#speckling paint will never not be fun

[pennybunpirate]

✨wip wednesday✨ Another sculpture update? Yes, because this thing is my life currently 🙃 It is painting time! Currently working on the tentacles, building those yummy textures with an old, decrepit brush and lots of shades of purple 💜

(edited to add some more progress shots under the cut, including the stage where it looked like a school kid had been let loose on it hah)

[galamalion]

𐕣. 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐙𝐄𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒

summary. you attempt to enjoy the peaceful snowfall on your own, but aren't these beautiful moments meant to be shared?

⤷ contents. yandere!chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, unhealthy relationships // wc. 1.6k

⤷ notes. thank you to @ddarker-dreams who inspired me to write something for chrollo, she's written some deplorable things for this man <3 i'm still only writing for one piece, this is something i just really wanted to write!

Snow had been falling for the last hour, painting the city below in a thin sheet of pure white, only the dark speckles of countless heads walking to-and-fro disturbing the peacefulness below. The windowsills and balcony were also beginning to pick up a layer, growing steadily with each tiny flake that joined the pile. A beautiful sight slowly being constructed, irreplaceable and inimitable by mankind.

But what is a beautiful thing, if not to be held and marveled?

You gazed solemnly out the window, fingers splayed against the chilled glass. A similar feeling no doubt to the snow that was just out of reach. God, how long had it been since you’d touched snow? Felt that freezing, yet warming sensation dance across your nerves, sending confusing signals to your brain.

Three years inside a luxury penthouse gave you time to organize your thoughts more poetically.

Well, to say you’d been here for three years would be inaccurate. Two years and five months inside this home. Chrollo must have been anxious for the first seven months he had you, either keeping you by his side or stashing you in rich hotels, if only for a single night.

Perhaps he had become more comfortable, or maybe he was working on a long job, seeing as you’d been here for so long. The fact that you were unsupervised made you lean towards the former, in addition to his unbeatable strength that made resistance futile. But you knew your limits, and slowly you’d been learning Chrollo’s over the course of these three years. Carefully tip-toeing the line between admonishment and punishment; you’d never get the last word but always make a sharp jab, leaving the oh-so generously gifted—and probably stolen—jewelry and makeup untouched, and, perhaps your favorite, ignoring his first call of your name, but always coming on the second.

Pretending to not have heard Chrollo was your favorite pastime after learning that there was little he could do except implore you to open those poor little ears of yours. And it was a joy asking him to repeat himself, enjoying the twinge of annoyance that you could make out in his voice. 

However, as was normal in your new life, Chrollo had made himself scarce for an extended period of time. It wasn’t strange, in fact it was a much needed relief of his soul-scathing presence. He was most likely on a job, having found some ancient book or enchanting onyx necklace that he just had to have. Or, more accurately, another rotting memoir of a dead pompous poet that you would have to listen to Chrollo gush about, and another piece of jewelry for you to throw in the box and forget.

Maybe he’d get creative and bring you a fun hat this time.

At the end of the day, Chrollo wasn’t here, leaving you alone with your own thoughts. It was refreshing, not being alert at every waking moment, though that freezing fear had most certainly dulled with time. You had time to read, maybe start on a puzzle before you became too tired—coffee had been upgraded to a privilege in the last month, and something that Chrollo was only allowed to make, leaving you to rely on your own body’s performance to remain awake for longer. But puzzles left a sour taste in your mouth ever since Chrollo exchanged your fun scenic sets for Renaissance paintings.

And so you settled on reading, the only other thing to do in this godforsaken prison. Chrollo never liked it when you called it that, reminding you that ‘prisons didn’t have fresh produce or fireplaces.’ But even a golden cage is a cage, something you’d remind him of. He took away the remote after that spat.

You abandoned your window gazing and skipped over to the imposing bookshelf and the expansive collection of tomes that awaited you. Half were unreadable, written in dead languages you couldn’t begin to comprehend. The other half were plain boring, a collection of classics that Chrollo had most likely stolen over the years. But a handful were bearable, or at least interesting enough to keep you reading. You had offhandedly mentioned to Chrollo that you preferred mysteries, and the very next day a complete vintage series of Sherlock Holmes appeared. You tried to hint at adding more diverse genres, but so far there have been no new additions to the bookshelf. 

After peeling the first book from the shelf and giving it a light shake to remove any lingering dust, you fled to the comfort of the window nook. It was a remarkable spot—one you knew Chrollo hated, since he could not sit next to you. You thumbed through the book to the first page, laying eyes upon the old and yellowed paper.

“In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army.”

“Already a far more interesting life,” you muttered, “wish I could be a doctor.”

“Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out.”

“Oh, to travel the world. How I envy you, Watson,” you sighed, bleakly turning towards the window.

The snow hadn’t quit, continuing to stain the buildings in white, a gorgeous scene to behold. It was not to be enjoyed for long, however, as you caught a despicable glimpse in the reflection behind you.

Walking ever-so slightly closer was your captor, Chrollo Lucilfer, in the flesh. Although he seemed to immediately realize he’d been spotted, ceasing his silent movement before you swiveled your head around to face him.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your commentary,” he gave an innocent smile, “it’s always a treat to hear your dulcet voice.”

“I’d rather keep my thoughts to myself, thanks,” you spat, sending a glare his way before turning back to your book.

“If you’d like to travel the world, I could certainly take you,” he continued.”

“I’ll pass, Chrollo.”

“What ever happened to our little nicknames, my dove? I seem to recall you had quite the attachment to calling me Mephistopheles,” he noted, resuming his gait towards you.

You rolled your eyes, “I’ve since concluded you rather enjoy being compared to the devil, whereas I am not your dove, nor any bird you refer to me as.”

“I’m terribly sorry, my dear,” he cooed.

“I am not yours.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I have stolen you, therefore you are mine.”

“Ah!” you cried out, “I believe you’re forgetting the special word for stealing another person. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? It’s called kidnapping.”

Chrollo smirked at your words, now leaning against the wall beside you, staring down at your piece of literature.

“Believe me, treasure, I am well aware of the crimes I commit.”

“Feel free to list them,” you turned the page of your book, “I assure you, I’m listening.”

He easily plucked the book from your hand.

“Company is meant to be enjoyed, not tolerated,” he teased, returning it back to its place on the shelf. “Besides, the snow outside is stunning, is it not?”

“Of course,” you sneered. “Here, let me put on my cap and scarf, and then we can go frolic in this wonderful weather!”

“Now, now, there’s no need to get smart with me.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of it.”

Chrollo went quiet and gave you a look, a sign for you to shut your mouth before you ruined tonight.

“I am more than willing to put on a movie tonight, given that your attitude improves,” he spoke softly, moving back towards you.

There was hidden, unspoken meaning behind his words, something you’d grown to adjust to with your snarky attitude. Behave, or you get nothing.

“...What movie do you have in mind?” you responded, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to cool your soured mood.

“I’ll give you the choice, but I’m feeling partial to a select couple. Perhaps Romeo and Juliett? Or Pride and Prejudice?”

Someone’s in a mood tonight, you thought, folding your arms.

“Pride and Prejudice is fine,” you concluded, not wanting to hear Chrollo wax on about what Shakespeare meant or didn’t mean.

“Wonderful,” he smiled, walking over to the kitchen. “Now, would you like a cup of hot chocolate, my dear? I believe it would be fantastic on such a cold day.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” you answered as politely as you could manage, well aware that a simple ‘sure’ would not be enough to earn you any specialties.

You stood from your window alcove and walked quietly towards the bedroom, attempting to do so casually and without drawing his attention.

But it was impossible to slip anything past Chrollo Lucilfer.

“Dear,” he called out, still focused on his work at the counter.

You wordlessly turned around, staring emptily at the back of his head.

“There should be a dress, a black one, on the far right of your wardrobe,” he instructed, “be a doll and put it on.”

“...Alright.”

A black dress, probably too short to be comfortable in either direction. Chrollo’s favorite pastime, of course, was getting a glimpse of the body you’d refuse to show. But this was Chrollo’s night, not your own. Never your own.

So you’ll put the dress on, just like you’ll watch the movie that Chrollo wanted, right next to him—too close to him—on the sofa. And who knows, maybe you’ll do a puzzle with him at the end of the night.

But wasn't the snow just stunning?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Precocious 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, arranged marriage, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your family expects you to marry, but you don't expect to be happy.

This is part of the Three Sisters for Three Misters AU (this reader is know as Chicky)

Characters: Jonathan Pine

Note: And here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Heart racing, breath like fire, air stolid as beads of sweat speckle your scalp. There is only the moment. Only one shot. This is it. You have your target in sight. You squint down the barrel of the rifle and narrow your focus. 

One, two-- 

Cheep, cheep, cheep-cheep-cheep. The melodic tweeting of birds sounds from your single airpod. You sigh and steady the gun. You press down on the earbud to dismiss the incoming call. You reset your shot and follow the unwitting target as they twist and turn, searching for their adversary. For you. 

You take the shot. Right between their shoulder blades. You smile at the splatter of yellow paint across their vest. They stagger and twirl around in disappointment. They harrumph and toss down their gun.  

“Ah damn it!” Mackenzie stomps his foot. “Bull shit.” 

You point the barrel in the sky as you emerge from your perch, “don’t be a sore loser, Mack.” 

“Whatever,” he pouts. 

The tweeting starts again. You reach to tap the bud, this time answering the call. You kick through the dirt as the other players disburse. Game’s over. Back to reality.

“Howdy,” you trill as check the canister on your gun. Almost a full round left. It’s not how much you shoot, it’s where. 

“Where are you?” Your mother snips.  

“Hm,” you raise your wrist as you sling the strap of your gun around your shoulder. You tug back your sleeve to check your fitbit. “I’m not late.” 

“What do you mean you’re not late? Where did you go?” 

“Mom, I’ll be there,” you huff. “With bells on.” 

“Oh, trust me. I will hunt you down,” she sneers. “You will be here in one hour. Dressed. Acceptably.” 

You roll your eyes. You prefer it when she can’t see it. You love her, you know she means best, but you’re an adult. You agreed to her demands so why is she so rude? 

“I will, mom. I’ll even put a bow on,” you giggle. “Anywho, time to claim my prize. Ta.” 

You hang up without waiting for her no doubt scathing retort. You stride up to turn in the gun and your helmet. The gloves and boots are your own and your trademark hot pink outfit is custom-made. You get a voucher for free round of play and another medallion claiming you as champion.  

Your mom chides you often, says it’s a child’s game. Well, if she insists on treating you as one, you may as well be one. You stop and chat with a few of your competitors, some of them regulars, others just out for a day of fun. The older men aren’t very talkative. Not even a congrats on your win. 

Oh well. You try not to let the unhappiness of men rule your world. If you did, you would never do anything at all. Besides, you’ve sacrificed enough. You promised your father you’d behave and that you would show up for dinner. Well, that’s just the beginning of the agreement. 

You strip off your canvas and jacket and change out of your dirty pink jeans. You pull on a pair of lululemon flares and a loose white tee, sheltered only by your car door. Your mother would be scandalised to see it. You cackle and shove everything in your trunk. 

You blast some 90s pop for the drive. It amps you up and wards off the dread of what awaits you at home. As you drive up to the gate of your family estate, you turn down the music. You stop your out-of-tune singing and push your shoulders back. This is the real battleground. 

You pull into the garage, parking in the empty spot between your father’s lexus and your mother’ cadillac. You keep your head down as you get out. You near the interior door and ease it open. You listen to the house. You hear the flurry of the kitchen staff and all those others brought in to prepare for dinner. 

Sigh, your whole life has been parading around for company. 

You peek through the east doorway of the kitchen. Your mother screeches as she demands that the dessert be redone. You duck across and hurry upstairs. 

You swing yourself into your room and sigh. You take out the dress hand-picked by your mother. She gave you options and you bartered something cute. She wasn’t happy about the length but the faux petals around the neckline convinced her. You just love that it’s pink! 

You drape the hanger from the handle of the drawer on your vanity and look in the mirror. You take out a face wipe and clean your face of the residue of sweat and dust. You wish you could have stayed for the afternoon matches but responsibility calls. 

