#so in her gentle way she sidles to be closer to him

[bellesdiaries]

Love Between Fairy and Devil 苍兰诀

[not-magdi]

-soft mornings / Lando Norris

Warnings : none (maybe some pregnancy-fever)

Words: 900

Reading time : 3min 45 sec

A/N

I‘m currently having the biggest baby fever, this was my inspiration for this post.

Hope you enjoy it!

Love you guys, Magdi <3

The soft light of the Monaco morning seeped through the sheer curtains, painting the bedroom in gentle hues of gold. Y/N stirred slightly, nestled against the warmth of Lando’s chest. His arm was draped protectively around her, his hand resting on the curve of her growing belly. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, a soothing rhythm that lulled her in and out of a comfortable haze.

“Morning, love,” Lando murmured, his voice thick with sleep as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His curls tickled her cheek, and she couldn’t help but smile softly, her eyes still closed.

“Morning,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible as she shifted closer, burrowing herself deeper into his embrace.

Lando’s hand moved gently over her belly, his touch light but reverent. “And good morning to you too, little one,” he added, his tone warm and playful. He rubbed slow circles over the bump, his voice dropping to a soft murmur as he spoke to their baby. “You keeping Mum comfy in there? Let her sleep a bit longer today, yeah? You can kick me later if you want.”

Y/N chuckled softly at his words, her smile widening. “You talk to her more than you talk to me these days,” she teased, her eyes fluttering open to find Lando’s boyish grin.

“That’s because she listens to me,” he quipped, feigning a pout. Then, as if he couldn’t resist, he leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her belly. “You’re going to be a good listener, aren’t you, baby girl? Not like your mum.”

“Oi!” Y/N laughed, swatting his arm lightly, though the joy in her voice betrayed her attempt at being stern. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” Lando countered, pulling her closer still. His arms wrapped around her fully now, his chin resting on her shoulder as he continued to cradle her bump.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled together in the warmth of their bed, until Y/N finally stirred, stretching slightly. “Alright,” she murmured, “I suppose we should get up before you smother me with affection.”

“Smother you? Never,” Lando teased, helping her sit up. “But fine, let’s get you fed. Can’t have my girls going hungry.”

———-

The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light as Lando rummaged through the fridge. “How about pancakes? Or eggs? Wait, no—both,” he said, his excitement bubbling over.

Y/N leaned against the counter, her hand resting on her belly as she watched him with a fond smile. “Both sounds good,” she agreed.

“Perfect.” Lando grinned and walked over to her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before crouching down to kiss her belly again. “Hear that, baby girl? Pancakes and eggs. You’ve got great taste, just like your mum.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but laughed, letting him take her hand and lead her toward the counter. “Alright, chef, tell me what to do.”

“You,” Lando said, spinning her gently and placing his hands on her shoulders, “are going to sit right here and supervise.” He pulled out a stool for her, making sure she was comfortable before diving into his pancake batter preparations.

But Y/N wasn’t one to sit still for long. “Lando, I’m pregnant, not incapable,” she protested, standing up to grab the whisk.

Lando gave her a playful pout but didn’t argue, instead sidling up beside her as they worked together. As Y/N whisked the batter, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Teamwork,” he murmured, swaying slightly with her.

“You’re clingy today,” Y/N teased, though she didn’t mind one bit.

“Just excited,” he admitted, his voice soft. His hands found their way to her belly again, rubbing gentle circles. “It’s getting so real, you know? She’s really in there.”

Y/N smiled, leaning back against him. “She is,” she said quietly, her free hand covering his.

As the batter was poured onto the pan, Lando suddenly said, “Speaking of her, we should really narrow down some names. I mean, we can’t just keep calling her ‘baby girl’ forever.”

Y/N laughed. “Alright, Mr. Planner. What’s on your list?”

Lando turned thoughtful, flipping a pancake before answering. “I like Ella,” he said. “Short, sweet. What about you?”

“Ella’s nice,” Y/N agreed, tilting her head. “I’ve always liked names like Sophie or Amelia. Something classic.”

“Amelia’s cute,” Lando said, testing the sound of it. “Amelia Norris. Sophie Norris. Hmm.” He glanced over his shoulder at her with a grin. “What if we went a little wild? Like Nova or Luna?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Nova? Are you trying to make her a future Formula 1 driver already?”

“Could be,” Lando said with a laugh. “We need a name with star power.”

“Well, let’s keep a few options in mind,” Y/N said, resting her chin on his shoulder as he plated the pancakes. “We’ve still got time to decide.”

“True,” Lando agreed, turning to kiss her cheek. “But whatever her name is, she’s going to be the luckiest little girl in the world. She’s got you as her mum.”

“And you as her dad,” Y/N countered, her voice full of warmth.

Lando’s grin softened, his eyes full of love as he pulled her in for a proper hug, one hand inevitably finding its way back to her belly. “She’s got us,” he said simply.

————-

Would you like me to make a little series out of this?

If yes let me know in the comments ! ❤️

[luveline]

Hi love, i would love to see more of spencer x stripper!reader. Hope u are doing good <3

hi thank u, u too! ♡ fem

You press the heel of your palm to the shower tiles, head hanging and hair soaked to the scalp. Rivulets of hot water and soap suds slick their way down your front. 

“You okay?” 

Spencer's voice through the door, a better warmth than any luxurious shower. “Sorry, I'm getting out!” 

“No! No, stay in there if you want, I'm just wondering.” 

You force yourself out of the shower and into a towel. “I'm getting out.” 

“I have some clothes for you,” he says, “I can leave them by the door.” 

You wrap the towel tightly around your chest and step to the door. Spencer's startled face is on the other side, smiling nervously, a bundle of clothes held to his chest. 

“They're my friends. My coworker. Penelope? I asked her first and she said she doesn't mind at all. They might not fit, but…” 

“Thank you. You and Penelope.” You hold out one hand. Spencer passes you the clothes through the cracks of the door and you shut it, maybe unnecessarily. 

Spencer's seen you in various states of undress, but it isn't privacy that's worrying you tonight. You can't help looking over your shoulder, wondering if someone's watching you for a split second of madness. 

You pull on your borrowed pyjamas. A little Japanese cat winks up at you from the pants, the shirt a baseball tee with pink sleeves and a white body. Cute, you think. Penelope must be fun. 

Spencer's in the kitchen making two mugs of tea when you emerge. It's the herbal flavour you favour, steam billowing from the rims like clouds in the cold air. Your long walk in the rain is nearly forgotten by your skin if not your pittering pulse. 

“You okay?” 

“I'm fine.” 

“You sure?” He doesn't give you time to answer, carefully placing the two mugs on the coffee table, before tapping a gentle hand to your shoulder. “You wanna sit down?” 

“I'm really fine, handsome, it's … it's not the first time someone's followed me home.” You smile falsely. 

“That's not okay.” 

“I know.” You point at your cup of tea. “Can I?” 

“Of course you can,” he says, sitting beside you on the couch, leaving a more than chivalrous gap between you.

It's not a gap you want nor need, and after a few sips you've warmed enough to sidle closer to him, in touching distance, and then touching. Thigh to thigh, you watch the tops of his cheeks turn a pretty, blurry pink. “I was scared,” —your knuckles touch briefly to his knee— “but nothing happened. So don't worry about me, Dr. Reid, please.” You layer your voice with a sweetness that comes with seduction, a playfulness to mete his sudden regression into timidity. 

“I worry about you all the time.” He smiles, at least, so it isn't a burden. 

“I worry about you, too.” 

“I know you can take care of yourself, I just can't help thinking about the statistics. I know exactly how likely it is that something bad could happen to you, and it's not that you should worry, I don't want you to be scared, but– it's like, it plays on repeat in my head. It's– I'm not trying to–” 

“Hey, handsome,” you murmur, giving his leg a shy squeeze. “I know. It's dangerous and it's unlikely at the same time. And it feels silly talking about it.” 

“But silly not to,” he adds. 

“Yeah. I know, Spencer, I swear.” 

“I know you know,” he murmurs through a smile. 

“I know you know I know,” you joke back, smiling back sunnily. It doesn't take much of him to cheer you up. Ever since the day you met, he's been like a balm for your rampant aching, a brown-eyed, pretty-handed sweetheart. Whether it's sharing a seat on the train, or meeting up for dinner at the Indian restaurant behind his apartment, or just calling each other on the phone, he knows what to say to fix things. You forget your life, and you get to be with him instead. 

Spencer puts his mug of tea down to hug you. You'd known he was going to. It always happens like this, the two of you together, drinking tea and showing each other just the smallest fraction of each other's hearts. He presses his nose to your cheek as his hands run down the length of your back, and all you can think about is how he knows nearly everything about you and he holds you voluntarily.  

“Love you, Spence,” you mumble into his shoulder. 

“I love you too. I'm here for you, okay? I don't care how scared I am, I love being your friend.” 

You try not to sigh. Friend isn't necessarily what you want to be, but he'd let you in when you buzzed without asking why you were dropping by, and he'd held your gaze as you explained the man who'd been following you, your dead phone, your superglued shoes fallen apart in the typhoon. Spencer's everything a person could ever need. Dependable, vulnerable, sweet, kind, patient. He's pretty in every facet of the word. 

“Is it really that scary?” 

“Thinking about guys following you home?” he asks, rubbing your back gently. “It's terrifying. Weren't you terrified?” 

You blink back the sudden heat of emotion behind your eyes. “Um,” you say, higher than you mean, “uh, it wasn't–” You shrug, but your hands feel shaky and strange. 

Spencer's voice softens, “Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry.” 

You try not to think about what might've happened. When you realised there was someone following you, you didn't think, oh, he'll hurt me, you thought, I need to be faster. I need to get somewhere they can't. 

You needed safety and Spencer was the first, safest place. 

“I'm sorry for coming here.” 

Spencer pushed you away from him without malice, his hands on your arms. Alarm rings his eyes, eyebrows rising, “What? Why would you say that?” 

Because you didn't sign up for this. Because I'm me, and you're you, and you didn't have a choice, you were too good to let me be without you. 

Because, if you think about it, Spencer is more than safety to you. 

He doesn't baulk at your silence. “Hey,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing into the soft skin inside your elbow sweetly, “you like it here, don't you?” You nod. “Then– then who cares why you're here?” 

Spencer pulls you into his arms again. “You'll feel better in the morning… I'm gonna get you a new phone.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Cos that one's always dead. You need to be able to call me when you need me.” 

You smile into his shoulder. “You're not buying me a phone.” 

“Watch me.” 

You don't cry in his arms, but it's a weirdly close call. 

