#prompts from December

[found-family-fan]

YAY, I know how to make large GIFs now 😊

Here's a better (all-encompassing) look at what my earlier animation was about...

I loved putting this scene together, I have to say ^^

[astronomodome]

Could you do an eldritch pearlescentmoon or a fae pearlescentmoon, please? :3

how about a little of both? :3

[wiseatom]

and if i said i had something non-acswy related dropping with the vague timeline of “soon,” then what.

[thepenultimateword]

Short Prompt #139

“Why would you help me?”

“I have a weakness for little cute things.”

[ladytauria]

to celebrate hitting 50k i'm sharing a snippet of the longfic i'm currently working on <3 (thank you v much to both @deepwithintheabyss and @paprikadotmp4 for the encouragement & brainstorming help <3)

still untitled (i've been calling it the "aob dubcon fic" lmao) but i have written a summary:

Jason tries to sell off his first heat to make ends meet for the upcoming winter. When he’s taken by traffickers instead, he’s sure that’s the end of him—until he’s rescued by a mysterious alpha. That “rescue” comes with a price: Jason’s heat hits shortly after, and… one thing leads to another, and now Jason and Tim are bound together by a fledgling mate bond. It’s not the first time Jason’s had to make the best of things, but… he finds it a little bit easier this time, especially as he grows to genuinely like Tim. Unfortunately, just as they're starting to settle into mated life, Tim’s ex-pack starts getting involved, and they don’t exactly approve of Tim’s choice in mate—never mind that it wasn’t really a choice at all.

cws/tags for this snippet: reverse robins, aob dynamics, underage jason (15), first aid, medical inaccuracies (probably; i'm not a doctor, so i'm warning to be safe), hurt/comfort, touch starvation, anxiety, allusions to captivity related ptsd, self-deprecation, brief memories of non-consensual touching

editing to add: this snippet takes place in the 2nd half of chapter 2 <3 (& was originally the second scene for the fic lol)

i have also previously shared a snippet of the scene after this, when jason's heat hits, here.

Tim parks outside of an old apartment building. The brick facade is worn, cracked and peeling in places. Most of the windows are intact at least, though; two of them have lights on, the rest dark.

Tim gets out first, already having rounded the car by the time Jason is swinging his legs out. His hand rests on the door, waiting patiently for Jason to join him on the sidewalk. Then he shuts it. One hand rests on Jason’s back again, a gentle guide inside.

There’s a man at the desk near the front entrance, reading a newspaper. He spares them a brief, bored glance before going back to it.

There’s an out of order sign on the elevator, so they have to take the stairs. It’s just two flights, but by the end, Jason’s slightly out of breath. He’d thought he was in pretty good shape, but—

He guesses spending nearly a week in a small, windowless room hasn’t done him any favors.

Tim stops at a door in the middle of the hall, unlocking it and letting Jason go in first. The main room is all one room; living room transitioning to kitchen, separated by an island counter. Tim guides Jason to the couch, directing him to sit while he gets the first aid kit.

The couch is worn but comfortable, cushions sinking under Jason’s weight, cradling him.

Tim disappears down the hall, and returns a few moments later holding the biggest first aid kit Jason has ever seen. Not that he’s really an expert on the things, but— The one at his house was pretty small.

And mostly empty, honestly.

The coffee table looks comically small under it. It makes Jason’s belly flip with nerves, remembering the feeling of latex covered hands on his body, spreading him open.

He bites his lip.

Tim doesn’t open it, though; instead, he slips into the kitchen. He comes back a moment later, holding a bottle of purple Gatorade. Then, he kneels in front of Jason. It’s—odd. Having an alpha kneel in front of him, voluntarily. Even though Jason knows he doesn’t exactly have any power here, the visual dissonance is—

Odd.

He offers up the bottle. It takes a moment for Jason’s hands to move, but he does take it. His fingers fumble with the cap; he flushed, embarrassed despite himself, but gets it open.

As soon as it touches his lips, his thirst hits him full force. He allows himself two large gulps to wet his throat, and then forces himself to slow down, sipping instead.

When he screws the cap back on, he finds Tim still there. Waiting. He twists his hands around the plastic nervously.

“Alright,” Tim says gently. “Other than the bruise on your side, and the rope burns… are you injured?”

Jason shakes his head, twisting the sleeves of the alpha’s jacket. “Nn-nn. Just some bruises,” he says softly. He pauses. “And, um. I did hit my head once. It still hurts, but— I’m not, like, dizzy or nothin’.”

Tim nods. “Alright,” he says. “I’d like to do a head injury evaluation anyway. I’ll just feel over your skull, and then use a penlight to evaluate your pupil dilation. I’ve got cream for the rope burns, and for the bruise—” Tim hesitates a moment, then continues, “I’ll need to check and make sure nothing is cracked, and there’s no internal bruising.” He pauses again. “As long as there’s nothing serious anywhere else… I have some painkillers you can take, when we eat.”

Jason takes a moment to absorb all of that, and then nods, tipping his head forward obediently.

There’s a part of him screaming at himself not to be so compliant. To kick and claw and scratch and bite and fight, the way he has been for the past week. But he’s— He’s so tired, and sore, and—

The alpha smells so good, and— The smiles he keeps giving Jason melt something inside of him. He wants to keep seeing them. Keep earning them.