You begin your usual process. Primer, concealer, foundation. As you blend, there’s a tapping at the door. You recognise the melodic rhythm. You whistle back and your eldest sister enters. She’s already done up, all but her lips. She wears a burgundy robe and matching slippers with pearls. 

“There you are,” Kestral says. “Mother’s been squawking all day.” 

You look at her in the mirror and shrug. She looks down her nose at you. She has the same imperious expression as your father. If you didn’t know better, you’d be scared. 

She laughs and puts her hands on her hips. “Please, let me do your hair so she doesn’t tear it out.” 

“If you want,” you shrug, not very bothered by the task. You’ll make do. 

“Oh,” Kestral nears, “that dress is so you.” 

She touches the fluttery portrait neckline. She’s a bit more sophisticated, a lot less flowery. You dab on some blush and smear it with your fingers until it looks natural. 

“What about Wren? She’s usually much more elusive than me?” You ask. 

“Oh, yes. She took her nose out of her book for five seconds to get the witch off her back,” she takes the wide toothed comb and starts from your ends. “Even after a lifetime, she can’t really accept that this is what we were born for. I worry for her but she locked her door.” 

“And probably climbed the window,” you snort. 

“Always the most clever of us,” Kestral agrees. She’s silent as she untangles your hair. “Are you nervous?” 

Her eyes meet yours in the mirror. You shrug and hold off on the eyeliner. You’ll let her figure out your hair before that. 

“Strangers, aren’t they? But mother and father were too.” 

“Mm, and look how well that turned out. I don’t think they’ve been alone together since right before you were born,” she scoffs. 

“Likely not. But... mother says the men are well-bred. Polite.” 

“Frigid,” Kestral grins. “You must read between the lines. That is how society talks. They never say the truth, the toe around it until it kicks you in the teeth.” She takes a pin and secures it in your hair. “I’ve asked around but people never talk about interesting things, do they?” 

“No, not really.” You make a face at her in the mirror, a clownish smile, “am I pretty, sister? Will mother approve of me?” 

She chortles and shakes her head, “oh, it will be quite the night, won’t it?” 

“Don’t act as if I will be the only menace. And I’m not so worried about mother, as she shouldn’t be of us. We have to impress these men, not her, right?” 

“Impress? Well, I shouldn’t need to try for that. He can win me over. Tradition and all,” she drones. 

The door clicks behind her and you both give a start. You turn as Wren stands against the door, her eyes wide and her hair as unwieldy as ever. So much as she tries to tame it, it has a will of its own. Despite her reticence, she is much the same. 

“I saw one,” she says. 

“Saw one?” You echo. 

She hushes you and comes forward. She’s in a plum sweater and linen pants. Her glasses are tangled in her hair and crooked. She has a book under her arm. 

“He’s tall. Blonde. Look,” she points to the window. You and Kestral share a look before you rise. You follow her to the window Wren remains by the vanity. 

“Oh, wow, isn’t that typical?” Kestral drawls, “an antique car. Well, Wren, you should hope he’s yours then. By the looks of it, he’ll spend more time with that beast than you.” 

She squeaks and flutters around behind you. She’s always been the softest spoken of you all. Reserved but willful. Most wouldn’t guess it, but she’s rather funny when she wants to be. 

“Mm, he has manners. He is chatting rather intently with Reginald.” 

“Yes, Reginald can be rather chatty,” Wren murmurs. Sometimes, she is too honest. 

“Well, Kes,” you turn away from the window and lean against the wall, “you said you asked around. What did you hear?” 

“Like I said, gossip is rarely useful,” she sighs and retreats. “Mine, Conrad... he’s not much history in ‘society’,” she emphasizes the last word with her fingers. “From what I’ve gathered, he comes from a well to do family. I heard more of his brother than him. Frustratingly mysterious.” 

She crosses her arms and sits on your bed, “then there’s Laufeyson, Wren’s match. He does have quite the reputation. A tricky man. I’m not entirely sure why mother and father chose him but no offense, Wrenny, you are a middle child.” 

“Mm, I’d say better than no one but no one sounds rather nice,” she mutters. 

You laugh. She really is so silly. 

“And me?” You prompt. 

“Pine. Proper gentleman by my measure. Never a toe out of line. No mystery, no scandal. He sounds like he was created in a factory.” 

“Boring?” You comment. 

“I wouldn’t expect any of them to be more than,” she examines the crimson tips of her manicure. “But we should try to pretend they are interesting.” 

“Forever,” you utter. 

“Forever...” she agrees dully. “So is our lot, yes? We must make the best of it. Get through tonight, then the wedding, and when all is said and done, we can still be us.” She leans back and crosses one leg over the other. “I’ll take Lottie with me. She’s a loyal stead and I’ll need something fun to ride.”  

She gives a wink and you giggle. Wren squeaks and rocks bashfully. 

“Wren, you can take all your books and add a thousand more to your shelves. You could build yourself a castle and lock yourself away to read forever,” she says, “and Chicky,” she looks at you, “you can just be you. Go out shooting or dancing or shopping. As long as our duty is met, we will be free. Truly. No more mother, no more father. We will laugh in their faces and say ‘no’.” 

“I hope you’re right,” you turn back to peer out the window. 

The blond man stands below. His brow suit is sleek and tailored. Even from there, you can tell it is cut of fine material. He looks up as you peer down and you think for a moment he sees you. You flinch and draw back behind the curtain, tugging it across the pane. 

“I do too,” Kestral agrees. “Think of it this way, we want out of this house. This is how we get out. Then we have our own titles, our own rights, and our husbands, well, they can have their own hobbies.” 

You nod and go back to the mirror. You sit and look at yourself. You want to believe Kestral. She’s never been an optimist but she’s just so desperate to get away, she’ll believe her own lies. You want to think this is an escape, yet you can only see things staying the same. You’ll still be putting on a mask. Still living to someone else’s standards. 

[vinceaddams]

List of fun things about my current apartment:

The oven always undercooks things. Even if I put the temperature hotter than the recipe calls for and leave it in longer, I still often have to put it back in for even longer. And yet when I borrowed an oven thermometer to check, all the temperatures I measured were accurate.

The two burners on the left side of the stove are barely warm for the first half of the dial, and then in the second half they're on maximum, no in between.

The hot water takes about a full minute to get hot, which is actually good because-

The water from the cold tap tastes weird, but the hot one tastes fine, so we drink the cold water from the hot tap.

There's a weird lumpy patch in one of the lower cupboards that smells a bit like coffee and is streaky and brown no matter how much I scrub it, so I can only assume someone spilled instant coffee grounds there and just. painted over it??

Mice for the third autumn in a row, but somehow this year I've only heard them in the ceiling and seen them run across the vent but haven't seen any evidence in the kitchen even though it's been a few weeks?? They got in last year and the year before. The landlord never replied to my email about it this year when I started hearing them in the ceiling again.

Speaking of which, the kitchen counter is dark brown with a speckled pattern, and the lighting is really bad, so I have to shine a flashlight around to be certain there are no mouse poops.

Two of the cupboard doors are also missing knobs and won't latch properly.

There's a clothesline outside, but it's high up with a little springloaded thingy that you pull on a rope to lower, and I've tried pulling on it and it won't move. I have never hung my laundry on it because I cannot reach it.

The washing machine doesn't do a very good job washing, and the dryer usually needs to be run twice for things to dry completely.

There was also the treadmill that the upstairs neighbour had directly over my bed, which they were running on for almost an hour a day for a while, and which they once rode on at 11pm and once at 1pm (jail for one thousand years and also die please) but we complained and got them to stop.

The best thing about this place is that I have to move out very soon!

[justporo]

Back Under the Weeping Willow

Brimsterton | A Staevstarion Regency AU

A/N: So we kind of all had a collective feverdream on a Discord server and what came from it was this Astarion x Staeve Regency AU - namely Brimsterton. Much of this originated when we went ham on the server and ping-ponged ideas around. So, many of these ideas were a collective effort with credit specifically going to @somewhatclear @silmaryel and @astarions-pervert-goth-wife. Thank you guys, mwa! That was so much fun. And ofc also big thanks to @velnna who keeps letting me play with his blorbo. Staeve is my favourite barbie doll! <3 Will I ever come back to this? We will see... ~~~ Summary: Astarion Ancunín, only heir to his family's estate and name, finds himself back in his hometown. Suddenly Duke after his parents untimely demise duty demands he takes matters in his own hands and goes towards an unsure future. But back home is still the same: the same old people, the same old fields. The same old memories, the same old yearning as he meets his childhood friend Staeve again - the reason why he left in the first place all these years ago.

Pairing: Astarion/Staeve Wordcount: 1,7k Warnings: mention of character death

The message about his parent’s death had reached Astarion through a courier letter as he had been attending a social gathering. A disease had withered them away more quickly than anyone could’ve had believed. He was duke now. He now owned the estate.

He’d read the words. And a second time and a third. Then he had excused himself without further words and had gone home to pack.

Had someone observed him they would have probably only thought he’d encountered a mild inconvenience. Nothing of consequence really.

And Astarion would have preferred it if had been nothing but a minor inconvenience. That he didn’t have to return to his hometown, to his parents’ - no his - estate now.

But duty demanded it. And duty, in the end, had always been the master that the young duke had bowed to.

On the inside though, conflicting emotions had been wreaking havoc: a certain sadness about all of this, surely, but more than that fear, concern, lodging below his ribs.

But deeper another thing entirely had reared its head: a spark of yearning suddenly being reignited, that he thought had gone cold a long time ago. Almost ten years ago, to be exact.

But as he had quickly arranged for everything to be packed up, a carriage to be sent and for a message to be delivered to a friend to hopefully accompany him on this trip that was bound to become a disaster, he felt his mind preoccupied not with thoughts of mourning. He had barely remembered to request for his all black attire to be laid out for him as visions of forest green hair, teal eyes and that wicked grin flashed through his mind - long past, but surely not forgotten. Never forgotten.

And with memories of old clouding his mind, he had begun his journey towards home - and an unsure future.

Coming home had hurt.

Not merely because of the harsh reality of Astarion’s parents' untimely end. Because this was obviously all very tragic and unfortunate of course.

But in truth he had been estranged from his parents for as long as he could remember. And it had gotten worse over the ten years he had been spending apart from them - and there. Scarce letters had been his only bridge to a past he usually tried to forget.

The real pain though, as the carriage rattled down the rough roads to his past home, had lingered in how everything was still the same.

The same flower fields being turned into grassy seas of green speckled with colour by the wind rushing through them. The same rocks the carriage’s axle struggled not to break under. The same sky painted grey with a storm that might or might not come. The same small town, the same houses, the same ancient weeping willow up on the hill.

The same people.

The same memories.

The same pain pestering him as his hometown came into view after the same final turn of the road.

The same ache he had felt when leaving all those years ago.

Not even Jenevelle accompanying him and laying a calming hand on his knee as Astarion had kept staring out of the carriage window, with his arm propped up and his hand pressed to his cheek, had been able to soothe this particular pain.

Stoically, he had carried on, just the same.

He’d been welcomed at the Ancunín estate with everyone of the staff wearing black and sullen faces. All of them had waited in a line before the manor. Awaiting the new duke with heavy, grieving hearts.

And word of the young duke returning home must’ve had travelled fast because almost immediately after he had received the staff’s condolences, shaking everyone’s hands and exchanging the customary friendly words and sad smiles, people from town had made visits.

There had been more handshakes, eyes full of understanding, even some tears had shed and Astarion’s shoulder patted more often than he would have liked. And even a few confused glances as people noticed his company of a young fair haired woman without the accompanying rings on either of their hands. But at least the shock about his parents’ untimely demise and the grief laying on the whole place like a sheet had spared him the judgement.

It hadn’t spared him of people coddling him though.

So now here he was at a small get-together at someone else’s estate. Having been pushed to attend because visitors had felt guilty about leaving the mourning man alone at this giant estate where everything must be reminding him of the family he had just lost.

Astarion would have much rather stayed at the Ancunín estate. But he couldn’t have exactly told anyone that. Not when polite and caring invitations had been made - and duty demanded of him to kindly take them up on it.

Unfortunately, the small get-together had also turned out to be a not small at all ball. People were dancing and drinking. And then quickly hiding their smiles behind their hands, putting on masks of sadness and concern as soon as they spotted him.