[simplygojo]

Silent Moments II

Authors Note: A highly requested (not that highly, but enough lol) part 2 to “Silent Moments”! I hope you all enjoy it :)

Pairing: AgedUp/Megumi Fushiguro x f/reader

Word Count : 2.1K

Warnings : just a light makeout sesh, nothing wild.

Read the first part here: Silent Moments I

Taglist: @chexzavamarie @adoresia @simplyyyuji

It had been a week since that night outside your apartment, and the distance between you and Megumi had only grown. Each day felt heavier than the last, the silence between you becoming more deafening as the hours dragged on.

No words had been exchanged since that moment—the one where his fingers curled around your wrist, holding you in place, but not in anger. There was a tenderness in the way his grip had lingered, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go. And yet, that same tenderness was what tore at you now.

How could everything feel so right in that moment, yet lead to this endless silence? Every time you thought back to it, your heart twisted painfully. The memory of his warmth, the gentle weight of his forehead against yours—those fleeting seconds felt like a promise, and yet, now it seemed like they were a wall keeping the two of you apart.

You’d catch him in the hallways sometimes, just a glimpse of his dark hair or his quiet form retreating into another room, and your chest would tighten. He wasn’t the type to be openly expressive, you knew that. But even he couldn’t hide the fact that he was avoiding you.

The way he moved so deliberately away from you during training, how he kept his eyes firmly on anything but your face. Each action felt like a silent rejection, one that gnawed at your insecurities.

Had you misread everything? Had he regretted almost kissing you that night?

You tried to convince yourself that maybe he was just giving you space, that maybe this was his way of processing what had happened. But that didn’t stop the ache that settled deep in your chest every time he chose to walk away instead of toward you. And each day, the gnawing uncertainty only grew, eating away at the fragile hope you had been holding onto since that night.

The worst part was, it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

One afternoon, during a break in training, Nobara sidled up to you. The two of you had been sitting outside, and while she was animatedly chatting away about something that had happened during her last mission, you found your mind drifting once again—back to Megumi.

You hadn’t even realized how obvious you were being until Nobara’s voice cut through your thoughts, sharper and more focused than before.

“Okay, seriously. What’s going on with you and Megumi?”

Her tone was casual, but there was a pointedness to her question that made your heart skip a beat. You blinked, startled, turning to face her fully. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” she said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at you. “Something’s definitely up. You two have been acting weird for days now.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words caught in your throat. Nobara wasn’t the type to back down once she’d caught on to something, and lying to her would be pointless. Instead, you shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze.

“There’s nothing going on,” you muttered, though even you could hear how unconvincing you sounded.

Nobara wasn’t buying it. “Oh, please. I’ve known Megumi long enough to know when something’s bothering him. And you—” She paused, giving you a pointed look. “You’ve been spaced out all week. So, spill it. What happened?”

You hesitated, torn between wanting to keep things to yourself and the overwhelming urge to confide in someone—anyone—about the mess of emotions swirling inside you. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you ran a hand through your hair, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

“It’s complicated,” you admitted softly.

Nobara raised an eyebrow. “Of course it is. It’s Megumi we’re talking about. He practically invented ‘complicated.’” She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “But seriously, what happened? You two didn’t fight or anything, right?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, we didn’t fight. It’s just… after our last mission, things got… intense. And we haven’t really talked since.”

Nobara’s eyes widened slightly, a glint of amusement sparking in them. “Intense, huh? You mean like… emotionally intense?”

You felt your face heat up, and you looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “Something like that.”

Nobara’s grin widened, clearly enjoying this new piece of information. “So, what? You two had a moment, and now he’s doing that thing where he overthinks everything and avoids it?”

“Pretty much,” you muttered, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment well up inside you.

Nobara hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “Classic Megumi. He’s probably off in his head, freaking out over nothing.” She nudged you playfully, though her tone was more reassuring than teasing. “Give him time. He’ll come around.”

You nodded absently, though her words didn’t do much to ease the turmoil churning inside you. Time. That was all you had been doing—waiting. But how much longer could you stand it? How much longer before you couldn’t bear the silence anymore?

A few days passed, and nothing changed. Megumi was still avoiding you, and you were still haunted by the lingering memory of that night. It became harder to focus on your training, harder to ignore the hollow ache in your chest.

—

And so, one evening, long after the sun had set, you found yourself in the training hall alone. The quietness of the space felt comforting, the rhythmic sounds of your movements against the mats grounding you. Punch. Kick. Dodge. Repeat.

You threw yourself into the routine, hoping that physical exertion would somehow clear your mind. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

The way he had looked at you that night, the way his voice had trembled just slightly when he said he didn’t want your first kiss to happen like that. It was maddening—this constant loop of emotions and unanswered questions.

You paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from your brow, breathing heavily. Maybe you were overthinking everything. Maybe you should just confront him. Ask him what was really going on.

But the idea of doing that scared you. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if you’d imagined everything? The possibility of rejection lingered like a dark cloud, casting doubt over everything.

The sound of the training hall door sliding open snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned, your heart leaping into your throat as you saw Megumi standing in the doorway. His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable, more uncertain.

Your pulse quickened. You hadn’t expected to see him here, not tonight, not like this.

“Megumi,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His eyes locked onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your heart race. He seemed conflicted, like he wasn’t sure if he should have come at all. But then, with a deep breath, he stepped into the room, letting the door slide shut behind him.

“I needed to talk to you,” he said, his voice low but steady. There was a weight to his words that made your stomach flip.

“About what?” you asked, though you already had a feeling you knew what this was about.

Megumi’s eyes flickered to the floor, his jaw clenching. He looked like he was struggling to find the right words, and the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, more hesitant.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten. “For avoiding you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the apology, your mind racing to catch up with his words. “You don’t have to apologize,” you said quickly, but even as you said it, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. You had been hurt by his distance, by the silence.

“Yes, I do,” Megumi interrupted, his eyes finally meeting yours again. There was a determination in his gaze now, a resolve that hadn’t been there before. “I’ve been avoiding you because… because I didn’t know how to handle this.”

“Handle what?” you asked, though your voice was barely steady. Your heart raced, and the air between you felt charged with something unspoken.

He hesitated, his hands clenching at his sides before he finally let out a frustrated sigh. “The way I feel about you,” he said, his words rushed but sincere. “It’s confusing, and it’s complicated, and I thought… I thought it would be easier if I just stayed away. But it’s not. It’s harder.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your mind racing.

“I don’t want to avoid you anymore,” he continued, slowly walking closer to you. His voice was steady, but his eyes—those deep, stormy blue eyes—were filled with uncertainty. “I don’t want to pretend that this isn’t happening.”

You felt your pulse quicken as he closed the distance between you; the air between you charged with something intense, something electric. And then, before you could fully process what was happening, his hands gently reached up to hold your beautiful face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

For a heartbeat, you stood frozen, your breath caught in your throat. But then, instinctively, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as the tension between you seemed to snap.

You felt a lump form in your throat, your chest tightening with emotion. “Megumi…”

“I tried to stay away because I thought it would be easier. But it wasn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” His voice was nothing above a low whisper—you felt his breath on your skin with every word he spoke.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against yours—just like that night outside your apartment. But this time, it was different. This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. “I care about you,” Megumi whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “More than I know how to say.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours.

The kiss began softly, almost hesitant, as if Megumi was still unsure, testing the boundaries of what was allowed. His lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart race, each movement filled with a quiet intensity.

But then, as though something inside him finally broke free, the kiss deepened. The change was swift and undeniable—his hands slid down to your waist, gripping you firmly but with a kind of reverence, pulling you closer until not a single inch of space remained between your bodies.

It wasn’t just a kiss anymore—it was a release of everything unsaid, every glance and stolen moment, every frustration and desire that had simmered between you for weeks. His lips moved against yours with a new urgency, a passion that set your skin ablaze. It was raw, desperate, and achingly filled with all the emotions he had kept bottled up.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers threading through his soft, dark hair as you tried to convey everything you couldn’t find the words for. There was no holding back now—this kiss was a confession in itself, an admission of all the feelings you’d both been too afraid to voice.

The intensity of it was overwhelming, a dizzying rush of sensation that made your knees weak. But it felt right—like this was where you were always meant to be, pressed against him, lost in the heat of the moment. His hands roamed up your sides, his fingertips grazing the bare skin near your waistband, sending a shiver down your spine.

A low but soft moan escaped his lips, vibrating against your mouth as he deepened the kiss even further, drawing you impossibly closer. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. Your hands lay around his neck and his on your hips.

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be out of anger,” Megumi whispered, his thumb gently brushing against your your flushed cheek. “But this… this feels right.”

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. It did feel right. More than anything else, this was what you’d both been afraid of—the depth of your feelings for each other.

But now that it was out in the open, there was no going back.

And honestly, you didn’t want to.

[heylittleriotact]

💐WIP WEDNESD-ENEVER 💐

@emmg asked for a WIP so here's a chunky one. It's also spicy. Under the cut for length.

I wanted to elaborate on what I imagined Emmrich and Rook banging in a coffin was like. So....

Pairing: Emmrich x Female Rook

Rating: Explicit

Casket Spray:

A large, ornate floral arrangement that sits on top of the casket. It is usually the centrepiece of the funeral flower display.

“What I said the night we had that argument…” she trailed off, not sure what else to say. Was it stupid? Obviously. She knew that even before she got unceremoniously thrown into Solas’ prison in the Dread Wolf’s  place. Was it upsetting? Very - for both of them. Reiterating that now would be pointless. “It feels like it was just yesterday for me, but it was over a fortnight for you.” She squeezed Emmrich’s hand tighter and sidled even closer to him on the stair that they were occupying in a quiet corner of the Necropolis. 

It wasn’t that she was afraid that at any moment she might be dragged away from him again - this time for good, except, well… that was actually exactly what she was afraid of. 

“Thank you for not giving up on me.” 

That was the sentiment she ended up settling on. Thin and somewhat trite, even to her own ears - she had little doubt that he could see through it too. She might as well have told him it wasn’t his fault.

She just hoped he understood that she wasn’t solely referring to rescuing her from the Fade. 

And… there it was - that smile: effortless and comforting by virtue of its existence alone. 

His cheeks were once again clean-shaven (Amina’s gentle suggestion that maybe he should give the beard a chance was politely rebuffed), and his hair was washed and neatly coiffed as usual. One would never guess by looking at him now that only a few hours earlier he looked like a man on the very brink of insanity. 

Over her. 

Over a few poorly chosen words uttered out of fear and pain. Over being plunged into the sudden reality that those might have been the last words exchanged between them. 

