#the prompt that won't be written

[arianakristine]

Title: Like My Mirror Years Ago

       AKA The Prompt That Won’t Be Written

CHAPTER 17

*

Present

*

Graham held his temple in one hand, sighing heavily as he poured through the documents across his desk. The missing person’s report, the marriage certificate. It all placed itself neatly into those unanswered questions, never mind the cracks along the edges.

“You know it doesn’t fit, right?”

He didn’t bother to look up, and instead grabbed the thermos and gulped down more of the weak coffee inside.

He hadn’t even heard the door to the office open, but he also didn’t remember well enough to lock it behind him hours ago when he first decided to come here instead of his apartment. It had been a long night, and he could feel it all in the tension of his back and the strain between his eyes as the clock edged to three in the morning. His boots and jeans were still crusted with mud, and his mind was still swimming with images of Mary Margaret bringing the man from the brink of death.

He rubbed his forehead and squinted at the papers harder. “No, that’s the problem: it fits,” he contended.

Emma sat on the edge of his desk and peered down, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Okay, it makes for a neat little story, doesn’t it? But it’s still not quite right.”

He finally looked up at her, his bones creaking slightly as he stretched from the hunch. “What about it?” he asked, not arguing, but more curious to what she was finding. Was there something she could see that he was blinded to, being so close to it?

She seemed to catch his tone, a smile quirking along her lips as she plucked the report from his pile. “This. How, in a town of less than 700, did a missing person not immediately get associated with a John Doe that shows up in the hospital during the same timeframe?”

“It’s a fair question. But we have at least 706,” he quipped.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, those extra six really made the difference in keeping track.”

He grinned at her lazily, the fatigue draining any bit of defensiveness from his posture. “Now you’re seeing the trouble I have in such a big city.”

She narrowed her eyes, but her lips tugged upwards. “So, Kathryn’s going hard into the story about how they got into a fight about him leaving and that’s why she never sought him out, but if an unknown man was found two days later and it’s all over the news?”

He cracked his neck and stifled a yawn. These were the same questions that had plagued him all evening. Kathryn hadn’t exactly seemed untrustworthy; her relief and concern had certainly seemed genuine. But then there was the Regina connection; suddenly, the mayor was his emergency contact? If there was one thing to mistrust, it was always Regina. But if the pieces didn’t fit, what did?

“And here, where it says there was a storm. Now, we’ve had bad storms in the northeast in recent years: road closures, lockdowns, all of that. But it says he went missing in July.”

He didn’t remember a storm in July, until he did. Maybe a freak cold front? No, no, that wasn’t it. It was worse, wasn’t it? Maybe a hurricane? Swirling light and high winds stood out in his mind suddenly, along with a piercing pain in his chest. He sucked in a breath and blinked rapidly, rising from the chair to try to get his bearings.

“Graham?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. Sorry, just got a little …,” he trailed off, and thought about it for a second. A little what? He shook his head harder. “Lightheaded,” he finished lamely.

Suddenly she was there, in his space, a hand hovering over his shoulder until it cautiously rested. “Can I get you something?”

He looked up, catching her worried gaze. Once more, he was transported. That worry, those same eyes, and the sweetness of her breath …. He quickly broke their stare. “I’ll be fine. Sorry, it’s late.”

She backed up a pace and folded her arms in front of her. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to go all Colombo on you at three in the morning.”

He huffed a laugh and rubbed his temple. “Well, maybe I should be mixing water in between the liters of caffeine if I’m to keep my sanity.”

“Or sleep,” she offered bluntly.

“I could say the same of you,” he countered.

She hopped up onto the desk. “Who said I had a problem? I’m the one giving you all the pieces for this case. I know I’m on to something here, I can feel it.”

He sighed and leaned back, relaxing onto the scuffed wood so that they were eye to eye. “I know you are, too.”

The words brought a light to her eyes, glinting into focus. He cocked his head to the side to study her. He could see here why she kept her job; she had passion for finding sense of the pieces and making them right.

Maybe even, he dared to think, bringing happy endings to these stories.

“I’m a little understaffed,” he said, tilting his chin up and letting her gaze follow through the empty station.

She narrowed her eyes when she came back to his. “And that’s an excuse?”

He smiled. “Not an excuse. A job offer.”

She startled back, brow cocked. “I have a job, you know.”

It wasn’t a no, that much was clear. But there was an air there, a challenge for him to meet. He leaned forward and scrunched his nose a bit. “As a bail bonds person? Not much of that going around here.”

“And you’re saying there’s more sheriffing?” When his answer was a mere grin, she pursed her lips. “So, the 706 is too much to handle for one person.”

“I’m saying I’m impressed. Look how you helped today,” he coaxed. “David would still be out there if it was just me.”

“If that’s the case, you’ll be hiring Mary Margaret and Henry next?” she deadpanned.

He ignored her and leaned forward. “It’s not just the skill that you have for it, you have the drive. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, you can admit as much.”

He was also considering the way they worked together: how they anticipated their next moves, how they listened to each other, how they didn’t have to speak each action out loud to know what the other was thinking. It was like they had always been like this.

He felt a warm, steady pulse under his fingers, and barely registered that he had slipped a hand under her sleeve to brush along her wrist, the move subconscious. It wasn’t deliberate—at least, that’s what he told himself. But now it was deliberate to stay. Her skin was soft, warmer than he expected, and her pulse was strong, alive beneath his touch. She hadn’t pulled away.