The evening had been filled with more people crowding around Astarion, grabbing his hand to offer him words of support and understanding or a story about his parents he had to pretend he hadn’t heard a million times yet.

Finally, after Astarion had badly mimicked almost breaking into tears after having been told the same story of how his parents had organised that one particular ball, everyone in town still remembered, for the fourth time in a row, he had been left alone. And thankfully even Jenevelle had, after throwing him another asking look, just went to explore the event on her own.

Now the young duke was sitting in a corner alone, holding on to what was now his third cup of wine, as he observed the couples turning on the dancefloor. He watched through people passing by and obnoxious, incredibly pretentious and tasteless low hanging palm leafs from trees that had been placed everywhere. At least they also provided for a nice and rather hidden corner where Astarion had fled so as to not be approached by griefing townsfolk anymore.

Cheerful dance music drifted through the air and the sweet smell of spring flower bouquets filled the massive room as gauzy skirts in all kinds of pastel colours swished over the floors with young ladies smiling coyly and young men nearly falling at their feet for just one of those smiles.

Even as Astarion found himself not as closely moved by grief as people expected him to be, he found it all abhorrent.

It were the same tasteless people with their same tiny mindsets only reaching from here to the next bigger city and their same annoying and boring soirees.

There had only ever been the one person who had made this place interesting.

Astarion downed the rest of the wine in one big gulp and got up to grab another one while wondering how much longer he would need to stay for it to not be considered rude. 

He spotted a servant with a silver tray carrying new drinks in crystal glasses - unfortunately almost on the other side of the room. With a curse under his breath he began moving through the crowd, his head held low to avoid eye contact and more people feeling the need to talk to him, reach for him, console him.

As he passed the edge of the dancefloor he made the mistake of looking up and across the dancefloor where couples were still happily moving in endless twists and turns.

And found the sight he’d been fearing most for. Or yearning for. Astarion really wasn’t quite sure.

On the other side of the dancefloor stood the inspiration and source for those pictures and memories plaguing him since he had sat down in that carriage travelling here. And that ache. And that longing.

The trillering joyful music drifting through the air suddenly seemed muted, time almost slowed down as all those images suddenly came together all at once.

He looked almost like he remembered - the only thing he was not mad about for being the same.

Long dark green hair messily tied back, clothes fine but just a tad dishevelled as to let everyone around know that he wasn’t just like everyone else around. That he didn’t fear to be a little rough around the edges. Teal and black eyes were glinting just as vividly as in Astarion’s memories as he was talking to some lady and lazily holding his cup of wine by the rim.

And then there was his smile. That wicked smile curling up the corners of his lips as he listened to his companion talk.

The freckles on his dark skin had gotten a little more intense and plenty, Astarion could immediately tell. They suited him just as nicely though as they had back then. There were a few lines around his mouth and eyes now and his face just a little leaner, having lost the softness and immaturity of youth in the flesh. But  - as Astarion kept being transfixed by watching him - not his manners or his mind it looked like.

Staeve.

Almost all the same.

As were Astarion’s emotions, finally having torn themselves free from below the worry and the fear. The twinge of longing setting his chest ablaze, threatening to let him burn up right on the spot. His heart began to thunder and his hands still clutching the goblet started to tremble as he stood there rooted in place and beholding the sight of the man that had made him leave his home so many years ago.

Then Staeve’s expression changed. Eyebrows drew together and his eyes darted to the side. As if he had caught on that he was being watched. His head flew around, probably rudely interrupting his date’s words and immediately spotting Astarion.

The young duke immediately felt the heat spread to his cheeks and he hastily tried to turn away as if nothing had happened.

But Staeve didn’t even waste a heartbeat to smile at him, deepening the lines around his mouth and eyes even further. The moment drew out between two heartbeats, feeling endless, as they laid eyes upon each other after ten years apart.

Then Staeve lifted his cup in greeting - as if it had only been yesterday.

And only then did Astarion feel that he had returned home.

[miniwrites1]

The Feeling's Mutual - Ominis Gaunt

Requested! - Mutual pining! (Couple of similar requests merged together!)

Word Count - 1.2k

Theme - Fluff

Breakfast was never a dull affair for Sebastian, watching you closely as you gazed at Ominis like a lovesick puppy. You’d been the same way for weeks now, staring at him with wide eyes, escaping into a fantasy land of some form. He couldn’t help but cringe slightly at how you looked at Ominis with adoration and love, it was almost like someone had slipped you a love potion.

He sighed, turning back to his breakfast that was slowly going cold. He knew that you liked Ominis, and that Ominis liked you in return, but somehow you were both clueless to that fact. Quite frankly it was driving him insane. Every class that you all had together, he’d sit with Ominis and hear all about how wonderful you were, outside of class he’d hear from you the same things about Ominis.

Pursing his lips, he turned his head towards the Hufflepuff table. He smiled when he spotted the perfect person to help him. Quickly, he stood from his seat, stepping over the bench and walking towards his future accomplice.

“Hello Poppy, I need your help with something.”

You were sat outside in the Transfiguration courtyard, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin when you heard someone sit next to you. Your eyes gently fluttered open, taking a moment to adjust to the light. Once they’d adjusted you turned and spotted Poppy sat on the bench next to you, a bright smile gracing her lips.

“Hello (Y/N).” She spoke quickly, her smile only seeming to grow.

“Hello Poppy, how are you?” You responded softly, returning her smile.

“I’m well thank you, I’d actually like a hand with something if you’re free?” She mentioned casually, explaining to you that she’d agreed to help Mr Moon find some demiguise statues that he was convinced were tormenting him, but there was one that she was unable to access.

“Of course I’ll help you Poppy, where is it?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Follow me, I’ll show you.” Poppy gestured, quickly standing up and motioning for you to follow her. You followed her all the way to the room of requirement, climbing up countless steps in search of a demiguise statue. It wasn’t the way you’d planned to spend your afternoon; however it was a lot more fun. Once you were outside the room of requirement, the door opened to grant you entry revealing a room stacked from floor to ceiling with books and old paintings. Your brows furrowed as you turned to Poppy.

“The demiguise statue is in here?” You asked incredulously, Poppy nodded her head in confirmation before pushing you inside the room, quickly closing the door behind you.

“Have fun searching!” She called out as you hear a click of a lock turning. She’d locked you inside the room of requirement.

“I didn’t even know that was possible.” You thought to yourself, pondering why she would have locked you in until you heard faint shouting coming from behind a wall of books. Your brows furrowed as you thought about finding the person, the books immediately parting to reveal Ominis, trapped under a pile of fallen books. You couldn’t help but laugh slightly which caught his attention.

“Who’s there? Is that you Sebastian?” He spoke, anger lacing his tone. “Sebastian, if you don’t free me this instant, I will jinx you into next year.” Ominis threatened, drawing another laugh from you.

“No Ominis, it’s me (Y/N).” You said with a smile, thinking about Ominis being freed from the book mountain that had been created around him. The books levitated away at your command, reforming themselves into neat piles.

Ominis sighed slightly, enjoying the feeling of not being trapped under the books any longer. He pushed himself from the floor and brushed off his robes, small speckles of dust floating up into the air.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked softly, helping him to get the last specks of dust off of his robe. Ominis laughed slightly.

“Sebastian asked me to help him find a demiguise statue for Mr Moon, but once he brought me in here a pile of books collapsed on me, the last thing I heard from him was his laughter as he left the room.” Ominis explained, annoyance evident in his words. You couldn’t help but laugh, unable to contain the bubbling laughter.

“That’s interesting, Poppy asked me to do the same thing. For some reason she locked the door.” You explained, Ominis’ brow raised slightly.

“I didn’t realise you could lock the room of requirement.” He responded in slight surprise; you hummed in acknowledgement, scanning your surroundings.

“I could do with a place to sit down for a moment.” Ominis mentioned, making you smile as a table with two chairs appeared out of thin air. You guided Ominis over to the seats to sit down, assuming he must ache slightly from being trapped.

You sat for a while in comfortable silence, gazing around at the room and looking at how different it was to yours. It was quite incredible.

“Why do you think Sebastian and Poppy locked us in here?” You asked softly, jolting Ominis from his thoughts. He smiled slightly.

“It’s something that Sebastian has been teasing me about for a while now.” Ominis started, his cheeks turning slightly red at the thought of what he was about to say. “I have a crush on you (Y/N).”

You blinked once, then twice, unable to believe the words that Ominis had admitted, it brought a wide smile to your face and turned your cheeks a bright shade of pink.

“Ominis, I have a crush on you too.” You admitted, immediately seeing his face light up, a bright smile appearing. You gently reached for his hand, linking your fingers together.

Your moment alone together ended quite quickly, at the sound of the door unlocking Ominis shot to his feet, however he still held your hand, fingers interlocked with yours. You couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Is that Sebastian walking through the door?” Ominis asked you gently. You hummed a yes, watching as Ominis pointed his wand at the figure.

“Ominis, I know I shouldn’t have collapse those books on you but you need to understand, it was for the sake of you both.” Sebastian began to explain. Ominis’ eyes narrowed as he thought about his choice of words carefully.

“Sebastian, I’m going to give you to the count of five before I jinx you into next year.” Ominis spoke, slight frustration ebbing its way into his words. Sebastian’s eyes widened slightly as he began to back away.

“One, two.” Ominis spoke clearly as Sebastian continued to back away from him, his hands slightly raised in surrender. Ominis paid no mind to his friend’s hand gestures. “Five.” Sebastian took off running down the corridor, trying to escape Ominis’ wrath, Ominis was in hot pursuit following Sebastian down the corridor until they were out of sight. You couldn’t help but laugh at their antics, secretly thanking Sebastian and Poppy for pushing you together.

A/N - As always, feedback is appreciated! 😊

[anjuschiffer]

Of Forgotten Memories and A Beloved Mother

Welp here's another entry for @official-timari-server's Shutterbug Station 2024!

Enjoy!

-

Tags: @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha

-

Context:

Damian is recovering from memory loss after a mission having gone wrong. With his memories barely in tact and only remembering his family's names, Damian was placed into 24 hour surveillance and staying home until his memories returned…hopefully. While at home, Damian was encouraged to do whatever he felt comfortable in doing, drawing and painting being one of them. Out of nowhere, Damian started to remember something from a very long time ago.

Chapter 1: Momma's Lullaby | A03

“Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea,

Swim so wild and you swim so free,

Heaven above and the sea below,

And a little white whale on the go.”

Jason stopped half stride as he heard someone sing, ensuing him to figure out who it was. 

“Baby Beluga, baby Beluga,” Jason turned a hall, muttering in disbelief when the voice came from Damian’s room

“Is the water warm, is your mama home,” He couldn’t believe it…

“With you so happy?” It really was Damian singing, the boy lost in his painting as he slowly swiped his brush across the incomplete canvas in front of him.

In the few weeks that Damian was brought to them, Jason has never heard the boy sing. Hell, he never sang to begin with. So hearing him sing, nonetheless a song that seemed so familiar to the boy, Jason knew he had to get Dick.

Damian watched as the blue paint he dabbed onto the canvas started to morph into a small rubber whale, watching as his hands morphed into small chubby ones, holding onto said whale. He watched as he threw the whale just a few inches away from himself, laughing up a storm when he watched the whale barely sink upon hitting the water

His own squeals were soon accompanied by some distant giggling, Damian feeling his entire body lighten up upon hearing the familiar laugh, feeling the need to smile as he turned to look at the person next to him, her face resting on the edge of the bathtub. Large bluebell eyes smiled at him.

“Was that fun, Dami? Was it fun?” She asked him, Damian finding himself just squealing as she pinched his cheek. “Oh you’re just so cute! Let’s get you washed up, okay?” She tucked a strand of midnight hair behind her ear before she went to scrub his hair. 

“Way down yonder where the dolphins play,

Where you dive and splash all day,” She slowly rinsed the soap off, Damian watching the suds surround him.

“The waves roll in and the waves roll out,

See the water squirting out of your spout.” She brought his bath toys closer to him when Damian started to cry as he watched his beluga toy float away.

“Baby Beluga, oh baby Beluga,

Sing your little song, sing for all your friends,

We like to hear you.” She sang as she took him out of the tub and wrapped a towel around him, kissing his nose as she took him to his room.

