirty years after the tragedy that had robbed her of progress, staring out into the horizon as the sun began to rise from the East, she felt something in her chest. A knot, almost like a messy mixed yarn ball of emotions, the threads of which she could not possibly begin to disentangle without making an entire mess of herself.

Taalamihi knew it was hoping against hope. But that hope, painstakingly put back together over years and years of silent suffering, was all that she had left.

She wanted to know the answer to her question. Did he get to grow up?

Her arms folded under her chest and an uneasy smile cracked her lips.

"If you're somewhere out there… then I'm coming. Let's see what my little Taawa grew up to be."

[magdelanesingerin]

Little Socks

Read on AO3

Jaskier could not get warm.

He was pretty sure he was fighting off a bug; there was always something circulating amongst the students he taught, and it was a miracle if he ever got through a winter without catching something wretched that would lay him out for a week. It was frustrating timing, though, since they both finally had a stretch of days off together for the holidays, and Jaskier had been looking forward to spending the two weeks’ break between semesters with his boyfriend, not laying in bed sniffling. 

At any rate, he was currently wearing long flannel PJ pants and one of Geralt’s old t-shirts, curled up in their bed in a cozy, two-layer blanket burrito which he had pulled up around his ears, and he was still cold. He could hear Geralt puttering around, coming quietly in and out of the bedroom where Jaskier was napping their snowy Saturday afternoon away. 

He wished that Geralt would come lay down and nap with him (he’d love having that big warm body to cuddle up to and steal all his warmth), but he knew getting the man to laze around was a lost cause, even on vacation. It was nearly impossible to bring his boyfriend to rest; Geralt was like a damn shark that had to be in motion at all times, cleaning, and doing chores, and working on projects around the house. Jaskier, who was an expert in relaxing, found the whole thing baffling. 

Of course, if Geralt ever did sit down to do anything less active than playing a video game, he tended to fall asleep in minutes like the cranky old man he was at heart, head konked back against whatever chair he’d sat down in and snoring like a lumberjack. It was endearing.

Jaskier slitted his eyes open against the pale, wintry afternoon light just enough to see Geralt emerging from the closet with a laundry basket, and called out to him.

“Geraaaalt,” he whined sleepily into the blankets tucked around his face, and Geralt turned back from the doorway to peer down at him. “I’m cold.”

“D’you want another blanket?” Geralt asked like the wonderful, thoughtful boyfriend he was. 

“No, that’ll make me too hot,” Jaskier groaned, sounding pitiful even to his own ears. He shoved his bare foot out the bottom of the blankets and waggled it in the chilly air. “Can you put some little socks on me?”

He could hear Geralt breathe a laugh at him, but he put the laundry basket down on the other side of the bed and headed to the dresser. Jaskier snuggled down further in his blankets as he listened to the dresser door slide open and closed, and sighed happily as Geralt caught his waving foot in his big warm hands and carefully pulled on one of the cheap, brightly-printed, thin cotton socks that Jaskier loved to wear around the house–- just thick enough to be a little warm, but not so fluffy they’d make him overheat. As soon as one foot was covered he pulled it back into the warmth of his blanket cocoon and stuck the other foot out in its place.

“You’re pretty cute, did you know that?” Geralt said fondly and squeezed newly sock-clad arch of Jaskier’s foot gently before he tucked it back under the blankets. 

“Yep, I know,” said Jaskier with a happy wiggle and a smirk, already starting to warm up and rubbing his sock-covered feet together contentedly. “Thanks babe, that’s already better.” Geralt laid his hand over Jaskier’s blanket-wrapped ankles. The gentle weight was more comforting than it had any right to be for such a small thing.

“Yell if you need anything,” Geralt rumbled quietly. “I think I’m going to go scrub the oven, so just text me if I don’t hear you.”

“Of course you are, what else would you be doing to relax on a Saturday afternoon? Freak.” Jaskier murmured lovingly, starting to drift off with a soft little smile. 

The low sound of Geralt’s chuckling faded down the hallway as Jaskier hummed and fell asleep.