“I don’t do graveyard, you know. This is a special case,” she said.

He grinned. “Well, it’s unusual for me, too. Night shifts are few and far between, but if that’s your dealbreaker ….”

“And … if I accept?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“There’s dental,” he said with a grin.

She pushed on his shoulder and chuckled despite herself. “Gee, with an offer like that,” she teased. Emma’s touch lingered on his elbow, her thumb grazing the worn fabric of his shirt as if testing the connection.  “Let me think about it.”

“You have my number,” he reminded.

She sighed. “I have your number,” she agreed begrudgingly.

His hand still circled her wrist, her unoccupied one on his elbow, and suddenly he was very aware of being in each other’s spaces. Something about her eyes, the softness behind the grit and armor intentionally bricked over it, it made him lean closer. “You should use it, you know.” He wasn’t sure if he meant the number he’d joked about earlier or something far less literal. He just wanted her to stay in this moment with him.

She huffed a small sound that might have been a laugh. “Still forward,” she teased, though he caught the clear sign that she was deflecting from the more blatant tension that was brewing between them.

He tilted his head to the side, lingering in the moment a beat longer, then blinked. He didn’t lean out of her space, and she hadn’t moved out of his, but it still felt like distance eased in between them. His hand flexed, just slightly, as if to reassure himself that she was still real, still there. She didn’t pull away, but her gaze broke, sliding down to their joined hands before darting back up to his face, a bit of that armor sliding back in place. Despite this, he smiled. “I think Henry appreciated today.”

She frowned slightly and then did pull back. “I don’t know that it was the step I was searching for there, but I think … maybe it was a good day.”

“You get to be his heroine,” he nudged, wondering if she was aware.

She scoffed softly and crossed her arms across her chest. “Mary Margaret was the hero today, and someone else was a close second.”

“Ah, but you forget: that’s his grandmother, there,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start. But look … maybe it’s a good thing, him getting to see heroes in the people around him.” She looked at him pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

He beamed at her, pleased that she was seeing it. “And watch what he gains when that’s brought out.”

She hesitated a moment, the beat long enough for him to catch that she was fighting with herself against something. Her lips parted, but then she pressed them together firmly. She grabbed her purse over her shoulder and smiled stiffly. “He doesn’t know her all that well other than being his teacher. He’s certainly not seeing heroics in the person he’s living with.” She paused once more, then ventured, “It’s good that he has someone to look up to.”

He hummed an agreement. “So, you’ll really think about it, then?”

She had a strange smile on her face as she looked at him, seemingly peering into him. “It’s funny that you don’t see it,” she murmured, almost to herself, and then shook herself out of it. She smirked at him. “Yeah, I’ll really think about it.”

“Good,” he replied. “Where should I send your W4?”

She barked a quick laugh, and slumped against the desk. She tossed her purse down. “You’ll never believe it.”

He raised a brow, and leaned forward. “Try me.”

She rubbed the back of her neck and sighed grudgingly. “Guess I’m moving in with my mom,” she said.

He beamed at her, stifling a laugh. “I had a feeling that spare room wouldn’t stay spare long.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well. I needed a bed, especially since my new boss doesn’t sleep.”

He brightened. “Does that mean you accept already? My pitches are getting good.”

She chuckled and raised her hands up. “I didn’t say that. Not yet, at least,” she argued, even though Graham was pretty sure she actually did. She chewed on her lip contemplatively. “Might make good fiscal sense, true, but no good decisions are made after midnight.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you marinate,” he said with a laugh. “Roots take a moment to settle, anyway.”

She hummed a response that was more absent than expected. Suddenly, she looked about as tired as he felt. It felt like a glimpse beyond the barriers she kept up, just for a moment. “I can’t promise how long I’ll stay, seriously, I can’t. But … I don’t know. It’s not time to go.”

He felt something climb through him, a wild thing starting in his chest and filtering out through his fingertips at the thought of her not staying. He itched with the desire to grab her and give her another reason to stay; there was something about the vehemence that felt like déjà vu.

(It was as if he could tangibly feel what losing her was like, hand outstretched and fingertips touching but just missing the ability to hold on, slipping away into the storm)

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t push her, he knew that well enough (but why?). He also couldn’t voice the certainty he already had, at least not now. “Well, I would be glad to be sure you were getting a steady paycheck in the meantime.”

She smirked. “I guess my savings won’t last forever, but I don’t exactly expect you to match my previous salary.”

“Ah, putting away the bad guys is less lucrative than chasing them down, I suppose.”

“More paperwork, too, I assume,” she quipped back.

“No avoiding that,” he agreed, as he looked back to his messy desk. He grabbed his thermos again and took a sip, meeting her green eyes in the dim light. “A couple perks, though,” he mused, thinking about the kid waiting in a mansion for a change just like this.

“A couple perks, maybe,” she half-agreed.

He sat back on his desk chair with a thunk, and then made a pillow of his hands to rest his chin. “So, when should I expect the news? Y’know, so I can work on my surprise.”

She rolled her eyes. “How about you hold your breath.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, and squinted up at her. “I’m big on anticipation.”

She hid a smile into gathering her things. She glanced up and pulled her bottom lip through her teeth. “Give me until I’ve had a full night’s sleep, okay? So don’t bother me tomorrow.”