Something deep within her stirred at the knowledge that he had been so undone by what had happened at Tearstone Island. If she’d had any doubts that his affections towards her were genuine, they were long gone. There were no lengths that he wouldn’t have gone to in order to retrieve her from that prison, and as flattering as that fact was, she was grateful that Emmrich had not ultimately been called to challenge his definition of what was ‘right’ in this scenario…

People probably wouldn’t have understood…

People probably wouldn’t have liked it. 

And he was nothing if not palatable, right? What with his deliberate togetherness that he presented to the world: a reassurance in and of itself. 

Take that away though…

Watchers were indeed oath-sworn caregivers of the living and the dead, but their approachable, kind nature was of a deliberate sort designed specifically to foster trust. Beneath that compassionate altruism, they were fundamentally guardians and protectors… and they were capable of staggering violence. One only had to consider the damage Johanna nearly caused to understand that a Watcher willing to operate outside the boundaries of their oath was dangerous.

Her beloved Emmrich was no different in that respect, though she was probably one of the few who knew it.

And still he had made a point earlier of talking her down from naming Solas as a ruined spirit and vowing to destroy him for his betrayal and cruel manipulation…

She wasn’t sure if this section of the Necropolis was particularly drafty this evening, but she felt the small hairs on her arms raise slightly and forced her mind away from such thoughts. 

Instead, she thought about how much she loved him. The way his eyes glittered cleverly in the light of the veilfire, and the soft shape of his lips. He was looking at her like she was the center of the universe, and she knew that she didn’t want to go anywhere without him for the rest of her days: she wanted to see his face in the morning when she opened her eyes, and when each day was done, she wanted the last thing she tasted to be those soft, slightly pouting lips. 

She’d see to it that he never felt alone or unwanted again: she would want him always.

She wanted to come back here to the Necropolis when all was said and done and make a home with him and Manfred. The three of them would be so happy together.

And… oh.

Her breath caught as a new thought stole into her mind.

In time - if they desired it - she could cease imbibing the weekly tonic she’d taken for so many years to ensure her monthly cycle. His seed would quicken within her and they would create a child borne of their loving union - blood magic in its purest and most literal form: a legacy crafted of their own flesh. And Manfred would make such a fine big brother with a little sibling to dote on…

Her stomach flip-flopped as arousal curled up through the very marrow of her bones and set a fire deep within her belly. Of course when she was young she’d thought she’d like to be a mother one day, but she’d given up on genuinely putting any thought to such an aspiration years earlier: she never thought she’d find someone who’d truly want her.

Now Elgar’nan and Solas were the only ones in the way of such a future. It was so close she could practically taste it…

She swallowed roughly, feeling her heart hammering away in her breast as the future unveiled itself in Emmrich’s eyes and she burned for him with an imminent need to be united with him utterly.

They might die tomorrow, after all…

“Amina? Are you alright, darling? You look as though you’re a million miles away.” He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she nuzzled into his hand. 

“I’m sorry, love.” She dragged herself back to reality with a smile. “I’m listening.” 

“I was just saying how relieved I am that you’re safe.” 

And he was. He really, really was. Amina suspected he had been counting each of her breaths since she tumbled out of the Fade; kept an eye on the steady thrum of her carotid artery when he could glimpse it just for the visual reminder that she had a pulse and was in fact alive and not just a figment of his grief addled imagination the way Varric had been for her.

“I did have someone to come back to.” She took his hand and stood. 

She gently pulled Emmrich to his feet too and rocked up onto her toes, rising through her knees – up into her hips… lengthening her spine until she could press her lips to his, kissing him and putting all of her devotion and love and fear and sorrow into it along with all of her hunger and yearning. 

When she drew back, the sight of that hunger reflected back at her drove a small gasp from her - it wasn’t an exclamation of surprise, but rather the sound one might make when they find themselves suddenly breathless upon viewing a deeply moving piece of art.

He had apartments in the upper levels of the Necropolis - as did she - but when one considered their surroundings – this quiet, esoteric corner of the wing and the privacy that had clearly been paid for; the fact that this was an owned but unoccupied plot… and the individual it belonged to was suddenly kissing her again – his intent was clear. 

Her fingers twisted into his soft hair and a sumptuous moan rumbled through from him at her touch. Her jaw slackened and his tongue swept past her lips with a desperation that would have shocked her if she hadn’t been privy to the knowledge that he thought she might be dead for the past two weeks. 

Then he was walking her back, back, back, and she offered no resistance, feeling herself bump up against the raised stone sarcophagus in the center of the room. She didn’t need to remove her lips from Emmrich’s to spare a look, nor did she need to remove her hands from his to spare a touch: she knew that the stone wasn’t humble lime - none of the monuments in this section were: they were all at least marble or high-grade granite. She’d stared at the classic, hexagonal shape of the sarcophagus while he was telling her about Hope and Devotion, and as he talked her down from her determination to destroy Solas for his betrayal. She’d stared at it for long enough this evening to mark it as a monument hewn of coveted blue granite from the Anderfels. It had to have cost a fortune – interesting for a man so terrified of his eventual death to sink so much gold into it, she had thought at one point.

She captured his lower lip between her teeth as she leaned against that monument and posed a wordless question as she bit down gently: Are we really doing this, love? 

He whined in response as she worried at his lip, soothing the sting of her bite, his slender long-fingered hand slipping around her waist and splaying across her lower back to bring himself close and erase any space between them.

The familiar and welcome sensation of his hardening length pressed against her in spellbound and equally silent answer: If it pleases you, dearest. 

Every day it seemed he found a new way to surprise her. She shivered at the thought of how many other surprises might await them…

It wasn’t that they both knew that this section - regardless of how serene it was - was ultimately open to the public and anybody could happen by them at any time, though that had its own ribald appeal…

No, it was for the very fact that Emmrich I-Choose-My-Words-Carefully Volkarin did nothing accidentally and left no room for coincidence when his actions were called into question. He was just as aware as Amina that a comfortable feather bed in a warm apartment complete with a crackling fire, expensive Orlesian massage oils, and a selection of the finest wines were all things they could have within minutes should they desire them - all they needed to do was take the lift a hundred-odd levels up, and that was that.

But he wanted this.

After all, what could possibly be more sacred than making love in your eternal resting place on the eve of the end of the world? 

So she shimmied up and seated herself on the edge of the sarcophagus, her legs parting so he could slot himself between them. She could feel the slickness between her thighs clinging to her underthings as she ran her hands over him, dragging his coat down his long arms. 

“I love you, Emmrich.” 

The words were still so new to her tongue and her ears, but it felt like her heart had been beating to the rhythm of them for her entire life. 

“And I love you, my darling, precious Amina.” He shrugged out of the coat and draped it over the side of the cold stone. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say that,” she grinned against his skin, kissing up his neck - tasting the slight saltiness of him and the tang of his cologne. She nibbled at his earlobe and he tensed against her, another pained little gasp slipping past his lips. 

Unable to bear it anymore, she gathered him to her, wrapping her legs around his waist in a fluid movement that sent them both tumbling backwards into the soft velvet lining of the sarcophagus - it was surprisingly soft: quilted and down-filled. There was even a pillow at the head end - a proper one with a silk slip trimmed with scalloped lace, also probably down-filled… not one of those dreadful thin ones filled with wood shavings that offered little to no support for the reposed decedent when it came to the purpose of viewing them.

Indeed Emmrich appeared to have spared no expense when it came to the question of quality and craftsmanship of his final resting place - or was it more accurately theirs now? Destined to be put to use sooner rather than later depending on the outcome of tomorrow?

Most married couples shared the space of an owned crypt but each had their own sarcophagus or niche based on what they could afford. But as Amina’s lungs filled with oxygen, and her rib cage expanded, and she and Emmrich suffused into the cramped space, filling it completely with their bodies and limbs, she decided that the existence of things like space and stone between them for eternity simply wouldn’t do.

No, whichever one of them went first would rest in gentle repose in this exact spot, patiently waiting until the day when the heavy gilded lid was slid aside and a second set of remains were introduced, lovingly deposited and tucked in alongside the other: a cold, rigored hand posed with experienced fingers would lovingly cradle a dry, waxy chin; a leg would be positioned delicately over a fragile lower torso, bony fingers artfully arranged to look almost like it lovingly stroked the recently embalmed flesh of a thigh that would maintain its weight and mass for a few years at least.

Their heads would be gently maneuvered - a chin tucked down here, a jaw tipped up there - to create an enduring tableau of the memory of this exact moment and the reverent, passionate kisses she was tracing along his mandibular foramen: an eternal embrace in which the passing of time was inconsequential when compared to the irrefutable and immortal permanence of their affection. 

A yearning sound escaped her, urged on by the adoring vulgarities and soft praises Emmrich was whispering into her ear as they writhed against each other in the too-small space, his fingertips digging into the curve her ass, guiding her movements to help her rut needily against his thigh, each roll of her hips sending a wave of blissful sensation through her aching core.

She managed to free a hand and wriggle it down between them so she could palm his straining cock through his pants, feeling a hot wet spot against the fleshy base of her thumb where it passed over him - exhilarating evidence of his mounting anticipation. 

“Your cock is perfect,” she whispered. “Beautiful… made for me...” 

Emmrich’s response was a ragged groan and her hips pushed the flat of her palm against him through the fabric of his trousers as she bent her other wrist somewhat awkwardly to start coaxing his collar pin free.

Undressing in the limited space was easier said than done, but something about the obligation of their proximity caused the pooling heat in her belly to intensify with every huff of breath that skittered over her face and neck as they both twisted and groped in the tomb-light, tempering genuine attempts to gain purchase on things like buttons and clasps and ties with exploratory, wandering touches that lingered, caressed, and teased. Lips and tongues dragged over freshly revealed swaths of skin, trailing oaths and tender promises in their wake: sacred incantations that invoked the ancient magic that was responsible for the existence of this place to begin with. 

Amina managed to dislodge herself from between Emmrich and the wall of the sarcophagus, and used her newly found mobility to straddle his lap: her legs might fall asleep if she stayed like this for long, but the angle it provided her allowed her to deftly finish unfastening his waistcoat and shirt. 

“This shirt has about two dozen too many buttons,” she complained breathlessly as he finished with the last of the many moonstone fastenings, and Emmrich sat up to slip free of the clothing in question. 