The room was dim, only a lamp lit the room, speckling the room with tiny stars of light. She laid him on the bed and quickly put him into a soft pair of pajamas so that he would remain warm.

“When its dark and your home and fed,

Curled up snug in your water bed,” She sang as she tucked him under some blankets and laid right beside him.

“Moon is shining and the stars are out,

Good night little whale good night.” She sang, Damian feeling his eyes turn heavy, his consciousness fighting the drowsiness that enveloped his body.

“Baby Beluga, oh baby Beluga,

With tomorrow's sun, another day's begun,

You'll soon be waking.” He found himself closing his eyes.

Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea,

Swim so wild and you swim so free,

Heaven above and the sea below,

And a little white whale on the go.

You're just a little white whale on the go.” Damian whispered as he opened his eyes, lifting his paintbrush away from the canvas, finally leaning back to look at the woman staring back at him. Or at least, he knew the face of a woman was looking at him, but try as he may, for the life of him, he just couldn’t-

“What do you have there, Dami?” Dick asked, Damian controlling his flinching from the sudden call. “Who’s that? Someone you know?”

Damian felt something stir in chest, because the longer he tried to stare at her face, he couldn’t see her face. He could only see, he could only recognize the bright shade of bluebell that he adored to see everyday. He loved her attention. Her hugs. He loved her voice and yet… “Damian. Is everything-”

“I don’t know.” Damian answered in the quietest voice Dick had ever heard him speak since he had known the kid. “I don’t know who she is.”

“Well for someone you don’t know…she’s very pretty.”

“She was.” Damian found himself saying, feeling his mind muddle. “She was very pretty…and her voice was pretty. She’d always sing me the same lullaby while tucking me in for bed.” Damian admitted.

“She tucked you into bed? When you were younger?” 

“I think…I’m not completely sure.” Damian looked at her face one last time, but like always, he could only see her eyes. 

Eyes that he wished he could see again.

What he would give to be able to see her again. “But I know one thing. 

I used to call her Momma.”

“Momma! Momma don’t go!” Damian yelled as Talia pulled him back, Damian watching as Momma was guided out the League’s compound, her luggage carried by two guards. “Momma!”

Damian watched as she stopped and said something to the guards. She turned around and simply smiled. “Momma?”

“Take care Dami. Grow up and find me, okay?” She smiled one last time before she turned around, Damian watched her disappear into the exit that led to the outside world he was forbidden to go into.

“MOMMA!”

NEXT

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

The Taming of Man: chapter Thirteen - Dragon Shifting!Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

Hello Readers, miss me? Did ya? Well, I've got a chapter here just for you, yes you, and yes it took me over two weeks, let's not ask questions about it! Love you, please let me know your thoughts!

Words: 3,648

This is incredibly based on the song The Willow Maid by Erutan, I highly recommend giving it a listen for the best experience.

Warnings: Cursing, reader is She/Her and will be AFAB in later chapters, Katsuki is sexy, plot is plotting but it's subtle

Once upon a time there was a dragon, and he was very brave and strong. He fell in love with a beautiful maiden, and she was very honorable and fair. Together their love was great. it carried them to the underbelly of the big dragon in the sky, Where they ran their hands across the scales painted with clouds, And then, when they flew far enough, across the speckled scales of it's brother. They traveled around the world over and over, Scattering their children across the lands. children who were brave and strong, Honorable and fair. When they landed, some of their children traveled far and wide to greet them. Others stayed where they were, and made new families of their own. No matter where one is, They are a child of the dragon. They are your family, in one way or another, And should be treated as such. You must respect them, until they disrespect you. Honor their lives, as you honor your own.

Excerpt from The Taming of the Dragon King, Translated from Dråcc-lín

Wow, was Dragonborne folklore intricate! This was the thousandth story you've read today, and you still don't fully understand what the whole picture is. Earlier that morning, you had decided to do some research on Dragonborne culture and Forrmidūl history, but you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

Even so, it was all so interesting. You found yourself falling down a rabbit hole of information, and so far you've come to learn a few general ideas ancient peoples in the area had.

Firstly, the sky was thought to be two dragons, biting each other's tails. The sun was the first dragon's eye, and the moon was the second dragon's. Next, the ancient Dragonborne people believed that they were the first society, and every other society and person came from them. Other societies seem to believe this too, based on letters you've read.

Royalty are direct descendants from the "Dragon King," and you honestly can't tell if the Dragon King is humanoid or truly a dragon. It seems the storytellers can't make their minds up, either.

It also seems people used to do dances to appease the mighty dragons, although now people do it to bond with their community and dragon companions.

You smile happily, closing the leather-bound book and standing from the crimson stained table you seated yourself at. As you walked to the bookshelf you retrieved it from, sliding the archival journal of translated folktales into it's slot, you thought about how proud of yourself you were. You had gone into this library fairly clueless about the mythos of Forrmidūl, and now you were going to walk out smarter. Sure, Katsuki taught you about stuff like political standing and the true history, but he never talked about the fun stuff, like this.

You felt a sort of independence, seeking this information out for yourself...which, admittedly, made you feel a little fake. Honestly, you didn't come here for your own knowledge, you came here because you wanted Katsuki to be impressed. You wanted his praise, and maybe you knew you weren't going to get it, but you didn't want to seem so completely helpless.

You woke up not back to back with Katsuki, like the night before, but in his gasp. The two of you had shifted over night, and the idea that he reached for you subconsciously made you feel so happy. As you were laying there, you had thought about how Forrmidūl was your new home now, and you'd have to learn the ways of the Dragonborne. About how Katsuki would have to put so much more work in to help you and teach you.

Long story short, you went into a bit of an anxious spiral, and right then you decided to find a library. When you went to get up, the sleeping Katsuki's grip seemed to tighten, but he relaxed a few moments after, and you got up with ease.

It didn't take you long to find someone to give you directions, the ever helpful Kirishima being gracious enough to lead you to the vast library at 4 in the morning (When does he sleep?), and even assist you in picking out some books.

It was a bit of a chore for you at first, settling in with stacks of books before you, and even though you enjoyed yourself and read more because you wanted to, it still felt disingenuous.

You sighed, shaking the doubt away and moving to sit back down at your table, a few more novels waiting for you, when something on the shelf caught your eye.

A light green and aged book, with floral decals on the spine painted in gold. You stared at it for a moment, your hand mindlessly reaching out to grab it. You stopped for a moment, pulling back a little.

Were you...nervous? You had no reason to be, it was just a book.

You gulped and sighed, chiding yourself for being so tense, before grabbing it and pulling it off the shelf. On the front there were no words, just more of those floral decals framing nothing but sage green.

you sat back down, the book placed in front of you, your fingerprints pressed into the light coating of dust. Slowly, you opened it up, the yellow pages slipping through your fingers as you flip to the first page. There, you finally found the title.

The Faerie Lands: A Collection of Stories and Tales

You sigh, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. Was this what you were so nervous about? Some book of tall tales about your kind? The scariest thing about this book was the likely racial undertones.

Still, it could be fun to read a bit about what old Dragonborne writers thought of Faeries and Gildflå, maybe see if Katsuki had some misinformation from books like these later.

You flipped to the first story, a tale about a girl dancing with faeries, going through a portal, eating faerie food, and getting trapped in the faerie world. The myth was accompanied by drawings, images of the mischievous fairies with cherub faces and butterfly wings and tiny bodies.

Some things it got right, like how all you needed for a portal was a ring of mushrooms and a little bit of harmony magic, and other things were completely wrong, like the idea that faeries had wings, especially wings like that.

You could summon the illusion of wings, sure, but even then it was easy to see they were fake, simply shimmer in the shape of wings.

You thumbed the corner of the page, an amused sniff leaving you as you turned to the next story. Once there was a young ma-

"How long've you been in here?"

You yelped at the sound of Katsuki's voice, turning to face him. He was standing behind you, wearing a bright red dress shirt and black slacks, accompanied by gold jewelry and that same animal tooth necklace. You've seen him wear this before, you liked it on him. It had an air of wealth to it, like a reminder that he was really the prince of a global powerhouse.

"Not long...I think. What time is it?" You sit up a little, closing the book before you. it was a little embarrassing to you, reading about your own people, especially when you were supposed to be reading about his people.

"6:30. Why're you in here, anyway?"

"To read." You give him a cheeky grin, and he rolls his eyes.

"No shit." He leans over you, one hand caging you in as it rests on the table's edge, the other grabbing a book from the stack you have. His face was right next to yours, his breath sending shivers up your spine as it fans across your ear.

He stays in this position to read the cover, letting out a scoff in laughter. "The complete history of Dragonborne culture - volume one?"

"It's not really all that complete..."

He turns to look at you, about to make some snide remark, when he notices how much you're blushing at the proximity. Do you blush like that often? If you did he would have noticed...right? It was cute. Really cute. He wanted you to do that more, all the time.

"Uh...w-why are you readin' about this boring crap? Don't I teach you enough?" he didn't sound mad, more confused than anything.

"No," you answered tauntingly, taking the book back and placing it atop the other one. "Is it so surprising I want to actually learn?"

"Whatever...do you really have to leave 'em all out, though?" He gestured to the two piles, one of read books, the other of unread.

"I've only finished a few," you grumble, reaching to grab at the ones you've read to put them away. He beat you to it, grabbing them all up in his hands. he shifted the stack to be in one hand, patting your head with the other. You blush again at the surprisingly sweet gesture, and he smiles, rolling his eyes as he goes to put the books away, leaving you to your reading for the moment as he scavenges for the correct shelves.

God, you were too pretty to be real.

He thought the same exact thing this morning, as he watched you breath. he couldn't help it, he barely got any sleep the night before. Sure, a few hours from how long of a day he had, but he was awake again by 3 and couldn't fall back asleep.

He had shifted to lay on his back, to stare at the ceiling as he tried to ease himself asleep again, when he felt your foot jab into his leg. He turned to glare at you, your back still to him, your gentle snoring leading him to believe it was an accident. You had mumbled incoherently, turning on your back and stretching your arms out.

A kick to the leg, he can handle. A smack in the face? Now you've reached the limits of his patience.

Unsure of what to do to remedy this, he just pushed your limbs back to your center. That did nothing of substance, as shown by how the process repeats itself moments later. finally, he grumbled a few swears and brought his arms around you, holding your arms to yourself by force.

He grinned in his victory, as if he beat you at your own game. When he looked down at your face, though...

that gorgeous sleeping face, lips parted as your breathed, lashes fluttering a little as his breath was able to fan across your face from how close the two of you were.

His grin faded, replaced by a look of awe as he began to mindlessly pet your hair. This is what he wanted for the rest of his life, for you to be in his arms and safe and comfortable. He did nothing but stare for the next hour, watching you with so much enamor you would think you were a goddess he worshipped.

When you stirred, twisting in his grasp so that you were spooning, he held his breath. Normally, he wouldn't be so nervous about something like this, but for some reason he felt a little embarrassment for admiring you so much.

He could hear your heartbeat speed up as you awoke, and he could see the way your eyes slowly opened to the dim room. For a few minutes you laid still, until with a determined huff you moved to get up. Out of instinct, he held you there, unwilling to lose your warmth, but then he realized that'd give away his consciousness, and so he released you.

He did nothing but listen to you walk out, gently shutting the door behind you, hearing as you found Kiri in the halls and asked for directions to the library.

He let out a sigh, staring at the ceiling and moving to lay atop where your body was, absorbing the heat. Today was the first official day you were here with him, as his girlfriend. His potential mate. He couldn't lose you again, he couldn't risk you seeing anyone as better than him, so he had to keep up the courting processes. He stupidly assumed that once you started dating, he could stop, but clearly that doesn't work. Besides, springtime was coming fast, and he couldn't let someone else snatch you up.

He spent that whole morning getting ready, bathing, working out to get a good sweat going (his pheromones are released from sweat glands), carefully picking his shiniest jewelry, wearing his good clothes. Sure, you didn't know when he tried all that stuff at the beginning, but you were with him now, so that meant it had to have worked on some level...especially since it made you blush like that.

When he returned to you, you had your nose back in one of those books, and your little focused face made his heart pound. Everything you did seemed to do that, more than usual, and he couldn't tell if it was because he just got you back, or because spring was well on it's way...probably both.