Tomorrow that might scare him.

Tonight—

His eyes fall closed when Tim’s fingers slide into his curls. The touch is achingly gentle. It feels— It feels good. Nice. Jason can’t help but lean into it. He thinks Tim’s hands linger a little longer than they need to, like he’s indulging Jason’s obvious enjoyment of the touch.

He does pull away eventually. Jason bites back his whine, instead sitting back up against the cushions.

“No bumps,” Tim murmurs. He gets out the penlight next, and cups Jason’s face as he shines a light first in one eye, and then the other. Jason grimaces, hissing a little as he squints. The light aggravates his aching head. “Pupil dilation is normal.” He pockets the light, and strokes Jason’s cheek with his thumb before he pulls away. “Now, I need to check your bruises.”

Jason bites his lip again. The constant worrying is starting to make the top layer of skin break and flake under his teeth. He averts his eyes, rolling the sleeves of the suit jacket up, exposing his hands. Then he pulls his shirt up, bunching it up just beneath his breasts.

His stomach jumps when Tim touches him. Tim pauses, hand hesitating, just barely touching Jason’s skin, and then— He starts to rumble, low and deep.

Jason whines. He doesn’t mean to—but it bursts from him; he can’t stop it, can’t muffle it. It’s a soft, helpless little keen, and the alpha’s rumble gets louder in response. He scoots closer, until he’s between Jason’s knees. His hand settles onto Jason’s skin, curving around his side. His other hand comes to cup Jason’s shoulder, thumb rubbing gentle circles through his clothes.

“It’s alright,” he soothes, the rumble deepening his voice. The sound—

Jason has only vague memories of his father rumbling for him, from when he was much, much smaller. Before working as a henchman had stolen much of his father’s good will. Other than that, Jason has only ever heard alphas rumble on TV. It’s—

It’s a really nice sound.

Against his will, tears fill his eyes, and he raises his hand, pressing his palm over one, like he can force them back inside. Tim’s hand settles against his side, just underneath the bruising. “You’re alright,” the alpha murmurs. “It’s okay to cry, pup.”

Jason sniffs, loud in the quiet. “I—I—”

“Shh, puppy.” Tim’s hand doesn’t leave Jason as he rises, slipping onto the couch beside him. His other hand cups the back of Jason’s head, tugging him forward—Jason’s arms come up automatically, wrapping around Tim’s neck, his shirt falling back over his abdomen. The alpha’s scent drips with comfort and the promise of protection and Jason—

He feels… He feels warm, and safe, and—

A sob rattles through his chest. Tim holds him closer, tighter, his arm winding around Jason’s waist. He buries his nose in Jason’s curls, stroking his skin with his thumb as he rocks him, slowly.

Jason’s chest heaves. His whole body shakes with each sob, so much that Jason is worried he’s going to shake himself apart. Tim’s steady hold feels like all that’s keeping him together.

It’s not just the last few days, it’s— It’s everything, since his Mom got sick and Dad turned to working as henchman and their lives just… fell apart. He’s— Jason’s been on his own for so long. Longer even than he’s been on the streets. Every day has been a fight for survival and Jason—

Honestly, he thought he’d finally lost.

Tim murmurs in his ear. Jason can’t hear a word of what he’s saying, but the tone is low and gentle, and Jason clings to it.

It takes a long time for Jason’s sobs to subside. Jason— He doesn’t know how long exactly. But he does know that when he’s done he feels exhausted. He slumps into Tim’s chest, tremors still running down his spine. His face is sticky. He definitely got snot all over Tim’s nice shirt, and that—

He’s too tired to even worry about Tim’s reaction.

Fingers comb through his hair again, lightly scritching his scalp. He lets out a soft sigh, slumping even more against the alpha’s chest.

Tim hums. He noses at Jason’s temple; a gentle nudge Jason grumbles at. “C’mon, pup,” he murmurs. “I still need to look at your bruises.”

Jason whines—the same plaintive little puppy whine he used to give his mom when he wasn’t ready to get up yet, for one reason or another. It makes Tim huff, amused; the humor reflected in his scent. It’s nice. Really nice.

He noses at Jason’s temple again. “Pup.” His voice is a little more stern. It’s not threatening, though—doesn’t even make Jason’s hackles raise. Tim is still rumbling. Close as they are, it feels like it’s seeping into Jason’s bones. It lessens the ache in him. His skin— His skin has been itchy for years, but. The creepy crawling of it has subsided, for now at least.

He’s comfortable. Jason doesn’t want to move.

He does anyway, sitting back with a scowl on his face. It makes Tim smile—his scowl deepens.

“I’ll be quick,” Tim promises.

Jason huffs a little. He leans back against the couch cushions. Tim’s hand is still under his shirt, sliding back over to the injured side as Jason lifts it. He feels— He feels more settled now. Less nervous, though butterflies still flutter between his ribs.

Jason watched Tim’s fingers probe gently around the bruising. The purple has started to fade to a greenish hue, but it still hurts when he prods it. Jason’s quiet, pained noises are soothed with soft rumbles and fingers rubbing his shoulders.

When he’s done, Tim’s hand lingers, laying casually on his waist. Jason’s skin would normally be prickling, but—

It isn’t.

It hasn’t this whole time, any time the alpha touched him.

“I don’t feel any cracks or breaks. Did— Were there any injuries to your back?” He’s no longer rumbling.