He crossed his heart. “I solemnly swear not to mention the job tomorrow. Mostly.”

She finally stepped toward the door, her hips swaying in a too-pendulous way that had more to do with fatigue than seduction but may have had the effect, nonetheless. “Get some sleep, Graham,” she called as she slinked out the door.

He chuckled, and considered the empty room around him. He blinked slowly, imagining a partner by his side for these late nights.  “I hope you’ll be here when I wake.”

*

Eleven Years Ago

*

The light was what woke him first.

His breathing was heavy, struggling to find that wakeful place, and his eyes were slits as he blearily took in his surroundings.

He coughed, and rolled to the side, trying to recall the previous night and why his bed was so pliant. He shook off the rest of his dreams and found Emma beside him, blinking the sleep out of her own eyes.

“Oh,” she murmured when she saw him awake. She pushed up to one arm, stifling a yawn. “I didn’t mean to doze. Are you feeling okay?”

He paused a moment, just taking in the sight of her. She was framed in the morning dawn which cascaded through parted curtains, a prism of light peering from the sun-storm outside. She reminded him of the colors of the fairy, and she felt as magical as anything he had ever dared to witness in his life. Before he could really think about it, he leaned in to join their lips, softly pressing her close.

Her gaze was hazy when they parted, and she looked ethereal. She cupped his jaw in her hand and then brushed over his forehead. Her lips were barely upturned, gentle and relaxed. “You don’t feel hot anymore,” she mused.

He stifled another cough and rolled over finally, trying to gauge how he was feeling. He remembered the fever that had started in him, that familiar feeling of infection. He frowned as he realized that he no longer had that sensation, that pending doom and danger. He shook his head, a half-answer to her question.

“Wolf boy? Should I get something from Ruth?” she asked.

“No,” he managed, and then looked back at her. He tangled his hand in the strands of hair closest to her face and finally smiled. “Actually, I think the tea helped.”

She smiled back at him, cautiously, as if unsure she should trust his words. “Can I see?” she asked.

He shrugged and pulled up the loose shirt that Ruth had provided, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to see for himself. He frowned a bit, not finding the gash that had been present just yesterday.

“Wow, that healed quick,” Emma said, and brushed cool fingers along a scar further up his ribs. He shivered, and caught her hand, warming it between his own.

“That’s not from yesterday. I can’t even find the edges of that one,” he said, frowning further as he struggled to catch a glimpse of it. There. Just a small red mark, barely noticeable. Strange.

She made a soft noise of confusion, tracing the scar from his childhood, finding its edges and the elongated X It made in his skin. “What made this one, then?” she asked curiously.

A knock sounded on the door, and they both startled in unison. Emma shook loose of it first, and pressed her forehead against his briefly before rolling out of the bed.

“How is our patient doing this morning?” Ruth’s sunny voice questioned, then clucked her tongue at the sight of him. “Ah, dear, you look worlds better. Did you get some good rest?”

He nodded once and was almost surprised that it was true.

Ruth tsked and fussed over him a bit, brushing back his hair and checking his temperature with the back of her hand. “Oh, you had me worried yesterday, dear. It looked like hemlock bacteremia when I first found you. There’s some around these parts, you know.”

He didn’t voice it, but he was fairly certain that’s what he found growing in the rock falls. Once he noticed the broken skin, he thought for sure the poison had entered his bloodstream.

“His wound has even closed up already,” Emma offered helpfully.

“Fortunate,” Ruth said with a nod. “It’s a good thing you had someone to keep watch.”

Emma blushed prettily. “So, he’ll be okay?”

“I think it’s a good sign,” Ruth said with a smile. There was a crack of thunder, and the room darkened as the rain rolled in once more. “Hmm, but that’s not. Let me get some soup ready for us this morning, and I’m going to make you one more tea just to be sure it’s out of your system, whatever that was.” She closed the door behind her as she hustled out, not leaving space to protest nor to offer assistance.

Emma leaned up on her knees to peer out the window, sighing lowly. “I was hoping it had passed,” she murmured. She sunk back onto the bed next to him, snuggling in to give the warmth missing from the morning. “We need to figure out a better way to pay her back. We’re taking her room.”

“Huh?” he asked, distracted. It felt like a drug, being wrapped up in her.

She grinned, seemingly pleased with herself. “It’s her room that she lent us. She’s sleeping out on the couch near the fire.”

He frowned. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’ is right. But we can’t exactly leave with the storm still this bad.”

He finally leaned up and looked out the window, watching the winding clouds and the thundering of the rain. “It’s better than last night, but you’re right,” he agreed begrudgingly, then closed the shutters and pulled the lock closed once more. The room enveloped in darkness, barely illuminated from the dying embers in the fireplace.

She sighed and continued to play with his hair. “You scared me yesterday.”

“I'm sorry,” he said solemnly. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” she finished. Her lip pouted slightly, and then she peered up at him. “But it still scared me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. To know that she cared enough to be scared, that she was willing to tell him now. It felt like something big, and he didn’t know the right words. He leaned forward instead, covering her lips with his once more. When they parted this time, he didn’t even try with words. He just stayed there, waiting on her.

Emma pulled her arms around him, tugging him close until his cheek was on her breast, over her heart. It was thudding hard, belying the calm she had seemed to be in all morning. He tugged her closer around the waist, until there was no more space between them.

They lay there a long moment before her heart calmed. “So, where’s the scar from?” she finally asked.