“I can’t help but notice that their presence didn’t slow you down terribly, dearest.” He regarded her with a lascivious smile as the sleeves of the shirt slid down over his numerous bracelets: it was a filthy expression that only she was privileged to bear witness to - one of lidded eyes and swollen lips quirked in a decidedly smug countenance… the perfectly combed moustache in disarray. Almost a sneer… so vastly different than the compassionate, kind face he presented to the world. It called to something absolutely feral within her – it drove her wild when he looked at her like that, and with his torso now bare and his hair slightly mussed just the way she liked it…

She managed to exercise enough patience to allow him to strip away her own shirt before returning to her self-assumed duty to taste every inch of him that she could reach. Her hips pressed against his from her place atop him, and she closed her mouth over a nipple, lingering in place for a moment to suck gently and flick the delicate gold hoop there with the tip of her tongue. She caught it with her teeth too and ever so gently tugged on it, earning a stammered exclamation from Emmrich before she began trailing kisses downward over the warm flesh of his abdomen, seeking his ribs with her lips, counting each one in her mind as she descended: five, six, seven… onto the false ones – a silly name really – eight, nine, and ten… 

Her fingers curled into the layers of expensive red silk at his waist and she looked up at him then with lust-darkened eyes.

“Lay back,” she ordered, her voice a sensual husk that was not remotely lacking the authoritative cadence of a Reaper who was accustomed to being obeyed when she issued instructions to anyone this far down in the crypts. 

So lay back he did, and Amina made short work of any fabrics and fasteners, freeing him into her waiting hand. 

[azsazz]

In Storm

Rancher!Cassian x Reader

Summary: You want a baby and Cassian looks all too good in his flannel.

Warnings: Conversation about having a baby.

Word Count: 1,098

Notes: The Cassian era is era-inggg

_________________________________________

Rainy mornings are your favorite.

The sky cracking open and letting her feelings loose means that you get to sleep in, that your husband’s warm body holds you tightly as rain patters the windows in pretty songs. It means gentle calloused hands roaming your curves, soft breaths as he mouths against your skin. It means a slow and sensual fucking with a steaming hot bath following, where you can lean back into the comfort of Cassian and rest the day away.

But rainy mornings are not his favorite.

You find your husband standing in front of the large windows of the living room, staring out into the expanse of land you get to call yours. Yesterday’s flannel hangs loose around his broad shoulders, unbuttoned from when he’d hastily thrown it on to examine the conditions of the farm under the onslaught of rain. His hair is tousled, not yet thrown up into a haphazard bun the way he does when he works up a sweat from milking the cows or fixing the fence. His feet are bare, just as yours are, the hardwood flooring holding a chilled bite to it as you near his side.

Stepping up next to Cassian, you gaze out the window as well. The weather hadn’t called for a storm but the springtime is unpredictable. The horses graze in the pasture, seemingly unaffected by the drizzling skies. Their coats are dark with water but they’re getting on with their days as if the sun is shining brightly. 

Lightning cracks the sky and Cassian grunts, displeased. You can see it in the downwards slope of his mouth that he’s unhappy with the fact that he hadn’t brought the animals in yesterday, when he knew he smelled the metallic tang of a storm creeping in.

“They’re animals,” you try to soothe, “They should be used to it.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the stallions,” Cassian responds, not even sparing you a glance as he stares at the horses. “But my mares shouldn’t be out in this storm. Especially not Carrington. Ol’ girl can have that foal anytime now and she’s only out in the rain because you were adamant she needed ‘fresh air.’” His voice pitches at the end in a terrible impersonation of you and you scowl.

“So now it’s my fault?” you ask, incredulously. Cassian lets you sidle up to his side anyway, slipping between the opening of his flannel and his bare chest. You nearly growl with delight because he’s so warm. Turning your head, you press your lips to his pec. “You’re grumpy when it rains.”

“‘M grumpy because there’s chores that need to be done,” Cassian sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I should go out there.” 

Out there looks miserable. The trail leading up to the barn is muddy, puddles of rain scattering the path. The rain has kept its steady pour since you’d come down here to find your husband, and if you think he’s grumpy now, you know he’d be absolutely miserable after working out in the rain all day.

“Or, you can stay in here and we can spend a little time together,” you drawl, trailing your fingers along his chest. His muscles clench the closer to his waistline that you get. 

His hazel gaze cuts down to yours, “Last night wasn’t enough for you?” Cassian muses, eyes sparkling in the way that you know you have him. 

“Won’t be enough for me until I look like your best girl Carrington out there, nice and full with child.” 

Cassian’s fingers still from where they’re tracing patterns on your hip. “You really want one, don’t you?” He asks softly.

You shrug. It hasn’t been something you’ve talked about much, a child. Cassian is busy running the ranch and ever since Rhysand and Feyre moved closer to the hustle and bustle of the city to raise Nyx, you haven’t had anyone to really talk to besides the mares. And they just whinny and snort at everything you say. 

“It would mean extra hands around the farm,” you try to play off, cheeks heating. You slide from his side, eager to dispel the conversation your husband surely doesn’t want to have at this very moment. Not while Carrington is getting rained on, Gods forbid. “What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? An omelet? I just gathered the eggs yesterday morning so they’ll be nice and fresh.”

“Hey,” Cassian calls gently, snagging your hand as you try to dip away. He tugs you back to his chest, bushing some of your sleep mussed hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear so he can caress your cheek. His hazel eyes search yours, and the frown tugging his lips downward makes your heart ache. “Don’t walk away from me, sweetheart. You want a baby?”

Your eyes well with tears the longer he stares at you. His brows are pulled tight as he waits patiently for your response. The emotion in your throat is thick, but you nod, voice coming out raspy with it when you answer. “More than anything.” 

Cassian nods a little, taking in your answer. His throat bobs but he’s agreeing, nodding firmer. “Then let’s have one.” 

Your entire body locks up at his words. You didn’t think it would be so easy to convince him. All you had to do all of this time was ask? Surely, that is not the case.

But Cassian would be so wonderful with a child in his arms. He’d love them just as perfectly as he loves you, as he cares for the animals of his ranch. You’ve seen him with the foals and chicks and lambs. How he holds each one with care and parades them around the ranch, kissing their little heads and talking to them in soft voices. He’s made to be a father, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

“We’re trying to have a baby,” you breathe, clutching onto him. An all-consuming feeling rushes through your body, nerves perhaps, because holy shit, you and Cassian are going to try for a baby. “We’re trying for a baby!”

Cassian grins, mirroring your excitement. He pulls you into his arms and you lock your legs around his waist immediately, diving down to capture his mouth against yours. The kiss is exhilarating, hot and sensual as they both of you settle into the feeling that maybe this time next year, it could be you giving birth instead of Carrington.

You could not be more excited for the adventure you and your husband are about to embark on.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

You were surprised to see several of your family members gathered around the doorway to your room as you came down the hall. They were talking in whispers, peering inside your space. You adjusted your pack over your shoulder and sidled up to them. “Uhhhhh, hi? Excuse me?” you asked, popping in and matching their hushed voices. “Why’re you all staring into my room?”

Carol grinned at you. “Oh. You’re home early,” she said, her eyebrows lifting. 

“Yeah, I am. What’s going on?”

Michonne simply jutted a finger in the direction of the interior of your room and you leaned around Tara to look. Daryl. Daryl was asleep on your bed. He was flopped right down on the comforter, hugging the pillow beneath him, completely passed out. 

Your heart fluttered and you felt your cheeks flush. “Why is he—?”

Carol caught your eyes and smiled, one of those knowing Carol smiles she was always doing. You gulped nervously and glanced back at him. He looked so genuinely peaceful and you didn’t think you’d seen him more comfortable in the entire time you’d known him. You felt your own tension melting away as you looked at how he had sunk into the soft folds of fabric. But why was he on your bed?

“How has he not woken up?” Tara asked. “He’s the lightest sleeper of all of us. We’ve been standing here for ten minutes talking.”

Michonne shook her head. “He’s out. I’ve never seen him so out.” She shot you a smirk that seemed to have some smug meaning behind it too and the heat in the apples of your cheeks grew.

“Maybe we should see how loud we can talk before he wakes up,” Tara snorted.

You rolled your eyes. “Alright... Leave him alone. He’s sleeping. Let the man catch some sleep for once in his life,” you said, nudging past them. “Go on. Shoo,” you waved them away. They scattered with quiet laughter and more obnoxious glances your way. You stepped over the threshold as softly as you could and set your pack down. You were slipping off your jacket when you heard the soft rustling of fabric behind you. Daryl was stirring. He shifted and stretched and then opened his eyes. Blinked. Once. Twice.

And then he realized you were there and he shot up so he was sitting on the center of the bed. “Uhh—h—hey,” he drawled. His entire face was red. “Yer back. Yer back way sooner than ya said ya would be. Uhh—Shit,” he growled. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I wasn’t—I—fuck, I fell asleep. ‘M so sorry. I wasn’t plannin’ to sleep on yer bed. I just drifted off... I’ll go. ‘M sorry...” 

“Whoa, whoa,” you smiled. “Hey. It’s okay.” Daryl watched you looking at him good-naturedly. The knot in his stomach loosened slightly. “Honestly, I’m just glad to see you getting some sleep for once.”

Daryl rubbed a hand over his face and shook his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to. I just came up here to—uhh... for somethin’ else and I sat down on the bed and... must’a just dropped off...”

“It’s alright,” you reassured him. “What’d you come up for in the first place? Get what you needed?”

His entire face flushed crimson again. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah... I did.” He ducked his gaze and avoided your striking eyes.

“Good. What was it anyway?” you asked, bending to unload gear from your pack. 

The air was suddenly charged with electricity. When there was a long silence and no response you looked up to see Daryl frozen there, all of him still as stone, except for his hands which were fiddling anxiously. “Uhh—”

You gave him a questioning look.

He gulped. “Well, ya were gone and... I missed ya, so I came up here. Felt—felt like bein’ closer to ya, I guess.” 

Daryl watched understanding suddenly dawn on your face. Your expression softened into gentle surprise, your lips forming an ‘oh’ although no sound left you for a long moment. You bit your bottom lip and considered him softly. “Well... I’m back. But don’t get up on my account. If this is where you managed to get some sleep, by all means...” You smiled at him warmly. “But you’re gonna have to scoot over. Just a little bit.”

Daryl gulped. Were you serious? ...you looked serious. Your smile widened at his disbelief. 

“Are you going to scoot over or am I on the couch?” you joked.

Daryl moved to one edge of the bed and nearly lost it when he felt the bed dip down behind him as you settled in on the other side. “You don’t have to scoot over that much. You’re risking falling off,” you murmured to him. 

He gathered his courage and then turned over to face you. “I should go,” he murmured, ducking your gaze again. 