Jason misses it already. There’s a part of him that wants to snuggle up to him, see if he can’t coax that rumble back out.

He ignores it; instead shaking his head. “No. They— The, um, the boss said they were supposed to keep me as uninjured as possible. Any punishment had to be careful not to leave a mark.”

Tim hums. He strokes Jason’s skin with his thumb, and then slips his hand from Jason’s waist. It—

Jason finds that he misses it.

Tim leans forward, finally opening the first aid kit. It’s stocked, full of things Jason has names for and things he doesn’t. Tim takes out two things: the first, a small jar, and the second, a bottle of puppy’s Tylenol. Jason—he doesn’t like it, but he can’t really argue with it. Not at his size and weight and everything. They’re pills, at least, and chewable too,

Jason examines them carefully before he takes them, washing away the chalky flavor with the drink he’d been given before.

Tim unscrews the lid of the jar. The cream inside smells herbal, though not unpleasantly so. Jason holds out his arm, relaxing into the couch as the alpha works the cream into his skin.

It’s easy to let his eyes fall half-lidded. Jason is warm and sleepy. The air is thick with protective alpha scent; it soothes his hind-brain, the part that is purely omega, purely pup and longing for the comfort and safety of pack.

A small voice in the back of his mind is screaming, telling him he needs to keep his guard up.

It’s easy to ignore like this. To focus on nothing but gentle hands on his skin and the ambient noise around him; the hum of electricity and the distant noise of outside traffic.

Jason drifts.

He barely registers when the alpha switches arms, coming back up only to croon confusedly when Tim stops touching him. He blinks up at him, and gets a kind smile in return.

“Hush, pup,” the alpha soothes. “I’m going to get us something to eat.”

Jason blinks slowly at him and hums in acknowledgment. Tim gets a blanket from—somewhere, and lays it over him. It’s soft. Jason likes it. He nuzzles into it, into more of the alpha’s scent, and sighs.

He can hear Tim moving around in the kitchen—the clatter of dishware and pans, the bubbling of boiling liquid, the sound of his soft footsteps. He can smell something savory—chicken, he thinks, and garlic.

He drifts again, stirring only when Tim nudges him gently. A steaming bowl of soup is pressed into his hands.

“It’s hot,” Tim warns, a bit unnecessarily.

Jason still burns his tongue on the first mouthful. He doesn’t care. Having the food in front of him has made him realize how ravenous he is. His bowl is empty far too soon, though he’s too stuffed to go back for seconds.

His empty bowl is taken from him, and then Tim returns again. “C’mon, pup,” he murmurs. “I’ve got a spare toothbrush you can use. A spare den, too. I’ll get you some nesting materials and pajamas while you brush your teeth.”

Jason reluctantly leaves the couch and blanket behind, shuffling down the hall and into the bathroom. Tim procures a toothbrush for him, and then leaves.

It’s a relief to brush his teeth.

His captors had done it for him, so rough his gums had bled and ached. They still bleed under Jason’s gentle ministrations, but at least it doesn’t hurt. By the time he’s rinsing his mouth, Tim has returned, a bundle in his arms. He offers it to Jason.

“Clothes,” he says, a little unnecessarily.

Jason takes them, and Tim leaves again, giving him privacy. Jason goes to shut the door and then—

Hesitates.

He doesn’t want it open. But— He doesn’t…

What if he shuts it, and it won’t open again?

He’s. He’s being silly.

There’s no way this apartment has more than one bathroom. Trapping Jason inside here would be dumb, and he doesn’t think this alpha is dumb.

Jason takes a deep breath. He shuts the door.

Except—

He doesn’t. The latch hits the frame and Jason stops. His heart thunders in his ears. His breaths come sharper, quicker. He can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Tears burn in his eyes.

It’s not fair.

He rests his head against the frame; one hand cradling the bundle of clothes to his chest, the other gripping the doorknob.

God. He’s so fucking pathetic.

He shudders. Takes a deep breath. It shakes on his exhale, a tremor in his chest. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to shut it all the way. He can leave it like this, with the metal latch over the door frame, only the tiniest sliver of hallway visible.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

Jason strips quickly, clothes falling into a puddle at his feet. He yanks on the pants the alpha provided. They’re a little short at the ankle, and he has to draw the drawstrings all the way out for them to stay up, but. They fit well enough.

The shirt, too, is a little big, hanging off slightly at one shoulder. It doesn’t show his breasts, and hangs down to his mid-thigh, so Jason doesn’t mind.. Both pants and tee are soft on his skin, not scratching like the other set did.

There’s a hamper. Jason drops his old clothes in, though he’d much rather see them in a dumpster somewhere. The jacket—

Jason hadn’t realized how much it had been comforting him until now. Without it, he feels almost naked. Exposed. He wants to put it back on again. He resists the urge, though. Instead, he straightens it as best he can, then folds it in half and lays it on top of the hamper before he exits the bathroom.

Tim isn’t in the living room any more, and Jason stands, nibbling on his lip. Maybe he should go for the door… but. He can’t bring himself to. Instead he stands there, uselessly, until he hears rustling further down the hall.

He approaches tentatively, and finds Tim in the den at the end of the hall.

Tim glances up when he hears Jason approach, and smiles a little. “I was just getting out some nesting materials,” he says, gesturing.