“Hmm, oh,” he said. The pad of her thumb was tracing the scar again, somehow found easily. It was old enough that the edges were scarcely palpable; it was just the look of it that really told the story. The other side was worse, a broken rib that had pierced through skin, one that healed messily in the woods. That one had been more dire, and he barely remembered the scar her soft fingers explored now. “It was from years ago.”

“How old were you? I mean, approximately,” she asked, and the careful tone she took let him know she was hesitant to ask. It warmed him, the fact that she remembered how uncomfortable he was at people asking about his age.

“Unsure, of course, but maybe ten,” he ventured. It was maybe a year or so after Fionn, so it sounded right.

“It must’ve been deep. I don’t think I have a lot of scars from that long ago.”

He reached out, touching the tattoo on her wrist. “One under here,” he said, and then traced upward to the one between her thumb and forefinger. “And here.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, the one under the tattoo is older, when I broke my wrist as a kid, needed surgery. The other … ah, harder to explain. Do you even have cigarettes here?” She shook her head. “Anyway, we were learning about yours.”

He traced the path between her scars as she explored his, and his lashes scattered across his cheek as he remembered. “It was a different hunting group, before I’d really learned their patterns. They were after one of my—anyway, they shot their arrows. It hit me, and I didn’t understand at the time how to remove it without making it worse.”

“Ugh, worse, I can imagine that,” she said as she winced, finding those jagged edges. She peered back up. “You save him?” she asked.

He lifted his head and rested It on the pillow so he could watch her eyes. He pressed his lips together. “The first arrow, yes. I wasn’t as lucky when the others came though. You see … the pack was bigger, once.”

“Oh,” she said, and her big eyes swarmed with a sudden flood of tears. She looked away as if to gather herself. “Oh, wolf boy, I’m sorry.”

“That was long ago,” he reassured, even though he still felt those echoes from that night as the story unfolded.

“I know. But I know what that means, too,” she said. “Ugh, I’m so sorry I brought it up. You’re just getting better and I—I say the wrong thing a lot of the time.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, and he was surprised he meant it. “Thank you for asking.”

She looked up and rolled her eyes. “No, it sucks, I know it sucks when people ask and you didn’t wanna talk about it, didn’t want to bring up those memories, and I just—”

“Hey,” he said, and his arms moved from her wrist to her shoulders. “Listen. I don’t say what I don’t mean, Emma.” He waited a long time, making sure that she was focused on him. He cupped her face between his palms, smiling gently. “Thank you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?” she finally asked.

He shrugged up a shoulder. “No one has ever asked before.”

“Soup is ready, kids!”

Emma startled and then ducked her head. “I’ll get you some. Stay in bed, okay?”

“Wait,” he said, and leaned up. His brain felt a little foggy, either from the sickness or from sleeping much longer than he was used to, but he was starting to feel that itchiness that came with being confined. At least he could go to the other rooms with her. “I’m okay, I can eat at the table.”

She frowned. “If you’re sure,” she said, sounding like she was anything but.

He laughed a little and rose, picking up her wrist to pull her to him. “I’m sure. About it all, Emma, I swear,” he said.

She scrunched her nose, but then smiled up at him. “You are, aren’t you?”

"With you? Yeah, pretty sure,” he replied before he could really think about the words.

Her eyes widened, and she blushed for the second time that morning. “Okay, wolf boy, let’s get some food.”

The wind was howling against the cabin once they entered the kitchen space, the rain pounding against the windows once more. David was already seated, and he smiled genially at them both as they took their places. He sat with an easy posture, his chair angled slightly away from the table as though he didn’t feel the need to belong entirely in their space. He cradled his bowl of soup in both hands, sipping thoughtfully as he watched the newcomers settle at the table.

“Now, it might be a touch more concentrated this morning, but it should still do us good,” Ruth said as she moved through the kitchen. “Emma, child, would you care for tea? One without the medicine, of course.”

She shivered slightly and nodded, “that would be nice, Ruth, thank you.”

 “This storm is a hard one to follow, but I’d think it’s only got a day’s worth left in it,” David mused as he sipped up a spoonful from his bowl. “It’s a bad beat, but it should at least lessen up.”

He nodded, but still eyed the boy warily, not overly concerned with speaking more than he needed to.

David leaned back in his chair, his posture casual, but his gaze was sharp as he studied them. His spoon hovered over his bowl, forgotten for a moment, as he finally spoke. “So,” he said, his tone conversational but firm, “where is it that you were going when you found my mom?”

He stiffened, his hand tightening around his spoon. His dark eyes flicked up to meet David’s, and the weight of the question lingered in the air. He didn’t like the way David was watching him, like he was waiting for a misstep. He tried to see if there was judgement in his tone that never seemed to be in Ruth’s. There was none—or at least, none he could find—but something about the question put him on edge.

He must’ve been glaring too long, as it was Emma that answered. “Oh, no where in particular. We only went to town because we knew the storm was coming.”

“You went to town because of the storm? Well, why wouldn’t two kids such as yourselves just go home?” Ruth asked as she laid two bowls and their mugs out for them.

He grunted slightly as he took a bite of his soup.

“We live in the woods,” Emma replied simply.

He looked up at her, brow creasing slightly. He cocked his head to the side in question.

“The woods, dear?”

She met his eye steadily and took a sip of her tea before answering Ruth’s question. “Yeah, the woods,” she said. “We live out there together.”