“Daryl Dixon, if you leave right now, I will never forgive you,” you said. He saw jest in your eyes when he looked up again. “So, what was it that helped you sleep here? Just an extraordinarily comfortable bed?” Your voice was low and soft and Daryl felt goosebumps rising on his skin. 

“Sure,” he drawled sarcastically. “That and... smells like you up here.” That last part, he meant.

You blushed and then moved in toward him. “I missed you too.”

Prompt: “Leave him alone. He’s sleeping.” A/N: Oh, fuck me, this came out adorable af. 

[its-time-to-write]

Hi love! Im obsessed with your writing. They actually make my whole day!!

I was wondering if you could do something with like protective!Jamie? Like maybe they’re out at a club and some guy won’t leave her alone!

Whatever you like? Thank you!

I did it! I didn’t know what gif to put with this. Wasn’t sure I’d finish it this weekend, but I got it done! I have finals next week, which either means I’m going to have a bunch of time or none at all. And again, thank you for being so kind. Many anonymous requests are not. 💚🍊

don’t go yet

Roy only lets Jamie go to the club when Richmond has won, which is why you’re both dressed up tonight. 

“You can have two drinks. Not fucking four, not fucking three, two. And if you fucking go over, your girlfriend will fucking tell me,” Roy had said.

Jamie had relayed this to you, more than a tad scandalized, but you just shrugged and said, “Roy’s not wrong.”

So now you’re at the club and Jamie’s had one drink that he’s been making last way too long, but he’s finally downed it and you’ve offered to grab him another one. Dani’s in the middle of some hilarious story about his old team, involving shaving cream, an unsuspecting coach, and… snails? Anyway, Jamie’s deeply invested in whatever it is which is why you’re at the bar waiting for your drinks and he’s sitting down. 

You’re contemplating what you want to do to Jamie once you get home, when an unfamiliar body sidles up to the space next to you.

You half-turn away to give him more space, but he just moves closer so you give him a look. The man, oblivious, says, “Hello gorgeous, name’s Max. What’s a sexy little thing like you doing out here all alone?”

Any distaste you had been stifling out of politeness ends. “I’m not alone, I’m here with my boyfriend,” you reply shortly. 

Max makes a show of surveying the room. “Don’t see him,” he says, “so I suppose you’re fair game.”

Your drinks appear, and you grab them. “I’ve got to go.”

“Hey now, I’m only trying to be fucking friendly. Your boyfriend doesn’t let you have friends?” He’s now blocking your path back to Jamie. You try to dodge around him, but he won’t let you. 

Max does not like that, and he snarls, “Don’t be such a bitch, I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t mind me having a turn, especially if he lets you out of the house looking like that.”

Your words catch in your throat, and before you can look around for help, there’s a tap on Max’s shoulder. 

“Oi mate,” says Jamie, voice calm but eyes simmering with rage, “pretty sure she wants to be left alone.”

Max turns to assess Jamie and you dart past him, behind your boyfriend. “And what’s it to you, shithead?”

Oh god. The last thing Jamie needs is to get into a fight tonight. You know that Nate would love nothing more than to bench Jamie whenever an opportunity presents itself. 

“Jamie,” you whisper, “let it go.”

Jamie doesn’t even look at you. “I’m her boyfriend, shithead.”

Max’s eyes betray a hint of surprise, then before you or Jamie can do anything he moves to shove Jamie. Jamie tenses up for a push that never happens, because Isaac has shown up from out of nowhere and has grabbed Max from behind. 

“Time to go, bruv,” Isaac says as he and Dani haul Max away.

Jamie fists are still clenched as he turns to you. Despite the anger on his face, his voice is gentle. “You alright, love?” 

You nod wordlessly and hand Jamie his drink. He takes both of them and puts them down. Your brain is playing catch-up because everything happened so fast.

“You wanna go?” he asks.

You nod again then shake your head. “No!” you protest, “This is your night out!”

Jamie’s hands are on your waist now, and you’re a little grateful because it’s grounding. You’re still reeling a bit.

“Babe,” he says, “I’m fucking exhausted, and you are too. And don’t fuckin’ lie, it ain’t gonna work. You’ve got little circles under your eyes. Let’s go home.”

You shut your mouth and sigh. That boy. He knows you too well. 

On your way out he says, “Can we do face masks? Can feel me face losing its sexy glow.”

You smile and squeeze his hand. Only Jamie can make a shit night into something good.

[ginxyy]

A dance of hearts

Visiting Hoshi in a dance practice was full of fun, jealousy and confessions 

As I stepped into the bright studio, the air was thick with a mix of adrenaline and laughter. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor melded with the upbeat rhythm that pulsated from the speakers. My heart raced not just from the lively atmosphere, but because Hoshi was at the center of it all his infectious energy radiating like sunlight. It had been a few months since we became ‘us.’ Each day felt like a new chapter in a beautiful story that I never wanted to end.

Hoshi stood confidently in front of the stage, his arms animatedly weaving through the air as he challenged the members of Seventeen to match his enthusiasm. However, as I silently watched him, I couldn’t help but admire him for more than just his talent. There was something utterly captivating about the way he poured his heart into teaching, his eyes sparkling like stars against the backdrop of the studio lights. My heart swelled with pride, and I called out to him, “You’ve got this, Hoshi!” He turned at the sound of my voice, and for a moment, the world faded away. A grin broke across his face, illuminating the room.

But as fate would have it, this carefree moment took an unexpected turn. As he demonstrated a particularly complex move, the dance studio echoed with the sound of something clattering to the ground. Hoshi cursed softly under his breath, falling silent as he groaned, “I broke the camera!” The crew had been using it to film their choreography practice. A chorus of gentle laughs erupted around him, and before I could join in, he added, “Alright, I’ll be back! I’m just going to grab a new one.”

“I’ll stay here!” I called after him, waving enthusiastically as he dashed off to the nearest electronics store. In his absence, I basked in the dynamic atmosphere of the studio, yet as moments turned into minutes, I found myself drawn into conversation with Mingyu, who had been watching me from a distance.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he grinned, sidling closer. I couldn’t help but chuckle at his boldness. “Is it not a bit lonely waiting for your boyfriend?”

“Not with you around, I guess,” I replied teasingly. There was a lightness to our banter; he was charming, effortlessly funny, and with each moment, I found myself laughing at his jokes and infectious personality.

“See? I knew you’d miss me if I left!” he shot back playfully. I leaned against the barre, enjoying the playful teasing, but in the back of my mind, I felt the slightest twinge of guilt. I could imagine Hoshi’s expressive face, and a fluttering sense of mischief danced in my stomach when I thought about how the light banter could ignite jealousy in him.

Just then, the studio doors swung open, and Hoshi returned, a sleek new camera in hand. He surveyed the room, his gaze landing on Mingyu and me locked in laughter. The playful gleam in his eyes shifted, morphing into something protective as he approached. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and a hint of irritation.

Mingyu straightened up, that ever-so-sly grin still playing across his lips. “Just keeping your girlfriend entertained while you were gone!” Mingyu laughed, though his humor was laced with a touch of mischief.

Hoshi’s expression hardened, and I could sense the shift in the atmosphere. Jealousy was swirling around him like a dark cloud, and without a second thought, he stepped close to me, wrapping his arm possessively around my shoulder. “You don’t need to entertain her, Mingyu. She’s with me.” His voice held a firmness that I found both hilarious and endearing.

With a newfound intensity radiating from him, he pulled me closer, attempting to create a barrier between me and Mingyu, who only grinned wider at Hoshi’s sudden sulkiness. It was sweet, really seeing how fiercely he cared. But his sulking didn’t quell the laughter in the room.

Once the laughter subsided, I turned to Hoshi, his expression softening slightly as I saw the slightest hint of embarrassment painting his cheeks. “Hoshi,” I said softly, squeezing his hand, “you don’t need to be jealous.”

He looked at me, frustration flickering in his eyes. “But I—”

I didn’t let him finish, stepping up on my toes to close the small distance between us. “Hoshi,” I whispered, “you’re the one I love.” The words slipped out before I could think, but I felt the weight of them hanging in the air a promise and a truth I never wanted to hold back.

In that moment, his brow furrowed for just a second before his face lit up, his features transforming into a radiant smile that stole my breath away. “You love me?” he echoed, his voice a mix of disbelief and overwhelming happiness.

I nodded, “Yes, of course!” And before I knew it, he cupped my face in his hands, pulling me into a kiss that felt like a warm embrace against the world around us.

Time seemed to stand still as our lips connected a beautiful intertwining of souls where everything faded but the love we shared. As we pulled away, breathless, I looked into his eyes and saw the depths of his joy reflected back at me. “I love you too,” he whispered, and it felt monumental.

Hoshi kissed me again, a soft peck at first, then with a deeper urgency that thrilled us both. He peppered my cheeks with quick kisses, each one igniting a spark within me. His laughter mixed with my own, creating a harmony that filled the air, drowning out any remaining sounds of the world around us.

And as the world continued to spin, I found solace in his arms his warmth enveloping me, protecting me, and reminding me that my heart had truly found its home.

[hairmetal666]

Early Summer 1987

Steve's hosting a going away party. For everyone. Nancy going to Emerson, Jonathan and Argyle back to California, Steve and Robin moving to Indy, Eddie going off to find his fortune, wherever it may lie.

They've been at it all day, drinking and smoking and loving each other in the way you do when you've subverted several apocalypses together. And Steve is happy. He is. Truly. They're getting out of Hawkins, starting their lives, and he'll be with Robin, his other half, his sister, the platonic love of his life.

But as the night continues and Steve looks around his living room, at all these people he loves--at half of the family they built out of tragedy and fear--his joy turns to melancholy. They're spreading in the wind, chasing the dreams they put on hold to save the world. It's a bittersweet end, and suddenly Steve can't be in the house anymore.

He slips out the sliding door, fully expecting to be alone, but Eddie stands at the edge of the pool, glow of a cigarette illuminating his face. Steve's stomach flips, skitters with butterfly wings, like it always does when he and Eddie are together.

Eddie turns at the sound of the door thumping softly shut, face creasing into a brilliant smile when he spots Steve. It's a smile so beautiful, so genuine, that it makes Steve hurt when it's directed at him. Hasn't been able to help noticing that usually it is, that Eddie--even in full theatrical Eddie-mode--only smiles like this, all dimples and affection, for Steve.

"Okay, Stevie?" Eddie asks.

"Just needed some air."

Eddie offers the cigarette, so Steve sidles up next to him, lining his toes up with the pool edge so they match.