In front of him is a cushioned nest base, held off the ground by a wooden frame. Piled on top of it is—

Jason had been expecting maybe a couple of blankets and some pillows, but—

The blankets are piled tall; the one on top Jason recognizes as the blanket he’d been using on the couch. There are plenty of pillows, too—and padding, for added layers, and cushions, and, it’s… It’s a lot.

Jason’s throat feels a little tight. “Thanks,” he says, voice small.

“Of course, pup,” Tim says gently. He’s pulled his scent in tight now, but when he draws nearer, Jason catches a whiff of safehere and everythingsokay drifting off of him. His hand moves slow enough it would be easy for Jason to avoid it, but. He stays still, letting the alpha brush his knuckles over his cheek.

“Goodnight, pup,” he murmurs. “If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall.”

Jason nods. The alpha’s hand drops, and then he leaves.

The rest of the den… It’s not bare, but it lacks a personal touch. There’s a chest of drawers in the corner closest to the closet; a nightstand by the nest; and curtains hanging over the window. He shuffles further in, leaving the door open behind him.

He leaves the nest alone for now. Instead—

He goes for the closet first, opening the door. It’s bare inside, except for a thin layer of dust. Jason shuts it again. He opens the drawers, as quietly as he can. Empty as well. The den smells— Not stale, it’s definitely been used before, but. He catches the barest hints of alpha scent, and other than that… It just smells clean.

Jason rubs at his eyes.

No more putting it off.

As much as he doesn’t want to… Jason doesn’t shut the door all the way. Instead, just like in the bathroom, he leaves it open the tiniest sliver. Anything more, and he won’t be able to sleep. Anything less—

Panic.

Even the thought makes his heart race.

Jason rubs his face. He hates this. He hates it so much. Fuck. Sometimes it feels like life is just out to get him. Like—someone or something out there wants him to suffer.

Stop it. Plenty of people have it worse than you do, he scolds himself. He’s safe right now, or— He has the illusion of safety, at least. The alpha is being nice. Jason is— He’s not bound up. The door isn’t locked. There are no bars on the window. Tim treated his injuries. Held him when he cried. Gave him food and something to drink and soft clothes.

And he’d given Jason plenty of material to make a nice, comfortable nest to den in. One that might finally satisfy the instincts that have been screaming at him.

Jason takes a breath, and pads over to the nest. The sheer amount of material before him is almost overwhelming, but… He goes through it slowly. He starts with the padding, layering it into the nest base and using the cushions to help give it shape. He tests it as he goes, until he has something that’s plush, but not so much that it will engulf him. He works a nest cover over it. It’s a bit of a struggle to get it on, but Jason manages; only a little winded by the end. What padding and cushions he didn’t use—

He decides to put them in the closet, where they’ll be out of the way.

Blankets next.

Jason sorts through the pile slowly, rubbing each on his cheek. Scenting them. The one he used on the couch is the strongest scented; still thick with the contentment he’d felt in the alpha’s arms, and the protective, comforting scent Tim had drenched the air with.

He ends up using a little over half of the blankets Tim provided. The rest he puts in the closet.

Pillows—

Jason doesn’t use as many of them. He ends up putting most of them in the closet. And then, finally—

His nest is done.

He stands back, surveying his handiwork. He trills with pride, running his hand over the edge. His nest is soft. Cozy. It needs— It needs books. And— His fox. He misses his fox, the one his mom gave him. He kept it— He managed to keep it safe, all this time.

It’s probably gone now. Or ruined.

His eyes sting, and he swipes at them roughly.

Jason is so tired of crying.

He climbs into bed, pulling the blankets over and around him, snuggling down into the pillows. It feels—

Safe.

There’s something missing, though. Jason— He’s not sure what it is, but—

He’ll worry about it in the morning.

[grissomesque]

Do you have any j/p fic recs??? I’ve read all your AMAZING stuff and I’m now obsessed.

Ahhh that's so kind of you, thank you!! & I'm so happy you've found J/P! Welcome to the fambam.

Starting with the dawn of time: you could wayback machine Jupiter Station to see where it all began.

I rec'd this a little bit ago but I'll do it again here: Absumption by drsquidlove

Then you can start with @missparker's The Long Away Mission, and then all the rest of her J/P fic (like take it easy baby, make it last all night !)

and @curator-on-ao3's Fly Me to the Moon, and then all the rest of her J/P fic (like this one she wrote for meee)

and @mia-cooper's Kinetic Friction, though incomplete, deserves a mention (I've read it twice through)

and Sleepover by Syrena_of_the_lake

and a fantastic newcomer, there is water (at the bottom of the ocean) by @cicaklah

Oh, and a couple of posts you can't find on AO3: a prompt from missparker; and a prompt from @curator-on-ao3 for me which she basically wrote and then I was like, yep, cosigned.

There are so many other amazing fics that I'm leaving out, so I hope others will chime in with their faves. ♡

Update: we also have a J/P community now for just this sort of thing!

[year-of-whump-tropes]

Hey all! If you have prompts in mind or tropes you'd like to see, please get them in sooner rather than later! I'd like to get the list done within the next couple of weeks so I can be sure to get the event all put together by the end of the year.