His heart fluttered slightly, wondering if she was truly saying that she thought of her home as his.

“Oh, dear,” Ruth tittered, seeming unsure what else to say.

He frowned, but again it was Emma that answered for them both. “It’s a good thing,” she said with a shrug. “It’s quiet out there. Safe. More than most places.”

He caught the edge in her voice, the way she leaned into the word "safe" like it carried more weight than Ruth could understand.

David glanced at her, his gaze lingering a moment longer than it should have. “Safe,” he repeated, like he was turning the word over in his mind. “Well, I suppose that depends on how you define it.”

There was nothing outwardly threatening in the words, but he felt his chest tighten all the same. His hand tensed slightly against the table, his instincts prickling at the undertone in David’s words. He didn’t like the way David said it, as though he was testing them. His gaze flicked to Emma, who didn’t seem fazed, and then back to David.

He shot him a glance but kept his silence.

“There’s family there,” she finished simply, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

It was a simple word, one people used carelessly, but when she said it, it felt like something monumental. He hadn’t realized how much he longed for someone to call his world home, for her to call it that. He didn’t how much more he could feel towards her, but he knew for sure that a certain word that was thrown around in books and bard tales and townsfolks’ songs seemed … weak in comparison. He couldn’t think of more to do then find her hand underneath the table and squeeze affectionately. He watched as a smile tweaked her lips, though she didn’t offer more than that.

David watched the exchange, his expression unreadable, but he caught the subtle tightening of his jaw, the faint furrow in his brow.

“Oh, my,” Ruth said. Her tone was light, but the crease in her brow betrayed a quiet worry. “The woods can be a harsh place for two young people like yourselves. But I suppose,” she added with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “you’ve got each other. That’s something.”

Emma shared a subtle look between bites of her soup, a blush tinting her cheeks just barely, and her hand sought his again under the table, squeezing gently.

David sighed. “Storm’s still got a ways to go,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s a good thing you’ve got a roof over your heads for now, I guess.”

Emma nodded, her grip on his hand tightening slightly, reassuring. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Good thing.”

His gaze drifted back to David, the tension coiled tight in his shoulders. He didn’t like being in this house, didn’t like the way David looked at Emma—not with malice, but with a familiarity that he couldn’t help but resent. They’d been alone for so long, just the two of them. The thought of anyone, even someone as seemingly harmless as David, intruding on that felt like a threat he didn’t know how to address. It felt like a wild thing in his chest, one that if left unbound could spread through his fingers and out through his words.

The feeling in his chest wasn’t unfamiliar—it was sharp and hot, the same instinct that had driven him to protect Emma when the world outside had been nothing but a threat. But this was different. Smaller. Pettier. And yet, no less consuming.

But Emma’s hand in his brought him back. Her touch was gentle but firm, her fingers threading through his. The touch wasn’t just grounding—it was deliberate, a quiet reminder that she saw him, even if he didn’t speak. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to let go of the tension knotting in his chest.

David’s gaze flicked between them, on the closeness that he barely noticed they had closed in on until her shoulder brushed his own. “Well,” he said lightly, though his tone carried a quiet edge, “you found us, at least. And we were here when you needed it.”

He tried to piece through the tone, to determine if the mistrust was there in David as much as it was in himself. He finally shot a look to Ruth, humming as she cleaned, her movements slow and deliberate, like she was trying to will calm into the room. Her back was turned, but he had the distinct sense she was listening. Maybe she always was. He realized that perhaps he wasn’t the only one protecting something here.

David’s gaze held steady, sharp but not overtly challenging. It wasn’t malice—he could see that now—but something else entirely: a quiet protection for what was his. For his mother. Maybe even for Emma. He didn’t like it, but he understood it.

He finally raised his eyes to meet David’s plainly, and nodded once. “Yes. It was fortunate. But we’ll also make sure we don’t overstay.”

David’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. The two met each other’s gaze headlong, a quiet understanding reached, a fragile truce. David nodded, seemingly satisfied with the boundary drawn, and returned to his bowl. Emma sensed his growing ease, keeping a lighter contact as she finished her meal.

[keicordelle]

FFXIV Write Day 5: Stamp

[Stained parchment, crumpled and worn, rendered nearly illegible by age. Found behind untouched crates in a storage room in the Waking Sands.]

Seventh day of the Sixth Astral Moon, year 0 of the Seventh Astral Era Dear Mr. Tragbharsyn and Mrs. Uwilsyngwyn Dear Wilfsunn and Bloewyda Bloewyda and Wilfsunn, I know not how I might Moenbryda is I regret to inform you I cannot express my sorrow that The words to express such a It is with great sorrow that I must inform you of Moenbryda I have failed to protect Moenbryda was struck down while trying to preserve Moenbryda has valiantly given her life You would have been proud of her How could one possibly express the sorrow of losing From distant shores did she come, and to distant shores I wish it had been otherwise I was not strong enough to save Her bravery has saved I cannot begin to I wish, as I am certain you do, that I had been the She was I cannot

7.11.0 Bloewyda, Wilfsunn, I'm sorry.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the writing prompts;

19. For luck - Rom and Leeta

"And then," Bashir was saying - though in truth, Rom was paying only half attention, far too busy thinking about Leeta - "she came right up to me, and kissed me on the lips!"

"Oh, she did, did she?" Chief O'Brien said, scoffing good-naturedly.