With a nudge, Eddie settles closer, wrapping his arm around Steve's waist. It's not the first time they've embraced like this, not the first time the proximity makes Steve think he'll burst into flame, but it is the first time Steve leans in, rests his head at the join of Eddie's neck and shoulder. They're of a height, and it's just enough that the position is comfortable, easy. Though, everything with Eddie is now.

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts before Steve speaks, not even sure if he means to, but the words are tumbling out. "Everything's changing."

"It's a good thing," Eddie says. "Right?"

"Yeah, yeah, totally." Steve runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back. "It's just. Thinking about how nothing will ever be the same after this, you know?"

"Maybe," Eddie agrees. "But--I don't know--You think Dustin isn't going to demand visits to all of us? Cross-country roadtrips every summer?"

Eddie offers the cigarette back to Steve, only this time, he moves to place it between his lips and Steve adjusts to let him. Maybe it's an accident, maybe not, but Eddie's thumb strokes the corner of Steve's mouth. Their eyes meet, something hot, wanting passes between them.

"I'm going to do something," Eddie whispers. His eyes drop to Steve's lips. "Don't kill me, okay? Please."

Steve doesn't get a chance to say he'd never hurt Eddie, not in a million years, because the other man is stomping out the cigarette, slotting their mouths together.

There's no hesitation, no questioning, Steve kisses back and it's so soft, so sweet, gentle in a way that he's never been kissed, not even once. And when Eddie licks at the seam of Steve's lips, he opens without thought, because of course he wants Eddie to taste his mouth, to nip at his lips, to slide their tongues together. He fists his hand into the fabric of Eddie's shirt, pulling them closer together. They moan and sigh, swallowing each other's noises, reveling in sensation.

The sliding door pops open, runners scraping, and Robin's voice singsongs, "Steeeve, we're loooooking for you."

Eddie breaks the kiss, turning away, and Steve stumbles towards the door. Doesn't wonder what Robin knows because he sees it in her face, but she's yanking him into the house and everyone is shouting, Argyle hands him a joint, and he lets himself be pulled along, lets himself forget, doesn't notice when Eddie doesn't come back right away.

And the next morning, when they say their goodbyes and Eddie pulls him into a tight, bone-crushing hug, neither of them mentions it. Eddie says, "don't be a stranger," throws him a smile, and he's gone.

Steve can't explain why it hurts so much.

Winter 1991

The invitation--cream and gold, embossed lettering--sits on Eddie's kitchen counter. He knew it was coming, of course, of course, but it hadn't really prepared him to see it. "The families of Steve Harrington and Rebecca Alsworthy cordially invite you to celebrate their nuptials..." burns itself into his brain.

He's in the wedding. Steve asked months ago if Eddie would be a groomsmen, and he said yes; yes because Steve is his best friend, yes because in the moment it didn't hurt so bad, yes because Steve could ask him for anything and he'd give no other answer.

They never talked about what happened the night before they both left Hawkins. It's fine. Truly. Better this way. Steve is straight. So straight he's getting married, and that's good. What he's always wanted, six little nuggets, etc. Eddie is happy for him. He's happy for Steve, but it eats him up inside; the kiss, the love he harbors for his best friend. He should end it, he knows, but ending it is so final and Steve is--everything.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he picks up the phone, makes the call. Tells Steve he can't make it, book deadline, and Steve is disappointed. He is. But they're best friends, saved the world together, so he understands.

When the call is done, his heart hanging together by a thread, he balls up the invite and throws it in the trash.

Summer 1991

Steve's wedding is in 12 hours and Eddie has to go. Can't believe he ever thought he could miss it. He can't not be there when Steve, his Steve, gets married. It doesn't matter how much it'll hurt to watch, because it will make Steve happy and Eddie will always default to making his best friend happy.

Somehow, through the grace of clear summer weather and light Indiana traffic, he makes it to the church with ten minutes to spare. He practically trips through the carved wood front doors, which would be embarrassing, except his eyes fall immediately to Steve standing at the alter and he forgets everything else. He's wearing a navy blue suit, silver accenting, and he's gorgeous. Will never not be. Their eyes meet, and Eddie's heart stops, because it always does. Steve smiles, gives a little wave, but he's pulled away by the minister, and Eddie makes his feet move down the aisle.

He spots Nancy, El, Max, and Erica in a pew, makes his way towards them. They all hug, scream about being back together, but it's Nancy whose eyes are soft, whose smile doesn't quite manage to be happy.

"You okay?" she asks. She wraps her little fingers around his.

His smile doesn't manage to be happy either. "I will be."

The ceremony starts, and he's fine, really, until Rebecca starts walking out to Steve, and he watches his best friend's face light up brighter than a cloudless day. He lets his attention go, then. In the moment where it truly counts, he can't stand to witness the man he loves marry someone else.

And Rebecca is fine, she is, but it's not about her. It's about a kiss in the middle of the night after they saved the world for the last time, and hope, and a love so sweet Eddie's entire chest is rotten with it.

He's out of it until Steve's voice manages to pull him back. He's saying, "I, Steve," and his eyes are locked to Rebecca's, and he's in the middle of repeating after the minister, who's saying "take thee, Rebecca."

Steve smiles, soft and gentle and fond, and he says--the words that come out of his mouth are, "take thee, Eddie--"

His loving smile evaporates, face going rigid with shock.

It's a punch, a kick to the groin, a knife in the gut, all the air in Eddie's lungs snaps out of his body. Nancy squeezes his hand, her nails digging into his skin, and he can't look at anyone else, can't see the reaction, because he's looking at Steve, and Steve is looking at him, abject panic on his handsome face.

Steve stumbles back, Rebecca's hands fallen from his, and Robin grabs him around the shoulders. She bends forward, whispering something in his ear, but it's too late. Steve's eyes are glassy, his body trembling.

"S-sorry, I need to--I have to--Sorry," the man says. He runs.

Eddie makes to stand, but Nancy, El, Max, and Erica force him to stay seated, and Robin's already running after her platonic soulmate, anyway.

"It didn't mean anything," Eddie says. "It was just--he was just. He's marrying Rebecca. It didn't mean anything."

It means everything.

Post inspired by @antithetical-dream-girl 's coney island au, except this is when Ross says Rachel

[spacecowboy-01]

p.5.

“Come on! Let’s move!” Keith shouted to Pidge, Allura, and Hunk.

“Just found the fastest route to them. Sending to you.” Pidge called to the group.

A bright green line from their location to Lance and Shiro’s popped up on their holo-map.

“I sent it to everyone, so Lance and Shiro should know where we are, too.” Pidge added.

Keith nodded, then they activated their jetpacks and propelled down the hallway.

Hold on for me, Lance… Keith pleaded to himself.

Suddenly, they noticed the hallway behind them getting shorter and shorter, and the walls seemed to be getting closer and closer.

Out of the looming darkness swiftly approaching them, they heard Haggar’s witchy cackle echo through the halls.

“Go, go, GO!” Hunk screamed.

They blasted down the hallway, twisting and turning down the path Pidge gave them.

Finally, they saw Shiro’s white hair turn towards them, signaling they have gotten his attention.

“Lance!” Keith cried.

Keith, Allura, and Pidge deactivated their jetpacks as they connected to the ground, then started to run towards their friends.

Keith immediately noticed that Lance was on the ground clutching his bloodstained leg leaning against Shiro.

He was injured.

Keith’s eyes went wide with fear as he began to sprint over to them.

As soon as he reached them, he fell to his knees and looked into Lance’s now smoky grey eyes.

‘Lance.. Quiznak! This is all my fault. God, I’m so sorry…’ Keith thought.

Lance’s breathing was ragged and heavy, and his body was now lined with dark grey streaks from the bite on his leg.

His eyes were twitching in his attempt to keep them open.

“Keith? Keith..” Lance looked up at Keith, drawn to him with his long, thick fluffy black hair, and his deep violet eyes gazing down at Lance in fear and worry.

Feeling the most comfortable speaking to him, he weakly continued: “You- came…”

His breath caught in his chest for a moment, then he barely whispered: “I.. knew you would… Mullet.”

He let out a heavy breath, then closed his eyes.

“No! Lance-” Keith frantically lifted Lance’s hand and tried to feel his pulse.

When he felt nothing, he put his hand over Lance’s heart and honed his energy into searching for a beat.

Finally, to his immediate relief, he felt a quiet, slow pulsation from his heart.

He motioned to Shiro, and he lifted Lance’s upper body forward, off of his lap so Keith could pick him up off the ground and carry him in his arms.

His head rested against his chest, and he looked down to Lance’s calm, yet pained face.

Shiro stood back up and noticed the way his brother was looking at Lance.

The softness in his eyes.

The gentle and hidden streaks of love that danced in the deep violet depths inside them.

Shiro smiled softly to himself, for he knew exactly what it was he was seeing.

‘I remember when Adam used to look at me that way… I see you, Keith. Go for it, little bro.’ Shiro thought to himself.

Keith broke his train of thought and snapped him back to reality when he said: “We have to get him out of here and back to the Castleship.”

“I’ll send a signal to Coran to send Kosmo so he can get us out.” Allura replied.

She pressed the button to the commlink on her ear, and said his name.

Then they heard Coran’s voice quietly ring out from the comms.

They talked for a while, then she released the button on her comm, signaling that Coran had gotten her message.

Suddenly, Kosmo, the wolf Keith rescued when he was trapped on an unknown planet for two years with his Galran mother, appeared at their side.

“Take us home, Kosmo.” Keith softly commanded.

The paladins all put their hands on the other’s shoulders, then Kosmo sidled up next to Keith and whisked them home.

[themeepyfreak]

Day 3: Love Languages

Neal/Bae: Physical Touch

Neal/Bae's love language is the easiest to parse out in canon because it's prevalent throughout. Ever since Bae was a baby, physical touch was how Rumple expressed his love to him. In every flashback scene with Rumple and Bae, Rumple has a hand on Bae, silently supporting and protecting him.

And the show writers use this nonverbal interaction to parallel Bae and Rumple's relationship as it becomes more strained. When Rumple becomes the Dark One, his touch becomes more possessive. This continues until Bae starts rejecting Rumple's touch (as he rejects the Dark One) when Rumple tries to reach out to him in "Nasty Habits" and "Manhattan". In both "The Return" and "Manhattan", Rumple's abandonment of Bae is described as Rumple letting go of Bae's hand- a very physical action. That's why the moment when Bae grabbed Rumple's hand in "The Miller's Daughter" is so impactful- because it is the first time that Bae wholeheartedly accepts his father's touch and affection in centuries, even if he is still angry. As season 3A progresses, Bae physically distances himself from his father in Neverland when he finds out about the prophecy and feels like he can't trust him in "Nasty Habits". However, once Bae forgives his father in "Save Henry", he enthusiastically hugs him. In season 3B, Bae and Rumple literally share a body due to Rumple's love for Bae- their physical closeness once again symbolizing their repaired relationship. When Bae dies in "Quiet Minds", his hand falls out of Rumple's, representing their permanent separation. Bae no longer needs Rumple's physical touch and affection because Bae's no longer there.