He took a seat in front of you, and when you looked up at him he cocked his head to the side. "What made you wake up so damn early?"

"Like I said, I wanted to read," you sighed, smiling.

"...but, why?"

You rolled your eyes, closing the book. "You ask too many questions." You stretch a little, before your stomach growls with impatience.

"When was the last time you ate," Katsuki asked, his tone accusatory, as he began to stack your books up, preparing to put those away too.

You grabbed up a few of the books yourself, it was probably time to call it a day.

"Uh, I think...well, last night, definitely," you answer, taking the books to the shelf adjacent. Katsuki grumbled and went to another shelf, setting all of the books he grabbed in their proper place. "No shit...we're getting breakfast," he ordered, causing you to nod in agreement despite the urge to argue.

You stretched upward, a book in your hand as you tried to slot it in on the top shelf. You were so close, just a little farther...

Katsuki came up behind you, taking the book and sliding it in with ease.

"Hey, I almost had it," you whine, turning around to frown at him for ruining your near victory...

and there he was.

Above you.

His arm still stretched up, his other hand, leaning on the shelf next to your waist as he looked up to the book he was placing. He was so close, his toned chest right in front of your face...it made you want to touch him, as if to see if all of that was real...

"No you didn't," he scoffed, his stretched arm relaxing to a lean against the bookshelf. He looked down at you, immediately taking in your red cheeks, your kissable lips parted, your eyes a little wide. He grinned, proud of himself for meriting such a reaction. "What," he asked tauntingly, his inflating ego leading him to bring his hand down to hold your chin.

"Nothing..." You murmured, blinking a couple times before shaking your head. what's gotten into you? Well, him soon, hopefully...you had to show he couldn't just make you swoon like that.

"Nothing? Doesn't look like nothing," he teased, gingerly bringing his hand to your waist.

You glance to his lips, curved into a cocky smirk, then back into his vermillion eyes. "If you want to kiss me just say that," you say pointedly, bringing your hands to those strong arms.

He stiffened a little, the wheels turning, before leaning in and kissing you. It was different than your other kisses, this time it was fueled by a carnal desire that was bubbling inside him, the action passionate and leaving you without room to breath.

His lips crashing into yours, teeth bumping against your mouth as a result of his hurried actions. He wasn't a bad kisser, he was admittedly good at most everything, but like a lot of what he did for the first time, his necking lacked refinement, simply a product of his spontaneity and raw amour.

To say it left you weak would be an understatement, and when he pulled away you were gripping him slightly tighter to steady yourself.

After taking a moment to appreciate your quivering, he stood straight, hesitantly letting you go. "Don't tell me what to do," he said curtly, playfully pinching your cheek. It took you way longer than it should to realize he was responding to your earlier statement.

He began to walk off, expecting you to follow, and like the lovesick fool you are, you did.

"You're too cocky for your own good," You accuse, taking his arm as you walked to god knows where.

"I'm not cocky, any idiot can do half the shit I do," he scoffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, enjoying the delicate feeling of your hand on his forearm.

"You sayin' I'm easy," you ask tauntingly, giving him a sly smile.

"No," he yells anxiously, almost angrily, as if you just accused him of high treason. He looks over at your face, seeing how satisfied you were with his fear of insulting you, and narrows his eyes. "No, dumbass," he says again softly, like he was trying to show off how calm and cool he was being.

"I believe you," you reassure, patting his arm with a laugh.

"Shut up...when was the last time you bathed, anyway," he asks, trying to redirect the conversation. He had a point though, you definitely weren't your cleanest, having just changed your clothes and went to bed the night before, even after all the running you did in the forest.

"W- How was I supposed to, you never showed me any bath," you said quickly, blushing with embarrassment.

he rolled his eyes, pushing open a heavy-looking door. It lead to the kitchen, a big room with light filtering in through large holes in the ceiling, one over every heat surface, for ventilation. No one was there, surprisingly, and it made you a little uneasy. Not only were there always chefs in the kitchen back home, but if they ever weren't you wouldn't be allowed to go in there.

"Are we supposed to be in here," you ask, although Katsuki seemed a little preoccupied as he knelt down and pushed a large metal slab off of the floor. It wasn't particularly thick, but it was about the length and width of a normal door...probably because it was one. Beneath it was a set of stone stairs, leading down to what you could assume was the cellar.

"It's the kitchen," he huffed, annoyed at your question. "Now stay here, I'll be back," he ordered.

"wait, you're just gonna leave me here," you ask nervously. What if someone saw you? Would they even know who you were? Why you were there? Hell, you don't even know why you're there.

"You're such a fuckin' princess," he scoffs, standing up and facing you. He didn't know why you were complaining, so he assumed it was because you were having to stand there with nothing to do. He lifts you by the waist, sitting you on the counter with so much ease it was almost worrying. "Stay," he ordered.

"Uh- Wh- B-" You were at a loss for words, he was so arrogant to order you around like that! Because you had no words, though, you couldn't protest, and so he left you there.

5 minutes later, he returned, his nose and cheeks little red, chilled air following him. He had in his hands a steel container of thinly sliced and well seasoned meat, accompanied by some cheese. Without acknowledging you, he went into a cabinet, taking out some bread, grabbing a knife, and cutting off 4 slices.

"What're you doing," you finally ask, cocking your head. "What's it look like," he asks, setting the meat and cheese on the bread. He hands you the sandwich, before moving on to assemble his own.

"They let you do that," you ask, taking a bite. the meat was definitely goat, like the kind you had at the market, although it was seasoned much more modestly. The cheese, you had no idea, you were tempted to ask about it, before Katsuki answered you.

"Make a sandwich? I'm a grown man, I can make a fuckin' sandwich," he says, amused that you thought otherwise.

"Well yeah, but I mean...like, use the Kitchen's stuff," you say, taking another bite. It really was good.

He stops making his food, looking at you in disbelief. "What the hell else am I supposed to use? What, do they make your every meal back in faerie land," He asks, raising his brows as he gives you a mocking smirk.

You press your lips together in embarrassment, looking down at your sandwich.

"Really? You're kidding," he says, tilting his head, and nudging you to make you look at him.

"It's not my fault," you laugh, doing anything to avoid his gaze.

"You really are a spoiled princess," he scoffs, shaking his head and taking a bite of his now done sandwich, leaning back on the counter, right next to you.

"Hurry up and finish, I'll show you the bath when we're done...I'm guessing you'll need someone to wash you, too, since you apparently don't know how to do anything else," he teases, taking a bite so big he's practically eaten half his sandwich.

Oh, this asshole.

"Maybe I will, I should get one of the servants to-"

"Shut up, you're not funny," he cuts off, no longer liking this game.

"I'm hilarious."

"Hilariously stupid."

"I'm the best."

"...whatever."

You are the best, huh?

My writer block's rent was due, I could not sit down and write this. I love writing, I love this chapter, but the focus wasn't there...let me know you're thoughts, I love comments and respond to all of them!

@sky-angel101 @the-galaxy-fiend @chixkadee @ssplague @sappho-the-kitten-tamer @andysdrafts @daria-rona @tanjirofan63 @aizawaslut09 @tsukiiomii @me1297 @xxiamabookdragonxx

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 06 - Halcyon

The last golden rays of the sun before it vanished behind the horizon always were the most magical moments of the day in Southern Thanalan. How they painted the desert sky until the whole world seemed to only consist of warm hues of yellow and orange anymore would never get boring to A’viloh.

Today however his attention was not entirely aimed at the beautiful landscape. Impatiently he twirled a blade of desert grass between his fingers and tried to estimate how much time was left before the night would put its star-speckled veil of darkness over the land.

If the hunters didn’t return soon they would have to spent another night camping between the desert dunes unless they wanted to march through the night. But it had already been two days since their departure and they rarely remained gone for so long even with a smaller hunting party, so A’viloh had hoped to see them return to the village from his vantage point.

He had climbed one of the small hills at the edge of the oasis from which one could see quite far towards a good part of the desert. It was just outside the enclosure of the settlement but still very close to the springs and therefore very green and covered in flowers. He loved this place for its beauty and often went there when the tribe and their expectations got to much for him and he needed a moment alone.

For probably the millionth time in the last bell or two he tried to estimate how much sunlight still remained and scanned the horizon for movements with a sigh. He was so absorbed in his observations that he didn’t even notice the footsteps approaching on the dry crispy savanna grass.

“Here you are! Are you looking for something special up here?”, someone asked and for a second the Miqo’te was startled before he realised the familiarity of the voice. He turned slightly to greet the person behind him and immediately a happy smile appeared on his face.

“Laqa! What are you doing here? I didn’t see you arrive!”

“We returned from the other side of town.”, he explained and then grinned. “I can leave again if you don’t want me here.”

“Of course not!”, A’vi protested and stretched out a hand, gesturing for Laqa to sit down with him. “How was the hunt? You returned later than expected…”

The blonde Miqo’te threw a quick glance over his shoulder before sitting down in the grass beside A’viloh. “It was good. It just took longer than expected because we found traces of the lizards and did a detour just in case…“

With a mix of surprise and shock A’viloh stared at him but Laqa immediately tried to reassure him.

“Don’t worry, we didn’t actually see any of them…”

But still the red-haired Miqo’te looked like he was playing out all the possible scenarios of what could have happened in his head, so Laqa put a hand on his and added with a smile, “But next time you need to come along. So much time without being able to see you was absolutely horrible.”

This at least made A’viloh chuckle a little although he didn’t seem to like the idea. “You know I’d rather not…but I missed you too.”

Laqa shook his head and grinned.

“Don’t tell me you were waiting here for me since we left!”

“Don’t make fun of me!”, A’viloh scolded but clearly wasn’t serious. “I’ve only been here for a bell or two. I like this place, the flowers, the sunset, the sound of the springs. It’s really beautiful.”

Laqa leaned closer and whispered, “I think the most beautiful thing here is you.”

Immediately A’viloh’s face turned red. “Oh you…”

“I’m serious.”, Laqa added before A’viloh could protest and with a grin he asked, “May I get a kiss?”

Slowly the red-haired Miqo’te nodded and smiled back at his boyfriend who didn’t wait long to turn words into deeds. As he pulled back A’viloh asked, “Do you think we can stay a little longer and watch the sunset together?”

“Mhhh…”, Laqa tilted his head and glimpsed over his shoulder. “At least a little. I don’t think anyone will miss us for at least a while…”

With a contend smile A’viloh rested his head on Laqa shoulder who in return pulled him closer so the smaller Miqo’te could sit with his back rested against his chest. Lazily Laqa wrapped his arms around A’viloh’s body and pressed another kiss to the side of his head, while the sun slowly vanished behind the horizon.

“I love you, A’vi. Everyday the sun rises I pray to Azeyma and thank her that she sent you to me.”

Relaxed A’viloh cuddled even closer and glimpsed at the Miqo’te behind him.

“I love you more. And everyday the sun sets I pray it rises again the next morning and all of this wasn’t just a pleasant dream.”

So they remained for as long as they dared and in moments like this the world was perfect.

[balladofthewhitehorse]

hope you aren't sick of me requesting things but how about "dinner is served" for eng, Scot, and Wales!

I would never be sick of your requests <3 Thank you so, so much - You inspire me to keep writing Hetalia Fics, not gonna lie. Your bear Eng has fuelled me. 

Wales scrutinised her brothers quietly, leaned back in her chair as England and Scotland stood on the shores of the lake; It was painted in idyllic colours, faint hues of pink and washed out orange unfurling across the sky. A thread of anxiety coiled tightly around her lungs, her heart, her ribs as England muttered something to Scotland - and then a bark of laughter let Wales breathe. ‘’Having fun-?’’ She called out, smiling thinly as England turned around to regard her - with an expression painfully reminiscent of younger days amongst the dandelions and the trees (Children’s wishes and sunlight - freckling the dark undergrowth). It struck at her heartstrings like fingers at a harp, Wales’ smile thinning. ‘’-Caught anything?’’ 

‘’Not yet.’’ England grunted softly, shaking his head dolefully; Fish had been furtive and England hovered on the grassy lakeside, almost tempted to dive in head-first into the brackish water. They would have more success that way, England was sure - impatience thrumming through every nerve. ‘’I don’t know how you can stand this - just a load of sitting around…waiting for something to happen.’’ (Once he had complained during a siege, staring up at those insurmountable walls - and now it echoed by the lakeshore, on a cold, grey day).