"It's true!" Bashir insisted, though he didn't look insulted by the Chief's doubt. He was smiling into his glass, seeming quite delighted by the disbelieving frown on O'Brien's face.

Rom didn't quite understand what was supposed to be so 'unbelievable' about the story. In fact - "It seems pretty believable to me," he said. "Doctor Bashir's always kissing beautiful women." (Including, at one point, Leeta - though not anymore, Rom thought with some pleasure.)

"Yes, but this one was out of his league," the Chief said, batting his hand playfully across the table.

Bashir just smiled bashfully, ignoring the swipe. "Ah, well. You're right about that. She wasn't really interested in me after all. Turns out, she'd just misconstrued the human concept of a 'good luck kiss'".

"Ohh! A 'good luck kiss'!" Rom said eagerly. Then, after a pause, "Uh, what's a 'good luck kiss'?"

The Chief sat back, idly crossing his arms. "Well, it's pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It's a kiss that you give someone to wish them luck."

"Oh," Rom said, considering that. Luck was always a good thing to have. Perhaps... "Oh! Leeta!" He stood, sending his chair clattering backwards. "I'll be back!" he shouted, then raced from Quark's bar, ignoring his brother's parting shout out dismay.

He needed to find Leeta.

--

"Leeta! Waaaait!" Rom hollered, shuffling through the crowded promenade as quickly as he could manage, chasing after her familiar voice. "Leeta! I need to give you something!"

This would be easier, he thought, if Bajorans could hear as well as Ferengi could.

But, at last, Leeta stopped, turning to find him. "Rom? Rom, what's the matt-"

The rest of her sentence trailed off into a hum as Rom reached up, pulling her down to plant a kiss square on her lips. One of her hands cupped Rom's cheek, soft. Rom didn't really know how long a 'good luck kiss' was supposed to last for - he really should have gotten more details before running off (for example, does it need tongue? Bashir never specified.) - but he thought that this should satisfy it.

He pulled away, grinning toothily up at his wife. "Hi, Leeta," he said.

She smiled down at him, cheeks flushed and lovely as always. "Hi, Rom. What was that for?" she asked, looking bemused and delighted.

"It's a kiss," Rom said, perhaps unnecessarily. "For luck," he added. "It's a hoo-man tradition!"

"For luck? Rom," she asked, laughing, "what are you wishing me luck for?"

Rom blinked. "Uhhh... For your day?"

Leeta beamed at him, and then leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Well, I think it worked. I do feel pretty lucky now."

Rom grinned. "Me, too."

--

(also if anyone else wants to make a request, the ask game is here. i can't promise they'll get done as quick or be as long as this one is, though!)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Jaskier receives a love letter that says it’s from Geralt.

The thing is… it’s obviously from Ciri. It’s clearly her handwriting. And Geralt has never once used the word “pulchritudinous” in his very long life. In fact, if Geralt wrote a love letter, it would be one paragraph—maybe even one sentence—not two pages.

What to do? Does he bring this to Geralt? Ignore it? Play along?

I love this!!! <3 She was tired of hearing Geralt bitch and moan about his beloved, and decided to do somethng about it for him!

[cresneta]

Don't mind me, I'm just imagining a scenario where Loid does something amazing for Yor's birthday, and when she asks him when his birthday is he says it was a couple months ago or something. Think of it as a twist on the classic scenario where the man forgets, or doesn't know about, a date that is important to his partner, and they get mad at him about it.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Hey, I'm so glad you enjoyed! Your comment was so thoughtful too 😭 I loved the dissection. I'm not really someone who bases my works off their Canon dynamic a lot, so I'm glad you ended up enjoying it when I tried! All your prompts were amazing. I actually really liked another one of yours too (the time travel one), but I couldn't figure out a way to write it the way you requested. Would you mind if I took that prompt anyway? I can credit you for it, I just loved it a lot and want to take a crack at it. - @rottenapricots

hi! i *loved* your fic so dearly, the comment was the *least* i could say. i kept thinking of all the things i wanted to mention and then forgetting them so my thoughts were all of the place but i truly loved your fic so much <3 you did *such* a good job with their canon characters while still melding them beautifully to the AU!

please go ahead!!! you can take any of the prompts you want and change them if you need to, or keep them the same, honestly go wild! i'd *love* to see what you come up with for the time travel idea.

[marlynnofmany]

I did the cover art myself, and I think it turned out pretty good! The ideas inside are better.

If you enjoy thinking about werewolves on the moon, and what would happen if a robot invited a vampire in, then you’ll find some fun concepts here.

Inflict them on your friends! It makes a great gift.

[sollucets]

could you maybe write something where akk calls aye his home?

i absolutely can do that, nonny, thank u for asking! have a little bit (1.5k. of course.) of long-distance akkaye :') loosely related to the last prompt but fine to read without it

💜

“Akk, are you sleeping?” 

Aye’s voice is tinny, the noises of a subway station behind him just the right side of too-loud through Akk’s phone speakers to catch his slow-moving attention. His headphones must have slipped out; he doesn’t remember it happening. 

“No,” he answers, like a liar, and pushes himself upright on his dorm bed with some effort.

He’d given up on holding his head up to look at the screen part way through Aye talking about one of the other international students he works with and her hopeless crush on a Thai grad student senior of theirs that Aye is 100% sure is taken, and all of the accompanying drama. “You think P’Win has a partner already.” 