Using touch to portray affection and genuine care is a theme for Bae throughout his life. In "Second Star to the Right", Bae uses physical touch to comfort Wendy. And later in "Tallahassee", Bae is more physically affectionate with Emma the more that time passes and the closer that they become. Even as early as their first "date" in "There's No Place Like Home", Bae plays with Emma's glove when he's being vulnerable to feel closer to her physically without crossing her boundaries and touching her.

Bae's need for physical affection in "Tallahassee" (especially after being touch starved in Neverland for centuries) is complemented by Emma reciprocating that physical affection despite not being a touchy person. Emma starts out being standoffish in the beginning of "Tallahassee" and "There's No Place Like Home", drawing into herself and avoiding any physical touch. However, as time passes, she gets more comfortable with being physically affectionate and even initiates it, especially when Bae is upset. One canon example is when Emma grounds Bae with physical touch when Bae is agitated about the wanted poster. When Bae starts arguing against Emma going for the watches, she swings her arm around him which seems to calm him down to the idea more.

I headcanon that Emma and Bae did a lot of hand-holding and non-verbal communication throughout their relationship. I think that they had signals to each other to make sure the other person is alright (which would have helped during heists as well) to complement Emma's innate ability to read Bae. I think that Emma realized early on that the best way to comfort Bae after nightmares was physical touch (hugs, gentle kisses). I can also see Emma sidling up to Bae whenever she sensed that something was bothering him and just quietly grabbing his hand and lacing her fingers in between his to remind Bae that he's not alone and make him relax almost instantly.

Just like physical touch is used to display the progress in Bae and Rumple's relationship, it is also used to show the progress in Bae and Emma's relationship when they reunite.

Bae has a tendency to fidget with his scarf, especially when he is vulnerable around Emma, which I think is a self-soothing technique. He longs for her physical touch, but too much has happened between them for him to reach out to her, so he physically touches his scarf to comfort himself. It isn't until the penultimate episode of season 2 after he breaks up with Tamara that he finally reaches out to Emma, hugging her when she's about to fall through the portal. This continues in season 3A when he hugs her after getting out of the cage in "Ariel" and stays beside her to support her throughout.

Emma, on the other hand, tries to be standoffish around Bae but fails miserably- just like how she tries to deny her love for Bae but fails. Since they reunite, Emma is always pictured by Bae's side (which is seen in many stills from season 2B and 3A). Not to mention that other than Henry, Emma initiates physical contact (even if it is just casual) with Bae more than anyone else in canon in the earlier seasons. In season 2B, she physically pushes him in "The Miller's Daughter" when he stops to stare at the magical chalk barrier, and she physically grabs him to stop him from going after Henry when Henry confronts Regina in "Welcome to Storybrooke". In season 3A, Emma hugs Bae in Neverland after they get him out of the cage in "Ariel", Emma sidles next to Bae to hug him after his father dies (which encourages Henry to do the same) in "Going Home", and Emma's the one who initiates the hug with Bae at the town line when they are about to be separated yet again. When Bae dies in "Quiet Minds", Emma pulls Bae into her arms and lets Bae die being physically comforted by her- being loved. And lastly, when Emma reunites with Bae briefly in the underworld in "Souls of the Departed", Emma caresses Bae's face, showing that she still loves him even though he is dead.

This behavior especially stuck out to me because in the earlier seasons, the other person usually has to initiate physical contact for Emma to return it. But with Bae, she's a lot more liberal and initiative with physical touch, even when she "hates" him.

Finally, to cement how Bae associates physical touch with love and affection, Bae is very physically affectionate with Henry. From their first meeting, Bae mimics Henry's body language and leans in close to him when talking, showing his love and interest through nonverbal communication. As they get closer, Bae is always touching Henry- ruffling his hair, patting his shoulder, carrying him, hugging him, wrestling with him in the background of "The New Neverland", etc. And Henry returns it readily, appreciating physical affection just like his father does (though probably not as desperately as Bae seems to crave it). The blatant physical affection between Henry and Bae is what makes their relationship seem so close and loving, even if they had a limited time together.

[bokettochild]

I'd love your commentary on this bit from Footsteps Across History:

“ Bud, ” the rancher emphasizes, but the smile says he knows just what Legend thought he heard. Wild wants to know, he really wants to know. Is it the reason Twilight’s eyes are gentle now when they turn to their brash team-mate?  

Zelda, not having witnessed them any other way than here and now, is not so distracted, and instead whips around, eyes sparking even fiercer. “Yes! Please, don your items again!” And then she falters and coughs, “ah, for your own sake, of course.”  

The vet smiles at her. Eyes glinting.  

Despite himself, despite knowing this is Legend , not the captain, Wild feels the need to sidle just the slightest bit closer to his princess.  

As requested though, rings are produced from the bag, and though the vet regards them with something doubtful, something furrowing his brows and tightening the lines of his mouth, no such conflicts arise in the rancher’s eyes. Dark hands scoop the bands up and slide them over gnarled fingers without hesitation, and the effect is near immediate. Color seeps back into the vet’s skin like fire licking across paper. Pale scars fade to highlight instead the generous smatter of freckles dusting across drawn cheeks and long ears. A heavy sigh escapes through lips that touch with color rather than grey and pale like they’d been but a moment later. Legend looks suddenly alive, and- and-  

It’s like looking into the cosmos, like an explosion of a star, bright and warm in the room around them. The aura that was curled tight and flickering is suddenly warmth and light and color that spirals out, flowing around them and has sighs escaping from each of the rest of them, even as Zelda’s eyes glitter and her pen works against her notebook near feverishly. It’s a galaxy unfurling into the sky, a bright star shining, returning from the brink of a fiery falling to instead burn bright and strong once more.  

Twilight touches a hand to his head, shaking it slightly.  

Time stumbles back slightly, startled, but apparently not knowing why.  

Wild’s own aura, green and rich and winding, sings in return, reaching out to twine itself close into the starlight that breaks across it. Vines reaching for cosmos and winds singing to endless skies.  

The cosmos sings back, and Legend chuckles at him, eyes burning into his own before the guarded veil falls once more.  

Ooh! This one was a challenge to write, but some fun too. Flora can be a fun character to play with and this was my first time using her again since.....oof, Whumptober 2021? Yeah, I needed to use her again, so I had fun with this, she also made a great character to help with exposition about some headcannons and stuff in this thing!

Anyways! That opening bit is Legend misheard Twilight the first time and thought he called him "bun" or "bunny" and thus outed him in front of everyone. Twilight is VERY aware of this, hence why he corrects himself, but he still finds it funny. Wild however is NOT aware of this and is thus pretty confused, because when did these two start having secret jokes/teasing methods/healthy chemistry? He wants the T, and the boys aren't spilling, which is just so unfair!

Of course, Zelly over here really has no clue that this isn't a normal sort of interaction between the rancher and the vet, so she doesn't really question it at all and is happy to just move on and ask Legend to use his things. she does care, of course, that he gets better, but the scientist in her also wants to see how this all works! She's a bit flustered, but Legend is just seeing a Zelda being passionate ad awkward and he's humored because she's kinda cute, but like in the way his sister is!

Wild does not realize that Legend is reminded of his sister, he just sees an attractive dude smiling at his princess. Granted, that's his brother, and granted he has context, but there's a part of him that is conscious of Legend's ability to seduce, a skill the vet has accidentally employed frequently and does not realize he possesses. So yeah, Wild's gettind a bit defensive of his grila nd making sure Legend is aware to keep his paws off (not that Legend ever would).

During that though, Twilight is just...not involved. Twilight is perfectly content to move on with the whole "making Legend get better" thing, as is Flora. The vet has some wariness because yes, he understands the fact that using his aids isn't bad (or at least he's starting to understand) but he also has a part of his brain going "we were assigned a task and doing this will complete us from completing the task". His inner programming of "take task, accomplish task, cross task off" is telling him that if he gives up his goal of lasting without his aids, he's thus leaving that task box unchecked forever! And he's not sure if he can handle that. Twilight takes the decision out of his hands though by acting for him, thus ending the internal debate.

Now, i wanna pause in my dissection of the characters' thoughts and actions to focus on one little thing that was in my head the whole bit I wrote this scene. if you've read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe you might remember the bit where Lucy, Susan and Aslan return to the witch's castle and Aslan restores the enchanted prisoners to living forms rather than stone The bit were C.S. Lewis describes the life returning to them always stuck with me; his comparison of fire catching and licking across a bit of newspaper, that's what was in my head here when Legend starts wearing the ring again.

I took the restoration bit as a chance to throw in some of my favorite appearance headcannons for Legend, especially the freckles, because those always make me happy! But I also wanted to focus on the fact that Legend's magical self is also being restored, and since Wild is a magical sensitive being I felt I could talk about the magic auras of the boys here. Was it because I was reading eldritch!Wild right before writing this? Yes.

Legend's magic is like the stars or a galaxy in my mind, meanwhile Wild's is like vines or a forest, all green and twisting and twining (maybe sort of like the Zonai magic appears in the TotK trailers?) I wanted to explore, briefly, the interplay of the two, the fact that they don't mesh, but they co-exist well, much like Legend and Wild, and they sort of complement each other through the fact taht theyre both nature based, but in vastly different, but equally awe inspiring realms of nature.

Legend and Wild are both aware of each others' magics, the fact that theirs are both reaching out, and the fact that the other is responding Flora is as well, but she's already too busy taking notes to express outward excitement. Twilight and Time however are caught off guard and don't fully comprehend the magical explosion happening around them they're magic agacent, but not nearly as magical as our boys, so they can sense it, but they don't know what they're feeling so much.

And that's it! Thanks for sending this one! I really enjoyed picking it apart and explaining things!

[originemesis]

@danger-tits-lute xxx

The smell hit her first and she wrinkled her nose at whatever was burning that wafted grease and old food into the space she was walking into. The darkness hit her second; why did he not have any of the lights on? The third thing she noticed, as she walked silently out of the void that connected the room he was in and where she had come from, was his voice.