‘’Maybe if you stopped whingeing, the fish would come.’’ Scotland muttered under his breath.

England’s eyes flashed as he shot Scotland a glare; The surface of the lake rippled as a fish came up for air, a darting brown shape in the dusky light (England pouted, irritation bearing teeth - a thorny thing he was, as he elbowed Scotland in the ribs for good measure). ‘’You’re hardly the epitome of cheeriness.’’ He glanced at Wales, seeking her approval with an impish grin that lit up his eyes - and one that vanished as quick as a wink when Wales shook her head. ‘’Oh come on-’’ England groused, petulant while his half-sister simply crossed her arms in disapproval; A tension crackling in the air as England reluctantly stood down. 

‘’Sorry.’’ 

Scotland shrugged, smirking as he reeled in a struggling trout - its speckles shiny in the early light. ‘’Naw, it’s alright-’’ He held up the fish to England’s face, pride blooming a fire in his heart as he slowly unhooked it from the line. ‘’-Caught something. Shown you how it’s done.’’

‘’Get it away from me.’’ Scotland snorted, amused as England’s nose wrinkled with disgust (freckles dusted the bridge of his nose - and Wales’ too, and Scotland was struck at once with the heady, heavy realisation that they were his siblings). The trout was carefully placed into an ice box, still kicking as Scotland laid it out reverently - a bruise coiled tight in his chest as the chatter of his family continued to murmur in the background like mayflies. ‘’...Hey, you know what we should do?’’ He sat down, wincing something in his back twinged - bad memories dragged to the surface, like a cat with a mouse - and pulled out a small pocket-knife, blood spooling out of the fish as he began to cut it open. ‘’-Have dinner here? There’s plenty of wood for a fire and…England, you remember how to set a fire? Like I taught you? Remember?’’ Scotland asked hopefully as he looked up at his younger brother (hands folded around a pair of dry sticks, knees bent into a thick bed of pine-needles - finger outstretched in patient instruction). 

‘’Or I could use a lighter?’’ England replied, his voice curt (the snapping of twigs beneath his feet as they stalked one another like wolves; Circling in bitter enmity, kin’s blood on their palms). He fumbled with his pockets as Wales slowly stood up - wandering along the lakeshore, in search of dry wood for the fire. ‘’It’s not-’’ A lump rose in his throat, England choking on sentimentality as he scoffed, a defensive sneer on his face; Prickly and warring with thorns, swarthy red flowers as a flush rose up his neck, cowed by the purse of Wales’ lips and the raise of Scotland’s thick eyebrows, questioning his little brother’s stubbornness.

‘’Are you saying that because you’ve forgotten?’’ Wales hummed quietly, striding towards her brothers - armful of twigs and sticks of varying sizes, carefully chosen and carefully arranged in a small pyramid-ish shape. ‘’...I thought you didn’t carry lighters, Eng?’’ Wales replied softly, watching England grasp it between his thumb and index finger. ‘’You don’t like the fi-’’ A short, curt look - a flash of sparks in England’s eyes, and Wales bit her tongue ruefully. ‘’It’s not the olden days anymore.’’ He replied, fumbling the lighter out of his pocket; A shudder as he pressed the pad of his thumb down on the cool metal, taking a deep breath as something fearful inside England filled out the space in his lungs - a stone in his throat, smooth and icy and heavy. ‘’We’re not-’’ A spark, and England wavered (a deep chill set into his bones, a field turned barren - there would be no more crops, all the men and women and children were leaving; Seeking more fruitful land, somewhere where there wasn’t ash, smoke and cinders). ‘’We’re not like that anymore-!’’ He cried out, half-between laughter and frustration, crinkling the corners of his eyes as the lighter trembled in his fingers. ‘’Old fuck-’’ 

‘’Hey-’’ Scotland’s brows furrowed, heavy and thoughtful; Scales clung to his fingers, silvery in the little grey sunlight. ‘’-You forgot. What about it?’’ (Wreaths of smoke hung in the air, trepidation at the base of Scotland’s spine; Convoys of mumbling strangers, yet no England). 

‘’I didn’t forget.’’ 

‘’Aye, you did.’’ ‘’Would you piss off, you-’’ 

Wales couldn’t help, but snort with amusement - head jerking up towards the treeline, now gone plum-dark. Streaks of gold filtered against a pale pink sky, a blue haze steadily encroaching with the usual impatience of twilight. She had taught Scotland how to build a fire, and then he had passed those lessons onto England while she was away; Cinders at his fingertips, England had a faceful of smoke and coughing lungs by the time Wales had come back to find the aftermath of an argument - tempers had frayed, red-eyed and hissing curses as Scotland tightly bound the puckered, pale seam of a blister under his palm, England’s face drawn into a defiant glare - shot up from the summer grass like a startled rabbit, raw knees. Hot coals on freckled skin, thrown in an argument over what leaves to burn. It was the typical kind of argument that would soon become familiar, and in time - even endearing, before spats were traded for conflict, balled fists and hair-grabbing for swords and war-hammers. The air crackled with tension - a storm brewing between England and Scotland, frowns drawn like blades, and she was stuck between them again. ‘’Would you knock it off, you two?’’ Wales hissed between her teeth, scolding her young brothers - pulling them apart, sit in the corner and think about what you’ve just done - and when she looked at them, eyes flitting between England and Scotland, Wales felt a pang of heartache. Some things would never change. 

‘’England, you can prepare the fish; Scotland, deal with the fire.’’ Wales huffed quietly. ‘’I’m hungry.’’ A sidelong glance down towards the copse of woods, and she nodded resolutely. ‘’I’ll get some thyme, sage and rosemary. Please try not to kill each other, you hear?’’ She offered a lop-sided smile - anxiety thrumming beneath her skin as she slowly walked away, slipping into the cool shade of the woods; Twigs cracked beneath her footsteps, a tight coil of nerves sitting heavy in her chest as she drew in a deep breath. She just hoped they would listen to her - just one day of peace and quiet, just one day of the year with her brothers that didn’t make Wales want to scream (it would well up inside of her; Dragonsfire buried deep in mud). 

Lingering in the wake of Wales’ silence, England blinked slowly - and staggered to his feet with a grunt, muttering under his breath as he slowly deboned the fish with a practised ease of a man who’s been doing this for centuries. A sailor had taught him, sat on a pier with a grey sea churning beneath their feet - stone and timber and a sense of hope that England longed for. Scotland might have taught him to fish, but England remembered with a rueful smile the lessons passed on to him through mortal hands. ‘’I’ve heard birch bark is good for starting fires.’’ He piped up, glancing towards Scotland with a thoughtful smile. ‘’Don’t remember where I heard it from.’’ A steady plume of smoke had already started, trawling through the air in a lofty and lazy trail from the pile of dead leaves and sticks. ‘’I think you-’’ ‘’-I told you about that.’’ Scotland cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘’Nice that you remember.’’ A silence - filled in by the odd birdsong - crept in, uncomfortable and yet familiar (the woolly burr of an old blanket, drawn tight around their shoulders as they lay side by side - the crooked lean-to of their shelter and one another all that they needed). When Wales returned with sprigs of rosemary and thyme, they set about cooking the fish in a small frying pan from the boot of Scotland’s car. (‘’Why do you have that?’’ England had asked, incredulous and confused. ‘’Why not?’’ Scotland had responded - his tone manner of fact, offering no further explanation and certainly not wishing to admit that it had been France’s idea, hastily sequestered on him in case of a car breaking down on the side of the road; Leaving them both to subsist on poor quality petrol-station lunch). 

Once dinner was served, they sat in the cool glow of the dusky light - and for the first time in a long while, things were amicable between them.

[elsewhereuniversity]

High above the bustling of the students, above the awestruck windows looking out at the sky, the ever-moving boughs of the trees, and the cats napping on the warm roof tiles, there's a weathercock. Multiple actually, a whole flock of them, jutting out from various towers of various buildings on the campus. Only some of them actually show the direction of the wind blowing past them, others show the weather conditions of places far away, or long-past, or occasionally nonexistent. Some point in the direction of an important artifact, or towards the fate or destiny of some unlucky kid of prophecy, some are the playthings of mysterious magical anomalies, some have learned to fly and spend their days bothering cats or stealing pens and sandwiches from distracted students. The purpose of most of these weathercocks is unknown, though occasionally some enterprising students take it upon themselves to study the movement patterns of their chosen specimen, in the hopes of figuring out what makes them turn. One particular weathercock has captured the attention of many such souls with its specific schedule and intent movements, which suggested it must be moved by a human-like (or, perhaps, greater) intelligence, or, at the very least, responding to magic that is.

I've been having a lot of fun reading the Cockwatchers' theories in the uni's newspaper, or listening in on their conversations in the cafeteria during lunch, so it breaks my heart to have to reveal this, but it's not really magic. No dark secrets, no great futures, no horrifying anomalies lie in the direction this particular weathercock is pointing (well, I suppose they may, but only by accident). In truth, I have been using it to play chess and occasionally checkers with some fae in the eastern part of the forest. I have a free period on tuesdays and fridays in the northern wing of the Media and Communications building, and I figured starting telecommunications with something in the forest would be a good way to pass the time. It kinda just snowballed from there. We've come up with quite an efficient system of signals, I'm pretty proud of it actually.

The point is, they're starting to get way too good at it. At the board games, I mean. I sort of had the upper hand when I started teaching them how to play, but I've never been especially good at either of these games, and apparently they practice amongst themselves in-between our sessions, so they're starting to consistently kick my ass. I haven't bet anything I was sad to lose, but it is getting on my nerves a bit, and anyways I've come up with a really good quip for when I win, and I want to get the chance to use it. Which brings me to the real reason I'm confessing to this whole thing: I need a chessmaster to come help me out. Or a checkersmaster, if there is such a thing. So if any of y'all want to come play (and help me win) against some fae, you can find me during 5th period on tuesday or 2nd period on friday on the 1 1/2th floor of the northern tower of the Media and Communications building, by the window with the paint-speckled windowsill that looks out at the tiny weathercock at the top of the eastern tower. Bring a trinket you wouldn't mind losing. And maybe some snacks too, while you're at it.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @elsie-writes! This, uh, is an old one lol

Five Lines Tag

My lines:

A sad line

A line about a book/reading

A line about fighting

A fun line

A line about hopes and dreams

I'll pull from End Times :)

A Sad Line

Like a hive of bees, the Heralds set to work immediately with their chisels and black paint. End turned its back to them and, by Izjik’s guess, began inspecting another tunnel as its route out. However, its position gave her a clear view of those who had fallen to the chaplain’s muskets. Her heart dropped as she caught sight of round spectacles speckled with blood.

No, no, no, don’t do this to me, kid, she pleaded. Solane lay prone, bleeding from a shot to her knee. Izjik barely contained her prayer of relief as she noticed the girl was still breathing. It must’ve been a glancing shot if her leg was still attached.

Yet, no one tended to her, or the other, more severely injured. Those who could walk were patched up quickly, but anyone unable to move was left where they’d fallen. There was no room for stragglers in End’s grand march.

There was nothing Izjik could do—no words she could say to sway her captor that wouldn’t just make things worse for her or the cultists. Solane couldn’t survive a wound like that unaided, though she might last an excruciatingly long time down here in the dark with her waterskin and cook’s supplies.

Spirits, girl, I’m so sorry, Izjik cried silently. At least she was unconscious now. Perhaps she would stay that way until the end.

A Line About A Book/Reading

“Pasty, you’re never going to believe what I found!”

Grinning madly, the Amaranthi set a stack of stone tablets on the table. Twenari gasped softly as she took in the geometrical, chisel-wrought script. How had the Devarises gotten their hands on those?

His face unreadable, Sepo ran his fingers across the siren tablets. Djek put his hand on the man’s shoulder with a smile.

“I can’t read siren, but I know we’re looking for major centers of religion, so I figured there’d be something about that in these things,” he said.

Sepo shuffled through the tablets, seeming to skim their titles. Twenari examined the ones he set aside. They weren’t bound or marked in any way—in fact, it seemed like each tablet was its own, contained volume. The script, though clearly made with a chisel, was breathtakingly intricate. Did each character of Llanaodan contain greater meaning than their Janazi counterparts? She figured they must, with such a constrained medium.