“That’s the last thing you heard?” Aye asks, pouting a little on the tiny screen under his big blue scarf. His cheeks are pink. It’s really, really cute. Someone passes behind him; Akk thinks he hears the edges of a robotic voice making an announcement. “I don’t just think so, I know so, and I was telling you all the evidence.”

“Do you have a conspiracy board for this too, or am I still special?”

Aye says something extremely inappropriate for a public place in response, but he says it in Thai, so he’s probably safe. Akk still opens his mouth to scold him on principle, but he’s caught by a yawn before he can say anything, jaw cracking unpleasantly. 

Aye’s expression melts from put-upon irritation to fondness so quickly it’s impressive. “You don’t have to stay up so late for me,” he says. “Don’t you have class in the morning? At nine, right?” 

“Don’t remind me,” grumbles Akk with a sigh, but he swings his legs over the side of the bed, picks up his phone sans headphones, and heads into the bathroom barefoot. “It’s not really so late. And besides, you’d pout if I went to bed without calling. It’s our day.”

Their day, Thursday specifically, had been the day that worked best with both their busy schedules and the six-hour time difference for most of the first semester of their time apart. They’ve missed only once, during Akk’s midterms, and Aye had texted no less than thirty times that day, all test-taking memes and supportive emojis. Now, though, Aye’s classes combined with his new work in his university's tutoring center run into the London evening; it’s midnight in Chiang Mai. 

Aye says something in response, but whatever it is is drowned out by the noise of a rush of people behind him, all probably getting off of a train. 

“What?” asks Akk, propping his phone against the bathroom mirror and grabbing his toothbrush. 

“If it’s really not that late, then why are you falling asleep while I’m talking, hm? Am I so boring to you?” 

Akk rolls his eyes, squeezing out a little toothpaste, and says, “Maybe I just didn’t want to hear you go on and on about P’Win anymore, hm?” 

As expected, Aye zeroes in on that immediately. “Aww, is my baby jealous?”

Akk sticks his toothbrush in his mouth to avoid answering and weathers the ensuing and expected storm of teasing very bravely, if he does say so himself. He lets the ease of falling into a familiar dynamic soothe the very slight sting, and he listens patiently without showing even a hint of a smile on his face at how pleased Aye looks to have ‘won’ that admission. 

“And he’s almost as handsome as me,” Aye is saying, in his most annoying tone of voice, when suddenly he seems to stutter for a moment, his expression freezing in place on his face. It’s odd enough that Akk makes a questioning noise through his mouthful of toothpaste. 

“Akk…” Aye starts. He looks conflicted now, mouth turning down even as he speaks. “You’re not — really, though, right?”

Akk blinks. Then spits. Then says, “No,” even though it’s not 100% true.

His face must show it, because Aye’s frown droops even further and he says, clearly enunciated, “It’s not like that. You know I’m just—”

“Teasing,” Akk interrupts, having mercy on him. “I know. Aye, no, you’re fine. I don’t actually think you’re serious, or you wouldn't have spent the last half hour explaining why P’Win is absolutely definitely taken anyway.” And you wouldn’t usually worry that I did, Akk thinks, so why?

Usually, if he thinks he’s gone too far, Aye just drapes himself over Akk like a particularly affectionate cat, no matter what he’s doing. He kisses his way back to forgiveness, he brings Akk dinner or looks over his homework or buys him stupid, cute little charms to put on his phone keychain, and Akk always lets him even and especially if he isn’t actually mad, and — he can’t do any of that, six hours and half the world away. Oh. This is that communication thing they’re supposed to be better at by now. 

Aye is still staring at him with giant, horrible pleading eyes, because he doesn’t believe him, and he shouldn’t because Akk is still sort of lying. 

Akk sighs. “I’m jealous of anyone who gets to see you all the time.” He can’t keep looking at Aye, his gaze drifting towards the edge of the bathroom counter. “Just a little. That’s all it is. I’m— glad you have Thai friends, actually. You seemed a bit homesick lately. I think it’s cheering you up.” 

It’s silent for a little too long, and Akk finally looks up to make sure nothing’s happened to the connection and finds Aye with one hand over his mouth, eyes still huge but soft around the edges now. 

“What,” he mumbles. 

“My boyfriend is the sweetest,” Aye says, as he’d feared he would, all earnest and sincere and completely without the teasing edge, which makes it worse. 

Akk jerks his head away again, in a motion he couldn’t control if he wanted to. He puts his toothbrush into the cup with more force than is strictly necessary. “It’s just the truth, isn’t it?” 

“Phi reheated omelets on his break the other day and I thought I was gonna cry for a minute,” Aye tells him, laughing an embarrassed little laugh. “They’re not right here. They’re all undercooked and flavorless.”

“Did you get to have any?” asks Akk, imagining Aye looking (up, statistically) at this mysterious P’Win with his awful begging eyes.

“I wouldn't steal my senior’s lunch.”

Akk can’t help the little satisfied twitch of his mouth at that scandalized tone. Aye steals Akk’s lunch all the time. “Too bad. I get it a little, though. I really miss the way my mom prepares things.” 

Chiang Mai is easily 14 hours of travel from his house, more if you count having to switch trains, and he’s only been back once. He dutifully calls his parents every Sunday, but they don’t really have good enough reception there for regular video calls. 