She breathed in, which even in spite of the burning trash, gave her a healing feeling in her lungs. She didn't want to move further. She stayed motionless in the entrance to watch him, her head resting on the wall and a small smile on her face. The firelight danced over her face as she watched him, causing errant strands of her white hair to glow and lighting her golden eyes with a distinct twinkle of endearment for him. She remembered why she put up with all the annoyance and frustration. These tiny, rare moments of him putting his heart out there, his voice carrying her soul on a journey that no one else in creation would be able to take her on, was worth anything he made her put up with on a daily basis.

She hoped that he didn't see her and she could keep listening for as long as possible. If only she could tell him how she felt about him, how she saw something magnificent behind that mask... figuratively at least. She had no idea what he looked like underneath his physical mask, not that it would ever matter to her. But she could swear she knew a different and deeper him when his fingers drifted over the strings and he performed poetry in melodies that touch her to her core like this.

A different light roused her from her swooning and it almost gave her emotional whiplash as her biggest fear reverberated through the room from outside. Oh Father... why couldn't it have just stayed as rain? The crack of lightening and the low rumbling that proceeded it caused a little whimper to escape her. If he hadn't noticed her before she was surely caught now, standing in his way-too-big robes and staring at him in a half-loving, half-terrified look. She was completely exposed to being teased.

It's not a lengthy piece of practice by any means, so by the time she's sidled up in the mouth of the hallway, he's settled into the reprieve of storm inspired chords, adding another pocket of shadows to the room with the dimming of garish yellow eye sockets once they slide shut over the thin glow of a wry smile. Chicks always take for fucking ever in the bathroom, so he figures he has plenty of couch and chill time before she inevitably wanders back out. Knowing her, she's probably standing guard by the dryer like she expects him to nab her clothes, scowling and tapping an impatient foot while the minutes on the gentle tumble cycle ticked down. Though as long as he kept playing, maybe she'd give that endeavor a rest and wander back to the living room...you know, so he could actually go and nab her shit.

Arching his knees to coax the head of the musical axe closer to the subtle flash of gold gathering at the solar plexus region under his robe, he teases a few vibratos out of the strings, sending them throughout the whole of the apartment with the reach his inner amp provides. In it lies enough juice to drop the entire infrastructure of the building into remnants of rubble, but although it isn't something one would think of when subjected to his usual antics, his level of civilian restraint is surprising as it is subtle.

"~twisting my words to appear like..." Loose talons trail up the length of the back of the instrument's neck, coaxing each thunder accompanying thrum just a membrane higher than the frequency of the storm's rolling booms- the distance between a life boat and ocean waves at times. It wasn't that he could never dip below those waves and churn them himself, but he's never had to with her stern diligence providing him the peaks on which to perch.

"This doesn't burn-" The resounding crack of lightning and a shrill squeak from the hall gives him pause mid-pluck, and he swivels the resumed light of his gaze over to where his lieutenant lingered...wow, did she look a bit sweaty. "-'em??" With a snort and a shift, he proceeds to stuff the guitar back inside the golden portal in his chest cavity that serves as its case shortly before offering her a quizzical look via a quirked brow and a sideways smirk. "Somebody looks stressed. You know what's good for that? Sitting on the dryer and cranking up the tumble dry to 10. Thank me later~"

After clambering up and giving his arms a bit of an overhead stretch like a large cat up from its lazing, he studies the familiar folds of his robe puddled around her and snorts once he's sidled over close enough to give the dropping neckline a pinch and a tug upward, effectively scruffing her by the extra fabric and giving her a lift of several inches off the ground. "Heh- weren't you like...bulking? Look, I don't wanna be the one to tell you this but..." Oh but the way he sucks his teeth and cups his cheek as he lets her dangle from his talons says he very much enjoys being the one to tell her that-

"I don't think it worked ~ "

[shyvioletcat]

2. Do you read/reread your own fics?

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

2: For my own sanity I try to keep for plot purposes only, but if someone reblogs something I haven’t seen in a while I usually read over it. Then just about die at all the writing errors.

19: I think you’ll easily be able to guess this one:

Rowan tried to keep his hand steady even as the little girl in front of him was determined not to stay still. Ivy had begged him to do face painting at her party, and of course he was going to say yes. He had spent the last month practicing on paper, his daughter and even his friends when they let him. Rowan had been good to start with, and now he was considering making it a weekend job. Not really, being a deputy principal during the week and being a full time dad was more than enough work for him. But at least it was therapeutic.

“Hold still for just one more second,” Rowan told the brown haired girl sitting in front of him. She huffed, but listened, the lure of a unicorn horn and ears overriding the need to see what was going on. Adding a few last details on the horn to really give it some sparkle and then he was done. “There.”

Rowan didn’t need to say more than that and the girl was off. He wiped his hands on an old tea towel and was about to refill some of the snack bowls when his mother approached him looking like she was holding in a secret.

She sidled up close, beckoning him a little closer so Rowan had to lean in then whispered. “Your mermaid is here.”

29: Okay, so I’ve mentioned this scene before but here it is in real life. This is how the big pivotal blow up in It Takes Two was meant to go down:

“You’re scared of the way I make you feel because you don’t want to feel anything at all”

Aelin spat the words at Rowan, each once laced with disappointment and anger. She had thought… she had thought that maybe they were something more. But it seemed Rowan would rather continue his bleak existence than be with her.

Rowan’s back was tight as he gripped the back of the armchair, tense like he was holding back from something.

“Just admit it Rowan. Admit it so we can finally be honest with each other.”

Rowan turned, the look on his face had Aelin rooted to the spot. She couldn’t read it but the intensity of it kept her gaze locked with his. Then he was in front of her and before she could ask him what he was doing or hurl another insult at him his lips were on hers, both his hands cradling her face. Aelin stood there frozen in shock for half a moment before her hand wrapped around his neck kissing him back. When she felt his tongue run along her bottom lip she gasped. Rowan took the opportunity to slip his tongue against hers and Aelin was ready to combust.

This was the first time they had kissed since that fateful night and it reminded Aelin just why she had been so willing to tumble into his bed even though she had hated him in that moment. Kissing Rowan was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Rowan’s lips became gentle, the kiss changing from that urgent burning intensity to something soft and gentle. When he finally pulled away there was still that unreadable expression on his face but Aelin could at least now read the sadness in his eyes.

“Rowan…” Aelin’s voice was hoarse, evidence of how thoroughly he had wrecked her.

He spoke, his voice hollow. “It wasn’t supposed to be you.” Rowan stepped back from her, his face was so hard when he looked at her again, cold and hard and unyielding. Then he said the words again, “It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

Then he was out the door, leaving Aelin standing there spiralling and falling, to where she didn’t know.

Thanks for asking 💜

[rom-e-o]

“Conventional” ~ (Scrooge x Constance)

I was going to write something spicier, but when this song came up on YT, I...couldn’t resist. Liz Callaway is my inspo for Connie’s voice, so this sweet melody seemed like fated inspiration to write something about her and Scrooge’s daughter, Starla.

Just a soft, quick family fic. Enjoy!

Starla Florence DoGoode-Scrooge was as angelic of an infant as they came. Doe-eyed, smiling, her freckled cheeks flushed with life - she was nothing less than picturesque in aesthetic and decorum.

Regardless, even she was not immune to midnight terrors or other discomforts that lured her from docility into tearful fits that could last anywhere from minutes to hours.

Thankfully, her crib was near her mother and father’s bed, which met the young girl was granted immediate attention when she cried.

On this occasion, her mother was the one to slip her arms into the crib and lift Starla’s small form against her breast.

Cradling her with the gentleness of a freshly-bloomed flower cradling its springtime nectar, Constance began to sing gently:

Dry away the tears Lay aside your fears No more pain for my love I am here, go to sleep

Scrooge listened to her voice from his spot in the bed, rolling over just in time to see the red-haired woman drop a kiss upon her daughter’s brow. The moonlight rimmed her silhouette in a halo of seafoam-white, and the older man found himself transfixed by the sight. Her profile glowed with the precision of a cameo, and yet, lingered atop highlights of her hair and lips in a way that made her looks as if she herself was a celestial entity rather than a woman of flesh and blood.

Then, there was her voice. Ye gods, it was as clear as a bell, yet echoed through the halls with a ghostly tremor.

A world without the pain That's stuck with you for far too long A world that does contain A love like mine to watch you grow strong

And when my time arrives Please wait and make a place for me For when I do arrive Your face should be the first face I see

Such a sad melody, he thought, tears coming to his eyes. It sounded less like a lullaby and more like a song about grief. Acceptance of death, and it’s inevitable toll on families. Mourning, even.

Yet, the words threatened to lull both him and his infant into the catacombs of slumber. It was only due to him blinking moisture from his eyes that he avoided falling asleep to the soothing melody.

Then, a hush fell over the chamber.

Constance paused, ceasing the rocking motion and staring down at her daughter’s face. She gave Ebenezer a grin, messy locks tumbling down her shoulders and before her bright eyes. 

“There...” she whispered, eyes glued to Starla’s cherubic expression. “She’s asleep.”

As she sat her back down in her crib, Ebenezer moved so he could better lean against the headboard. Opening an arm to her, she picked up the hem of her long, white down and traipsed back into bed. She sidled up to him with a giggle, tucking herself back in with a sigh. The fireplace crackled weakly on the other side of the room, but neither had the strength to add more wood to the small pyre.

“Your song was lovely,” he said gently, stroking one of the rose-gold curls near her face. In the dark, he paid extra attention to his fingers to make sure they didn’t stray. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you, my all.”

“The lyrics, though. They sounded a tad...forlorn.”

The woman nodded softly, her cheek coming to rest over his heart. “It’s the only lullaby I know. I...don’t remember how I learned it. Maybe my mother taught me? Or, maybe I learned it before I was adopted.”

“Hm.”

“I...should learn others, I suppose.”

Scrooge tightened his grip and kissed her brown folding her body even closer to his. They kept their voices low and their movements soft, lest they awaken Starla again from her newly-discovered rest.

“Certainly not,” he said, “After all, she adored it. She went to sleep, did she not?”

“Hm. That is true...”

“It almost put me to sleep as well, I’ll admit.”

Another nod, this one more reluctant. “It’s just...not exactly conventional.”

Ebenezer smiled and dipped his head down. Their lips met softly, slotting together as perfectly as two pieces of a puzzle; like two halves of a long-broken geode. Long fingers slowly worked their way into her hair, tugging slightly to help angle her head at the perfect angle. She obliged eagerly, their noses mashing briefly as a result. This caused both to smile and laugh against each other’s lips.

“Then again,” she whispered playfully, “I suppose very little about us is conventional, huh?”

“Thank goodness for that,” he said, tone deepening as he traced her shell-like cheek in the moonlight. “Conventional love sounds positively dull.”

TAG LIST: @quill-pen​