“You’re right,” Sepo finally admitted. “A fair few are religious. I’m not giving you credit for that though, because it’d be more impressive if you found nothing religious among siren writings. Even still, we already know the seat of siren religion—I grew up there for fuck’s sake.”

A Line About Fighting

The man cried out as he sent a net of shadows flying towards End’s head, but it or Izjik knew the feint for what it was. It jumped over the hidden patch of sticky darkness lurking in its path before dropping into a roll just in time to avoid the net.

Djek sent forth a flurry of dark spears as he retreated. He needed to keep distance between them. However, that was pretty fucking hard when End reacted like it could see the spell before he even cast it. It dodged the needle-quick strikes with a bored fluidity.

Then, it was right next to him.

Djek blinked in surprise. He hadn’t even seen it move! That was all he was able to process before a fist drove into his solar plexus. He doubled over, coughing, only to realize his mistake too late.

The short selkie drove her knee into his chin—just like he’d seen her do a thousand times with taller opponents—and everything went white. He didn’t even have the air to cry out, the space of mind to make a sigil, before she stood him up again with a monster of an uppercut and proceeded to pummel his ribs like they owed her money.

Vision swimming Djek tried for a weak hook, but End caught his hand easily. It grinned with Izjik’s face.

“You sorcerers….” It tisked disapprovingly. “All bluster from fifty feet away. But up close you’re nothing.”

A Fun Line

“Nah dude, you got thrown through a stone balcony like three days ago. Keep watch. I might not be some country bumpkin, but how hard can finding sticks in a forest be?”

Somewhere in the dark, Djek caught a glimpse of abyssal eyes narrowed into something almost like appraisal. The Amaranthi found it highly telling that Sepo hadn’t just told him to bite it immediately. He was probably worse off than either human suspected—not that he’d admit it on pain of death.

“Look for dry wood in a variety of sizes,” Sepo acquiesced with a sigh.

Djek smothered a giggle. “And I’ll bet you’re an expert at looking for dry wood in a variety of sizes, huh?”

A twig flew out of the darkness and impacted his forehead. “You’re a child.”

“Avoid any Nabafyrian cedar,” Twenari added. Either the innuendo had sailed over the girl’s head or she just didn’t care. Honestly, it was a toss-up. “It can explode when exposed to intense heat.”

“That’s…. Sure, whatever. Exploding trees.” Djek cracked his knuckles with a sigh and began to make his way into the underbrush. “Run fast if you hear me scream.”

“The head start will be appreciated.”

“Run towards me, dumbass!”

A Line About Hopes And Dreams

What would his family say? It’d been even longer since he’d thought of them and even longer still since he’d seen them. But even so… Djek pictured a tiny, rickety apartment in Fayuki’s industrial district. It was filled with grime from the air outside and noisy with the sound of too many mouths and not enough food. He pictured his mother’s rusty eyes and his father’s murky hazel. Out of all his siblings, Djek had been the only one born with eyes of true, Amaranthi crimson.

They would die if he failed, those who probably weren’t dead of starvation or industrial accidents or redlung already. Sure, everyone else would die, too. Sepo and Twenari, Izjik and Daedryn, all of the dozens of Devarises and rowdy Nacians and sirens battling under the waves.

Even so, Djek couldn’t help but imagine his big sisters Kiva and Kana, one with her gap-toothed grin and the other with her corny jokes, watching the stars fall from the sky. He wondered if little Vanik had ever managed to get the food he needed to grow taller than the rest of his siblings, if Shon and Avra had ever gotten out of the city like they’d planned. Would they all have to watch the seas boil and the sun burn out? Watch the blood of gods drip down like so much rain?

Maybe after all of this was over—if he still lived by then—Djek would pay them a visit. He’d hated his parents after they’d abandoned him, almost as much as he’d hated himself for being the child they chose to sacrifice to the streets. But his siblings had played no part in that. It wasn’t fair to lump them in with the snarl of emotion he felt whenever he looked back on his childhood.

Ah, nothing like an incoming apocalypse to make you work through your family trauma.

He would, Djek decided. When this was all over, he would go back to Fayuki—dressed to the nines, marks of a god on his hands, and flanked by his best friends, who just happened to be three of the most terrifying bastards this side of the Oresea. He would find his family’s home and waltz in for dinner.

I'll tag @rivenantiqnerd @kuebiko-writing @pluppsauthor @elizaellwrites and anyone else who wants to play :)

Your lines:

A line about friendship

A line with a lie

A line about fighting

A line about the weather

A line about determination

[harperonni]

NSR Oc’s!! here we go lads!! I’m gonna put more info about them under read more bc asdfg I just wanna yell about them! might even open up to questions about them bc I just would love love to share more omg, so feel free to ask about them if you like Also all three are trans and very queer

Left to right: Valli Styrene

She/Her, 29, trans, lesbian

Tattoo artist. Farah was one of her first customers, and her popularity rocketed after she did EVE’s thigh tattoo.

Only has one tattoo, as she’s a big perfectionist. She has lots of ideas on what she’d like, but just can’t seem to follow through on them

Often goes to EVE’s art gallaries when she can. She studied Fine art at uni, though dropped out the course on her last year. Took her a lot of retail jobs and apprenticeships before she got to where she is now. 

Fangs run in the family, but she’s not a vampire. 

Her favourite animals are actually snakes. She has a pet Ball python (despite the place where they’re renting having a no pets policy) and her name is Carmilla

Still paints from time to time, likes using gouache the most.

Farah Sol

They/She, 36, Non-binary, Pansexual

Comes from a biiigg family. Two mums, five siblings, and now five nieces/nephews. Is very close to their family, and frequently visits home (Valli and Speckle have been brought into the familly circle too, given how the three live togehter and had been friends since meeting at uni).

NSR artist - ElectroSwing (Still unsure if they have a district in the future, like if they get that popular. Maybe, only because it would be fun to imagine asdfg) 

They’re also a semi-successful author, though they go by a pseudonym (Sol Bacho) because they want their books to be read becuase they’re good, not because they’re an NSR artist. Some of their best sellers include: Vinyl City, a music foundation, RETDEX: What once was, and  Stars Aline (a romance they honestly hadn’t expected to get popular lol)

Adores cats. If she could have cats in their no pet house they would not hesitate. For now though, she goes to DJ SS’s house and snuggles his cats instead lol

(also kinda shipped them with DJ Subatomic as a joke but now it’s not a joke help)

Speckle Darling

He/Him, 35, Trans, Gay

Architect, has worked outside and in Vinyl city and over saw some of the more lived in areas, (as in, homes where people could live lol) and if I decide Farah’s a charter with their own district, is def the man Farah hires to help design their district.

Arcitecture and DIY is this mans passion! He will talk hours over the differences and imporatnace of specific window panes. 

He also relaxes with simulator games, like the sims (this man would only ever build houses, he never plays with any actual families). He would also unironically enjoy truck simulator too. He’s a simple man with simple pleasures.

He uses a cane to help walk, primarily with his left foot which is robotic. He was born without his left leg, and didn’t really get his first prosthetic until his teens years.

Is a single and divorced dad, too. Maybe a year after Farah becomes a charter, there’s a celebration on one of Farah’s songs being a big hit. Speckle drank too much and woke up in another city, married to a guy he didn’t know. The two enjoyed eachothers company, but decided to divorce. Speckle heads home, vowing to not drink again after all that happened. Three weeks later he finds out hes pregnant, and decides to keep the baby. Then, Sandi Darling was born

He adores his daughter so much, and Farah and Valli are co-godparents to Sandi. They’re reffered to as Aunt Far, and aunt Val

[elmundodeflor]

The Tale Of The Butterflies - Now Out on AO3

CLICK HERE TO READ THE FULL FIC

"This goes out to my grandma

Who fell with the April breeze

And just like the autumn leaves

I hope she grows back to me

When butterflies migrate on to spring."

Grass creaks under their boots as they walk. It’s their one day-off, and Hanji had insisted on them going out the walls to explore.

“C´mon! It’ll be fun!”, they’d said. And Levi, though reluctant, had accepted in the end. He had thought about using the spare time to clean around headquarters. But the weather was too nice to waste. Besides, they had already fixed a cleaning-day a few weeks prior. A little sun wouldn’t hurt him much.

He sighs, stares at the clearing before him. It’s early spring, and the first-born sprouts begin to poke from the trees; branches dotted by shy specs of green. It’s a wonderful sight, he has to admit. Light seeps through the leaves, paints the fields of cellophane gold. And he thinks, he’s quite glad Hanji had dragged him out for a walk, after all. Even when, by walk, he means listening to their rambles or getting his clothes dirty.

“Look!”, he hears them call. They are pointing at a rare flower, lost somewhere in a midst of wood and brown. A butterfly floats around its petals; its wings fragile, fluttering in see-through yellow. “Isn’t this beautiful?”

Levi hums. Hanji had taken him discover the pretty to the world. The sparkle that laid in common-detail, so often invisible to the eye. He had a much more different stance at life before he met them, he tells himself. The Underground was harsh, and cold, and ruthless. And so, he thought he could only seek survival, then.

“It’s still a bug.”, he huffs. His voice is rather soft, despite the rough tone.

Hanji laughs at him, as if their fingers had caught the sweet within his words.

“I've never told you about butterflies, haven’t I?”, they ask; arms crossed over their chest. The afternoon light splatters over brown hair. Has turned their glasses into a stained kaleidoscope. “Come, quick! Get over here!”

Levi shakes his head, but does so, anyways. Truth is, they had shown him the colors of the wild, helped him understand rain and stars. It made him feel like he belonged, somehow. Like he could always find rainbows hidden in a universe that had unraveled to black and white.

"What is it?"

Hanji extends a finger. The butterfly has perched upon it, foolishly mistaken it for a flower petal. It makes them giggle; how its tiny legs trickle their skin. How Levi gives them a knowing stare, wide-eyed and curious.

“These babies”, they tell him, as they lift their hand up. “Only live for a single day.”

Levi frowns. His mouth parts open: an expression of sheer innocence. It’s almost as if he’s just starting to grow, like leaves that crawl from the mud. He doesn’t quite understand, yet, the way some things work. And he takes a guess, even if just to entertain the idea, that it’s nice to be a little bit naive, still.

“I call bullshit.”, he grunts. The butterfly sits in quiet; its wings shimmering under the timid rays of dusk. How could something so complex fade away so quickly?

Hanji laughs, louder this time.

“It’s true!”, they try to defend themselves. Their smile is warm and kind, wider than the open fields. “They start as caterpillars, first.”, they explain, though rather careful. “Then, they go through a transition process known as metamorphosis.”

Levi says nothing for a while, drinks in every trace of sunlight. He can’t help but think that they sound like an expert, indeed. That it’s just like they’ve spent their whole lives searching for answers to the mysteries of nature.

He looks at the butterfly first, and at Hanji, after. They’re holding their finger up to their nose, so near they’ve turned crossed-eyed and dizzy. He figures, probably, there’s tenderness about the ways they have for exploring. That his soul is left exposed at the sight of them: skewed glasses, clothes speckled.

“Ah, well…!”, he hears them speak again. “I just find it so incredible! A few months in and ta-da! They completely change forms.”

He scoffs. It seemed gross, in all honesty. But that, he wouldn't say. Hanji most likely knew already, anyways.

“All that and just to die within a day, huh...?”, he sighs, disappointed.

Hanji nods, and takes his hand into theirs for a moment. There’s a thin layer of dust that’s collected underneath their nails. A warm splotch of sweat that peppers over their palms, too.

Still, Levi doesn’t care.

"Super unfair, if you ask me.", he watches them shrug, ever so carefree. The butterfly's fumbled from their finger onto his, made a home out of his embrace. And he feels as though time has stopped, right there and then. Like he's cradling a daydream too good to be true. "So, pay attention, alright? We're probably never gonna see this again!"

He catches his breath. The butterfly spreads its wings, shows them every hue of golden and yellow. It's fascinating, he thinks, as he brings it up close to his face. He'd been told, the world was supposed to be one filled with despair. An irregular battlefield, where love could only come at the cost of loss.