Types of prompts needed | Categories that need the most prompts | All themes

[hidey-writes]

sunday six

He bends forward to blow gently over the ink to dry it. Zhao Yunlan tilts with him, uncomfortably warm across Shen Wei’s shoulders, and Shen Wei merely bears the additional weight forward and back again. As Shen Wei sits back up, Zhao Yunlan lets go of him. A momentary respite of cool air and then Zhao Yunlan is stepping over Shen Wei’s crossed legs, climbing onto the couch beside Shen Wei, and plastering against his side, skin-to-skin wherever it’s possible. Mostly this means Zhao Yunlan’s face shoved into Shen Wei’s neck above the collar of his shirt, and Zhao Yunlan’s hands trying to undo Shen Wei’s belt to get at the skin under his shirt.  Shen Wei carefully caps his brush pen, transfers it to his other hand, and uses his free hand to shove Zhao Yunlan back across the couch.

the longest, slowest sentences from the fic i'm writing for guardian bingo prompt 2 -- i was seized somehow by the urge to write very languid and domestic summertime weilan, so i'm giving in to it. i've made it through a down draft (this is from that) and an up draft (thank god). i'm still figuring out how to stick the landing at the end, but it's pretty close!!

[chaotic-orphan]

Dec. 9 + 10, prompt: nice gift + ornament

You know what’s up, I missed yesterday so December prompt calendar two for one special!!!

@the-modern-typewriter @the-modern-typewriter-aesthetic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know villain, after all these years of working together, I realised I never actually got you a birthday present,” supervillain purred and villain blushed.

“There’s no need, supervillain. Honestly, I don’t even-”

“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t even finish that sentence,” supervillain said, a finger on villain’s lips effectively silencing them. Supervillain regarded them with such tender adoration that villain could have melted on the spot as supervillain moved their hand to villain’s cheek.

Supervillain stepped closer, leaning towards them and villain’s heart pounded against their chest when supervillain stopped just an hair between their lips. Their breath shared, and supervillain smirked.

“Do you want to see your gift, little dove?”

Villain licked their lips, nodding in response not trusting their voice with supervillain this close to them.

“Okay,” Supervillain said, stepping away from villain with a wide smile, and something unknowable in their eyes. “Close your eyes.”

Villain obeyed. They heard the door to the drawing room open, and then they felt a hand grasp their arm gently, guiding them blind into the drawing room. The roar of the fire greeted them.

“Okay, now… open!”

Villain opened their eyes and before them kneeled hero. Their hands above their head in heavy iron shackles that were chained to the ceiling. Their knees wrapped in chains keeping them on the floor.

“Hero?” Villain asked, breathless.

Hero raised their head and villain suppressed a flinch. They looked bad. So bad. Their eyes swollen and bruised, blood dripping down their nose passed their lips and onto the floor below.

Supervillain came around villain then. “Perfect, isn’t it? I got it just for you. House trained and everything. Isn’t that right hero?”

“Yes, sir,” hero croaked and villain frowned stepping closer to them.

“Happy birthday, villain,” supervillain said, pressing a kiss to villain’s cheek.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

[gisellelx]

Twilight Advent Calendar, Day 3

Dec. 3 - Pick one deceased Twilight character to draw or tell us more about. How would the Twilight universe be different if they were still alive?

"Or Does It Sag"

(~2,000 words)

December 3, 2023 Ashland, Wisconsin

Bella had been the one to break this particular dam.

It was a problem they all suffered from, if Edward were honest. The world changed so quickly around them, and it was easy to lose track of new possibilities on offer, especially when they were personal. An advancement in engine mechanics; sure, Rosalie would keep on top of that. A contemporary pianist rising to new fame; Edward would be aware. And with his daughter, these days, it was simple to be aware of other things he would once have not noticed: memes and new phrases, fashion trends too pedestrian for his sister to pick up on, Greta Gerwig and Christopher Nolan opening polar opposite films on the same weekend.

They all would forget, often, that the world changing might mean that certain things they had taken for granted needed reconsideration. That over time, the arc of history bent toward making the impossible possible.

His wife was sitting with their daughter on the the piano bench, Renesmee’s hands aglow from the white Christmas lights his mother had strung on the banister in the foyer. The tree would come later—Christmas Eve, their tradition since that very first serious fire hazard Carlisle had lit in the room of an inn on the shores of the Bay of Fundy, trying to coax, if not joy out of Edward, at least something a bit more like delight—but the house was already filled with other greenery, the air thick with the scents of white pine, ripened pinecone, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Across the room, Alice and Esme discussed the tree’s placement, how big it would need to be, as they hung ten stockings on the mantle in order by their entrance to the family: J, R, B, J, A, E, R, E, E, C. Although Edward knew Carlisle and Esme always hung them all anyway, this would be the first Christmas since the pandemic had begun that all ten of them would be filled. Jasper and Emmett had taken their Christmas cheer outside on Esme’s orders, and Rose had followed them, the living embodiment of the saying that behind every great man was a woman rolling her eyes.

And then there was Carlisle, whose newest schedule thrust him into two weeks of boredom at a time, curled up into one of the wingback chairs in his socks, staring at a page dense with text in the smallest font on his Kindle, but only pretending to read.

It had been earlier this year. Seventeen years of marriage, nearly nineteen of a relationship, and somehow Edward had never mentioned this crucial fact to his wife. They had been at the Toulouse house, discussing their next visit to the States, when Edward had mentioned something about his sire’s past; the knowns and the unknowns, and had let slip a crucial bit of missing information, a basic fact everyone had always taken for granted would forever be irretrievable.