Aye makes a sympathetic noise, then glances at something up and to the right of the camera. He frowns. “Baby, I have to go soon.” 

“‘Kay,” answers Akk, raising a hand to cover a sudden yawn. 

“Don’t worry about me too much,” Aye says, smiling at the screen all little and v-shaped. “I’m okay. I’ll go to a market and get my own ingredients and make my own omelet, and I’ll text you all the time, and I’ll call my mom twice so she can pretend I’m her favorite over you. Don’t you get too homesick either, okay?”

“Even if—“ Akk starts, hesitates, then forges on. He can say these things; he’s worked to say these things. “Even if I visit,” he tells Aye’s tiny, beloved face, miles and miles away and here in his dorm bathroom, “I’ll still be homesick until you come back. You’re my home.” 

Aye stares at him, mouth open for a minute, then demands, “Pick up your phone.”

“What?”

“Just do it. Pick up your phone.”

Slowly and distrustfully, Akk takes his phone off the counter and holds it closer to his face. “Wha—“

Aye’s screen moves suddenly closer and then goes dark, the sound weird and muffled. “Hug me,” he says, just barely audible. 

Akk laughs a little, breathless and pointlessly fond. What must it look like, to those people in the subway station? Alone in his own room, though, he doesn’t hesitate to pull his phone to his chest, right over his heart. 

After a moment, though, he gives in to the temptation to peek and finds the screen still dark. “Aye.”

The station blurs into view again behind an Aye who looks notably pinker than before, a rush of people just like the last one passing behind again. “You’re so — I love you so much,” Aye tells him, sounding helpless, “and I miss you. It’s stupid that term break is still so far away.”

“Aye,” says Akk again, unable to stop grinning if he’d actively tried. “Don’t be late for your train.”

“They’re always late for me,” grumbles Aye, but he sighs and says, “Go to bed, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love you too,” Akk tells him, just before hanging up so he doesn’t have to deal with whatever new heart-squeezing thing Aye’s face is going to do at that. 

Just before he actually gets into bed, quiet in the sudden silence of his empty dorm, his phone lights up with a text: "❤️❤️❤️❤️"

And far away, in a subway car in England, Aye barely represses a little noise of delight to receive “❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️” in return. 

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <33

[bookwyrminspiration]

ok its been so fun watching you scream abt the secret santa fic and im so excited to read it but like also from an omniscient pov & knowing who your person is and what they asked for as a gift is just. adding to the anticipation. oh my god

YOU AND ME WE KNOW! YOU N ME AGAINST THE WORLD!! I HOPE I DO YOU PROUD!! I gotta admit when you assigned me my giftee and prompt I was like. no way. holy fuck. you did that on purpose. well, obviously it was on purpose, but you know what I mean.

I also gotta admit I have no idea what I'm doing, but usually that means I'm on the right track. I wanna do good I wanna do so so good. there are so many goddamned pov changes. the document is 57 pages long. i got to use the word bastard three times. i wrote an arc I only realized could be interpreted metaphorically at the end and then went oh shit the mental illness metaphors. i have been holding back so much to not give away the characters but i wanna SCREAM

[sionisjaune]

22!

[setting asks]

"So, I used to play here when I was little. With Cisca. I guess Dad didn't keep it up since we, like, grew up." Lando just barely fits under the roof of the treehouse, but Carlos has to hunch over so that he doesn't hit his head.

"I like it," says Carlos, even though he can't possibly like it. It's dirty and some of the floorboards have rotted through, and fingers of light shine through the holes in the walls. "Hey, watch out for that--"

Lando jerks his head around to find what he should watch out for, and backs directly into a giant cobweb. The instant he feels the threads on his neck, his entire body feels like it's crawling with insects. Carlos rushes forwards.

"Lando! Lando, calm down." Carlos pins Lando's limbs to his sides with an arm around his body. Lando didn't realize how bad he was freaking out. His eyes sting like he's going to cry. Oh God, he's going to cry.

He squirms in Carlos's grip. "Is it on me? Is it on me? Get it off. Get it off."

Carlos tightens his grip and rakes his fingers calmly through Lando's hair. "It's gone. Just a little spider."

"A spider?" Lando shouts. There are probably more on him. It probably laid eggs in his hair--

Carlos presses his lips to Lando's hair. He wouldn't kiss Lando's hair if there were spider eggs in it. "It's gone now."

[tvrningout-a]

hmm how would we feel if i remade

[angelsdean]

when the little writing demon grips me by the chest and tells me to rewrite all the many thousand words of my current WIPs to past tense,,,,,,, the struggle is so real. i can never decide. past tense is my go-to in original fiction, it feels more literary. but i also love the immediacy and closeness of present tense esp in fics, hence why it became by fic writing go-to. i hate making choices :(

[harrowharkwife]

swear to god if i open a fanfic ONE MORE TIME only to be greeted with an author's note saying "i asked chatgpt to tell me a story about-" i am going to go fucking NUCLEAR

[livvyofthelake]

utterly cannot stand the type of post thats like "what are the female characters you like" and i KNOW it's not the fault of the people who make those posts i know they only do it because 95% of this site's blorbos are men. but i hate it anyway. like really the only way you can get fandom people to talk about women is to explicitly tell them to talk about women. and it always comes off so disingenuous because i KNOW most people reblogging those posts would never say those characters on a generic "what are your favorite characters" post. like it's all just so bleak :/

[llondonfog]