Yet, he notices, there's a beauty that remains precious, even in the simple. Some kind of wonder that stays in moments of quiet: the fading sunsets, the blink of an eye. Hanji goes on adventures, smiles with their heart light. And he finds that it's contagious, really. That passion of theirs. That they can let joy bloom in places others had planted with sorrow.

How do they do it?

“I don’t get it.”, he complains. And they let out a giggle: a sound that drifts away with the breeze.

“You don’t have to, Levi.”, they tell him. The traces of their voice hang loose around the edges; his name a soft whisper on their lips. “To be frank, I don’t quite get it myself, either…”

He remains quiet for a minute, takes in the perfume that lingers in the air. A smile of his own has blossomed on his mouth, shy as wildflowers that push above-ground. He's aware of how stubborn he can be. How he can seem cool and unfazed, at times. Still, he decides that, maybe, Hanji can be right, if only just for now. That there’s some kind of comfort in sharing himself with someone who simply understands.

He exhales, and looks up at the butterfly: the way it floats off to the afternoon. It appears to him, somehow, the meadows feel emptier now that it’s gone. Yet, he’s certain, there’s not much he can do about what’s finite, after all.

Some things are meant to slip beyond one’s line of comprehension, anyways.

"I think we should start heading back.", he offers, as he gets up to sweep the mud that’s on his pants. The sun’s about to set, and all he really wishes for is a long, hot shower before dinner.

Hanji grazes him another smile, and helps themselves off the floor, as well.

“Then admit that you had fun, at least!”, they tease. And Levi figures, perhaps, to them happiness can be only but a butterfly, in the end. The brittle that's in beauty. The fleeting one yearns to keep from the sweet betrayals of time.

He huffs and turns around to stare at them, still walking a few steps behind. He did have a wonderful day, indeed. But that, he wouldn't say. Hanji most likely knew already, anyways.

"Don’t be stupid.", he goes, instead. And they laugh in response, loud, and wild, and clear. “We’re gonna be late for tea.”

[extistentialfox]

Prologue.

summary: Daera and her siblings face the cruel word that is so often used to tarnish their family reputation, despite comfort, words still hurt. Jace and Daera cope by planning invasions.

a/n: My first post eek! I'm scared ngl, don't roast me too hard I just wanna have some fun. Anyways, love you if you read this <3 this is just a little taster of Daera and the kids' childhood.

oc: Daera Velaryon

word count: 1k

I never gave much thought to my looks during childhood, not until I first heard that word.

‘Bastard’.

It was a fine summer day. I was returning to my chambers after an art lesson, when one of Queen Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting sneered it at me as I skipped through the halls of the red keep, my turquoise dress swishing behind me. I had stopped, startled and perplexed by the lady's hatred as she was ushered away by her companions, who were muttering apologies and giving polite curtsies. At the time I didn’t know what It meant, but if the look of disdain that was painted on the woman’s face told me anything, it was that I would be better off dead.

I asked my mother and father what it meant later that evening, as an 8-year-old didn’t have the mind to dissect such vocabulary.  We would often dine together for supper; and sat around a large table – my mother, father, and little brothers Jace and Luke (both useless when I asked what it meant) would often talk about the day’s happenings. Father had choked and spluttered on his wine, while my mother had gone deathly silent as she neatly placed her cutlery on the table. Smiling sweetly at me she asked,

“Where did you hear such a thing my sweet?” getting up from her chair, much to Luke’s protest as he was moved from her lap, she glided around the table and kneeled before me, brushing my hair out of my face with her slender hand. She gave a reassuring smile, yet her eyes held a sadness so great I couldn't comprehend it at the time, though in the present day, it's all too familiar.

“I overheard one of the queen’s ladies say it, is it a bad thing?” I whispered as if sharing a grave secret. My mother sighed and gave a glance toward Father, who had a sad look on his face, but the furrow of his brow smoothed out as I looked toward him. A calm mask.

“What does it mean father?” I questioned with a worried tone, was it that bad?

“It means that the woman has the sour, twisted heart of a septa. It's crooked with jealousy and she can't help but take it out on beautiful princesses” I grinned and giggled as he playfully threw a grape at me, trying to lighten the mood. Though I felt my mother’s grip tighten on my knee, I paid no mind to it.

Our parents may have hidden its true meaning from us on that night, however, we quickly learned what it meant as the whispered insults became far too common toward us. It meant that the kingdom thought us to be not of our father’s blood, as we didn’t have his bronze skin and my brothers didn’t have his silver hair. However, we were reassured that we were our father’s children and that we were loved no matter how we looked.

But that didn’t stop people from talking, and when so many people share a common opinion against you – it gets to your head and sullies your mind. I began lounging in the sun as much as possible, in hopes that I would become less pale. I turned red instead of a lovely bronze, and mother scolded me for being careless. I couldn't bring myself to care about how painful it was, not when the pain of being hated by the kingdom was so much greater.

Jace began to wash his hair with lemon juice and would join me sometimes to bathe in the sun, in hopes his hair would become lighter. Luke never really took such extremes to change his appearance, but I would catch him disassociating into mirrors, mindlessly staring at his appearance until his eyes burned – waiting for a change, as we all did. It never worked. Though Jace’s hair would sometimes get blonde streaks, it was sun bleach and nothing more. Though I would get brown speckles on my face, it never made me look any more Velaryon.

Always a disappointment.

“At least you have silver hair” Jace sighed as we watched our father spar in the training grounds below the balcony. We often spent this time together while Luke was busy with his lessons, and mother was doing whatever she was doing. I turned my head just in time to catch a tear fall from his eye and onto his navy linen, creating a damp spot on his shoulder.

“Yes, but despite that I still look nothing like him” I frowned, and Jace gave a slight nod and huff of agreement as he turned us toward the lounge chairs, neatly placed for us by the servants.

“What are we going to do?” Jace asked absentmindedly while twisting a cherry between his fingers, one leg over the other as he lounged back against the embroidered cushions. If he wasn’t my brother, I would think he was relaxed. I sighed heavily, trying to fight off the tears, “There is nothing we can do Jace, we cannot help the way we were born”.

Though he frowned at me, he knew I was right.

“Hello, my devious little children! what are you scheming?” Father exclaimed enthusiastically as he plodded up the stairwell.  I quickly placed a playful smile on my face as I lounged back into the chair, feigning innocence. “Oh nothing, just the usual plans on how we are going to conquer Essos” Jace mimicked my smile as he played along, “we’re also going to go north and conquer the wilding lands afterward”.

As Father reached the top of the stairs, he placed his hands on his hips with a raised brow, “and when do you plan on doing this?” I pondered dramatically, tapping the end of my chin while Jace twisted his imaginary beard as if he were a Maester.

I look toward Jace, “Maybe after supper? We must make use of the stealth night provides us” Jace shook his finger at me as he nodded enthusiastically,

“Just as I was thinking”.

“Ugh, no you weren’t you always say you would attack during the early hours like an idiot”.

“I do not!”.

“It’s not very noble to lie you clotpole!”.

“CLOTPOLE?! YOU-“

Father shuts us up with a loud whistle and we look toward him, with an amused smile on his face he says,  

“You’ll have to conquer the world another time, as your mother is calling for you both, and I believe there are lemon cakes involved” he steps aside with a loud boisterous laugh as Jace and I rush past him, pushing and shoving at each other as we race down the halls.

Though were bastards, we were still children.

aaand that's it, wasn't very long or action-packed this time I'm afraid. Feel free to give some constructive criticism as long as you keep it respectful! I'm always looking to improve my writing.

see you in chapter 1 <3

[benwvatt]

my recent kataang fics!

hi! I’ve written a few kataang stories recently and would love to share them. AO3 links included! And there are more fics under the “read more.”

my darling, how long do you want to be loved? is forever enough? is a rated-G oneshot about the two of them bonding over Katara’s pregnancy.

Katara laughs and buries her head in the crook of Aang’s neck. In bed, he’s been tracing lazy figure eights across the small of her back. “How did we get here?”

“Well, we left the Earth King’s party after thirty-seven minutes-”

Still laughing. Aang can feel her head shake against his chest, like a magnolia raining leaves in a storm. He wants to close his eyes as long as possible and memorize the ebbs and flows of her joy, the imprints it makes in the air.

“Oh, right! And we stole dumplings,” Katara adds gently, “wrapped in napkins in my purse! I’ll never get the grease stains out.” If only oil and water were similar, she could lift the marks with a swish of her hand.

“I guess you’ll just have to use regular ol’ soap and water. Like a peasant.”

“Like a fool!”

in reverence, my cup runneth over for you is a rated-T one-shot about Katara and Aang dancing in their kitchen.

They will raise children here someday. Aang wants a daughter with whom to dance in the kitchen. Together they will shift, clumsy under skeins of moonlight; he’ll toddle around, practicing steps by letting their girl stand on his feet. She will teach him the extra-extra-cool dance moves, picked up from magazines or some technology not yet invented, because grown-ups simply don’t understand.

Aang kisses Katara. Oh, she is going to be the rest of his life. The sheer notion of this runs through his mind like a horse unbridled.

“I love the kitchen,” she finally murmurs, hugging him closer. “No need to worry, not with me.”

He already knew, but a reminder never hurts.

He talks to her about the wilder dreams (not wildest, for those have already come true) and they waltz over dusty floorboards that leave speckles on the bottoms of their shoes. The kitchen will be furnished another time. Tonight is for dancing.

you’ve got me more than clumsy, but you’re my yellow lovely is a fluffy rated-G oneshot about Katara taking care of Aang while he’s sick. 

“Honey,” Aang murmurs, two full syllables this time. Voicing anything hurts at the moment 一 he’s taken ill this week 一 but he has to catch her attention. “Katara.”

She groans. “Yeah?”

“You gotta go. I - I’m gonna get you sick if you stay any longer.”

Her head shakes ‘nope’ and Aang can feel the brush of her hair against his neck. You could hear a pin drop. Even the crickets have ceased chirping tonight.

“I’m not fun to be around.”

“That’s a lie,” she whispers. “Can I kiss you?” He’s been trying not to get her sick all week, and she ought to ask before moving any closer.

“I miss you.” Aang wraps his arms around her and leans in. “I don’t think I should kiss you. Germs. Disease. Y’know, plague and death.”

“How did we get to death?”

i’d paint a river of stars for you (cross the ocean sapphire blue) is a romantic AU about Kataang getting together in the South Pole, set in a world where the war never happened and Aang routinely visits Katara and he’s super in love with her. Rated T!

Aang looks down at her hand. She’s still wearing the friendship bracelet he wove for her out of linengrass.

He wants, not for the first time, to press his hand to her face and kiss her. He wonders if her cheeks would be cold against his. Hasn’t ever been close enough to check. Aang moves his thumb an inch until it’s over hers.

He looks at her. Is this okay?

Moonbeams wash into the bedroom through the ice. She might be blushing but he can’t quite tell.

Do you want this? Do you want me? he tries to communicate with his gaze. He was never very good at this. Monks are taught to let go of desire, not harbor it deep inside.

when the ice forgives is an AU in the works. In which, post-series, Kya is discovered sleeping in an iceberg and Katara’s whole family bond over the discovery that she’s alive. Katara & Aang are also engaged in this story and they’re very sweet.

“Were you preparing something in the kitchen?” Aang asked. He’d slept in, and he was hungry.

“I… might have been.” She pursed her lips for a moment, then let the grin wash away any hint of neutrality on her face. “Okay, there’s some baozi. And I was wondering if you wanted to eat hot pot for lunch? That was, uh, the noise you heard.”

She was so comforting. Everything about it, from her culinary plans to her one morning cup of tea, stolen from him, was predictable. He loved her. He told her, and they curled into the bed. Katara laid down, absentmindedly stroking her thumb across Aang’s cheekbone, and reminded him he was a sap. An honest, lovable one, but still.

“I like you,” she whispered. The words hung in the white, almost silver, morning light. They were predictable too, and Aang couldn’t get enough of them. “I like you very much.”

He kept his gaze on her and ran his thumb over the curve of her eyebrow, down her cheek until he was tracing her bottom lip. “You’re so…” and he kissed her before saying, “special. I didn’t think I could meet somebody like you. Someone so uncommonly kind.”