Bella had just blinked at him a few times, and then, in the cutting way she had, offered, “Edward, haven’t any of you ever heard of Ancestry dot com?”

It had taken Bella all of twenty-four hours. A new account. A deep dive into church registers in London, 1600-1650. The parish records of one Saint James Aldgate, kept from 1625-1668 in a cramped handwriting that looked for all the world like Carlisle’s, which, when remarked upon, had only earned him a large eyeroll from his wife. “Edward. I know you think Carlisle sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus”—this time it was his turn to roll his eyes—“but you do realize that at some point someone had to teach him to write?”

And so they had pored over the records of births and marriages, baptisms and deaths, until they found her. Married, just barely twenty-two. Dead, just shy of twenty-four. One child, baptized the day she died. And the name, lost to the centuries until now.

They had presented this information for Father’s Day. Printouts of the pages; the dates, the eerily matching handwriting. Carlisle had swallowed deeply, thanked them, and shortly thereafter, left the room.

He hadn’t spoken of it. Edward hadn’t been sure if it had been an offense.

The composition under his daughter’s nimble fingers was over forty years old now, otherwise sounding like any other contemporary piano piece except that something about it sounded wintery, a musical affectation of the rapid whooshing of the Wisconsin wind against windows Esme had insisted upon keeping single pane. And as Edward listened, he let his mind drift along with his family's. It will need to be shorter. Esme, contemplating the tree. An expensive pair of earrings, no a necklace, no earrings, and…goddamnit, Emmett as Jasper tried valiantly to hide his holiday thoughts from his wife.

Pride, in equal measures, Jacob and Bella, listening to Renesmee at the keyboard.

And then…a little girl. Well, no, Edward realized at once. Not a girl, a child. Blond hair hanging in ringlets down to thin shoulders, a hat in the child’s—his—hand. The hat, falling to the ground from an open fist, as the dress swung around the child’s ankles, the hair flying in the wind as the child—the boy—giggled, racing into a woman’s round, pregnant belly.

“Carlisle,” the woman scolded gently. “You’ll wake your sister. Quiet, child.” A glance across a room, firelight dancing from the hearth, where a cradle sat on the floor, a warm glow across the cheeks of a plump toddler. Then the warm laughter again, a hand caressing the swell that was to be the third child. A boy, Edward knew somehow, through that strange alchemy that was his own mind and the mind he knew almost every bit as intimately. Then the boy, scooped up, held tightly to the ample bosom even as he giggled and squirmed. The imagined scent—roses, fresh air, sweat, soot.

As quickly as it came, the whole scene vaporized, replaced with live piano music, the scent of resin, Esme’s gentle laughter, the glow of LED twinkle lights. Edward looked up, catching eyes from across the room. A muttered excuse, and the sound of denim on upholstery as his sire excused himself, nonchalantly, as though he’d forgotten something.

But when he hadn’t returned ten minutes later, Edward also made soft noises about needing to find something, pressed his lips to the crown of his daughter’s head, and said, “Keep it up, Sweet.” His wife, ever perceptive, looked up from the bench.

Carlisle? she mouthed, and Edward nodded.

The house wasn’t large. The two of them had chosen it for themselves a hundred years ago, only later to share it with the woman Carlisle had, in all his impulsivity and to Edward’s initial dismay, saved from her own attempt at death. Following a scent—especially this most familiar one—was easy, and a moment later, Edward found himself in the study. His father’s chair was turned toward the wall, staring at a bookcase full of all manner of tomes organized in some system which after a century, still remained impenetrable even to Edward.

He didn’t say anything; it wasn’t as though he could sneak up. They both said nothing, the only sound in the stillness of the room their inhalations and exhalations.

“A sister?” Edward said finally. The head turned, and two pairs of golden eyes met.

“And a brother,” Edward added, and Carlisle shrugged.

It was the 1640s. Six would have been common.

“That’s not at all what I was commenting on, and you know it.”

Carlisle gulped. Edward came closer, perching himself on the perpetually messy desk.

“I wasn’t even sure you appreciated the gift,” he said quietly. “You’ve said so little about it.”

The blond head shook furiously. “I’m sorry. I’m grateful. It’s just—”

A flurry of images. The boy, giggling again. Older, hair shorter, wearing breeches this time. The sister, just as towheaded, her long ringlets dancing behind her as her brother pulled her through a small churchyard, scattering the handful of hens which lived there. The woman, a stern and wry look on her face, bouncing a toddler in her arms. Then blankness, again, the cutting off that Edward knew, like the slamming of a steel door, as Carlisle closed off his thinking to protect Edward from things he did not wish Edward to be privy to. Then came the sensations: the twist in the pit of the stomach, the raw, searing grief as fresh as it ever had been.

When this quiet had continued for several minutes, Edward spoke up. “You would’ve died, you know.”

A nod.

“And none of us would be here.”

Rosalie’s face swam suddenly in Carlisle’s mind. Not necessarily a bad thing.

Edward raised his eyebrows. “You’d trade us? Esme?” A pause. "Me?”

His father bit his lip, an uncannily human fidget that had once been put into his repertoire on purpose, but had now become so ingrained it was just part of him. The image shifted again: a series of flashes, rapid, one after another. The boy, school-aged, holding bravely still while the woman bandaged a knee. A teen, lifting a playful toddler out of the sacristy of the church—the sacristy remembered, the toddler imagined. A fourth child, Edward realized. The towheaded boy grown tall, his face the face of the young man Edward was used to. Clutching hands with a woman in white, anxiety and adrenaline and joy as he stood before an altar, the woman beaming at him from the first pew. And finally, the woman, older, her hair graying, as the young man placed a squashed-face infant into her arms.

Edward knew this part now, understood that Carlisle was so deeply content that he lacked the ability to imagine a family other than the one he had. That his dreams had a way of mixing the present with the past with the imagined, as though all of it were true. That if Edward had been able to lift the imaginary bride's veil, he would've seen the woman whose voice he could still hear floating down the hallway. That the infant being handed over in the memory now was the only infant Carlisle had ever imagined having: even though he had met Edward at age 17, he had a firm idea of what he would’ve looked like at six pounds. No hair—redheads were usually born bald—a grip surprisingly firm for a one-day-old infant. He saw the way the imaginary Carlisle beamed as he handed the bundle over to the woman. The way her eyes halfway closed in delight. Edward felt in the memory the way the baby felt in the hands, and recognized the way Carlisle’s mind was mixing this imagined baby and his imagined weight with a concrete memory from September, seventeen years before: Edward’s daughter; Carlisle’s palms.

I wish she could meet you.

Swinging his legs off the desk, Edward let out a bark of a laugh.

"Carlisle, you’re the one who believes in heaven. You really think she hasn’t?”

The image which surfaced this time was so similar, it was hard to tell if it was Edward’s alone or Carlisle’s, or both. The woman, fully gray haired now, her face wrinkled and her hands beginning to show liver spots. Sitting in their living room, laughing and giving tree advice to Esme, listening attentively to Renesmee, joking about Edward and Carlisle with Bella.

“Come on, Carlisle. If she’s anywhere, she’s here.” He hopped off the desk. “And you hiding in your office is probably not what she’d want.”

The nod came slowly. I suppose you’re right. He ran a hand through his hair and attempted a smile. Standing, he placed a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “I am glad you’re here. All of you. Even though the house is way too crowded.”

He chuckled. “We’ll leave before New Year’s.”

“Is that a promise?”

Edward punched Carlisle in the bicep, but they both laughed. Carlisle gestured to the door.

Come. Let’s see what your mother has figured out about the tree.

Edward nodded, and followed Carlisle’s steps. But at the door, his sire stopped, gazing back toward the desk where Edward still stood. The young boy resurfaced, lying against the woman, the girl, still asleep, the unborn infant a flutter under his brother's rib. Slowly, the boy's eyelids, too, grew heavy.

Carlisle blinked, snapping his mind abruptly back to the study. The boy was replaced by books. Thank you for giving her back to me.

And Edward saw it. Obscured by two pieces of mail, but still on top of the pile, the scent of Carlisle’s fingers still fresh, as though he’d rifled through it as recently as this morning. The envelope that he’d prepared, lettered in Bella’s handwriting, given for Father’s Day. The name, lost to time, resurfaced with technology, and with it, memory, imagination, grief, and somehow, love. As he moved, he brushed aside the bank statements on top, leaving the whole envelope visible as he exited the room.

Sarah

it read.

Closing the study door, Edward turned out the light and headed back toward his family.

Masterpost/Prompts Montage Masterpost

[coollyinterferes]

*taps mic; a certain gentleman is standing right beside him*

"Good evenin', everyone!! We're back!! Hope you didn't miss us much!"

"It sure hasn't been that long.... has it....?"

Uhhmmm....

[cosmicheartz]

oh yea almost forgot to post this but slightly overdue huevember ( day 11, 12 and 13 combined though its not rlly obvious ) with my oc esme

[banannabethchase]

Christmas Gift

~

December Prompt Challenge day 5: Christmas books

I bit off more than I can chew with this challenge and now I'm going to be publishing like 7-10 fic(let)s a week HELP

~

“Open it.”

Eddie blinks as he takes the gift from Danny’s hands. “You got me a Christmas gift?”

Danny shrugs and resists the urge to take the gift back and run out of there. “Yeah? And?”

Eddie’s smile is unfairly gentle. “I just think it’s sweet.” He catches Danny by the jaw. “Look at me, baby. Thank you.”

Danny presses his lips together. “You can open it.” He watches silently as Eddie peels open the wrapping paper, more delicately than he’d expected.

“It’s a book,” Eddie says. He’s not frowning, exactly, but he looks confused.

“Olive the Other Reindeer,” Danny explains. “It was my favorite as a kid. I couldn’t think of what would be a good Christmas gift for you, so I figured…” He trails off.

“This is adorable,” Eddie says. “Fuck. I forget just how sweet you can be.” He glances up and down the hallway then hauls Danny in by the waist to kiss him. It’s head spinning and spine tingling, reaching all the way down to Danny’s toes.

“I was gonna put a bow on my ass and call it a day, but I figured the book was better,” Danny says when they finally pull apart. He smiles.

“Yeah? I’ll take that too.” Eddie lets him go enough to slap him on the ass. “Come to my hotel tonight, after the show. I’ll give you your gift then.”

Danny raises an eyebrow. “Is the gift your dick with a bow on it?”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs. It’s so goddamned pretty Danny forgets for a minute that he’s not allowed to fall in love with Eddie. “Nah, baby. I got something better.”

Danny scoffs before he can stop himself. “Doubt it.”

“Now you’re just being cute.” Eddie leans in and kisses Danny again, quick and sweet this time, and pulls back. “I’ll see you later.”

Danny watches him walk away, and begins to wonder if he could wear mistletoe as a belt.

[neondiamond]

.

[eemoo1o-animoo]

Kuroshitcember Prompt List:

(2022 edition)

Kuroshit name, I know. But, I’m making this a thing! Reblog if you’re using it, and feel free to send me the results!

Happy Kurostmas everyone, and other merry tidings.

Thursday, the 1st of December; — Sebastian delivers a letter to his master.

Friday, the 2nd of December; — Grelle smiles at Will everyday when he comes into work. Why? How does she feel when he ignores her? Does he ignore her? How does he react?

Saturday, the 3rd of December; — Agni stands by his prince in absolute silence. Why? What is he thinking about? How does he feel? How long has he been doing this for?

Sunday, the 4th of December; — Pick a male character and dress them up in drag! Ciel doesn’t count. Why are they in drag? Do they like it? How do people react? Is this a regular occurrence? What happens next?

Monday, the 5th of December; — Fast forward a century or so, and the Grim Reaper Dispatch’s collection system has switched to AI and other complex technologies. How good are the grim reapers at this? How do they feel about it?

Tuesday, the 6th of December; — Caskets and coffins, colds and collectibles. Write something about the Undertaker and his fresh clients of winter deaths!

Wednesday, the 7th of December; — Demons don’t usually sleep. So, how do they dream?

Thursday, the 8th of December; — Pick two characters and swap their species! What does this do? Is demon Will just another version of Claude? Is human Sebastian any different to how he is now?

Friday, the 9th of December; — Listen to Stolas Sings by Sam Haft. What do you think this could represent?

Saturday, the 10th of December; — Paperwork that Will asked for gets handed in late. What happens?

Sunday, the 11th of December; — Finny writes a letter to St. Nicholas. What does he write?

Monday, the 12th of December; — As Christmas draws near, so does the cold, which plays hell with Tanaka’s old bones.

Tuesday, the 13th of December; — Ronald Knox’s wristwatch breaks. One of the other reapers gives him a gift to replace it while it’s in repairs.

Wednesday, the 14th of December; — Ciel’s birthday. What happens? How does he feel?

Thursday, the 15th of December; — A day in the life of a Trancy servant.

Friday, the 16th of December; — Rice cakes. That’s it. That’s the prompt.

Saturday, the 17th of December; — Eric Slingby reminisces about his domestic life with Alan Humphries. What does this entail?

Sunday, the 18th of December; — Listen to Bloody Mary by Lady Gaga. What do you think this could represent?

Monday, the 19th of December; — The Undertaker used to be allied to the Phantomhives. Why was that? How does he feel now that he’s no longer affiliated with them? What was his relationships like with Cloudia and Vincent like, respectively, perhaps in contrast to the one that he now has with Ciel?

Tuesday, the 20th of December; — Grelle Sutcliff and Madame Red are just after meeting. What happens? What do they talk about?

Wednesday, the 21st of December; — Mey-Rin sits down with Bard over a packet of smokes. What do they do? What do they talk about? Is it romantic or completely platonic?

Thursday, the 22nd of December; — “[She/He/They/It] prowl(s) around London with [her/his/their/its] [claws/weapon] dragging along the wet ground, waiting until […].”

Friday, the 23rd of December; — Sebastian thinks about his life before his contract with Ciel.

Saturday, the 24th of December; — Sebastian (and, more optionally, the servants) prepares the manor for the young master for Christmas Day.

Sunday, the 25th of December; — Sebastian bears an awful resemblance to someone held near. Pick a character and let them realise this!

Monday, the 26th of December; — “And then he was all like, ‘I am simply one hell of a butler’. Ugh! I hate that guy.”

Tuesday, the 27th of December; — William T. Spears is just after laughing. Why? How? What has just happened to cause such a cosmical event?

Wednesday, the 28th of December; — “Tanaka looks to Sebastian and Ciel. All he truly sees in front of him is a monster.”

Thursday, the 29th of December; — The Undertaker and [Ciel/Sebastian/one of the reapers] sit down and have a chat during dire times. Why? What do they talk about? Is it an argument? If so, who’s winning?

Friday, the 30th of December; — The Grim Reapers prepare the office for a New Years’ Eve party. Why? What happens?

Saturday, the 31st of December; — Sebastian takes his final bow as the final curtain call nears on Ciel’s life.

[Image ID: SFW and NSFW is allowed! Sebaciel and the like is not! *Sebaciel shippers DNI!*]

[topbottomswitchblade]

when i started this blog it was like Top Secret bc there are still a few people who know me on tumblr

but then i let a few mutuals know who i am, then i said fuck it i’ll post face pics, then my irl friend found it, and now i want to just make a post on my whump blog saying if you followed me bc you think violence is sexy you should see what i got goin’ on over at topbottomswitchblade

also i want to let ppl around here know my main blog just so they know it’s me liking their posts