#tooth rottingly sweet

[talons-and-teeth]

Your Taste, Forever on My Tongue

Pairing: Elain/Lucien

Rating: M

Summary: Elain's office is running a Secret Santa event that coincides with the launch of the new website which she's leading on. She happens to get allocated the last person she could ever think of getting a gift for.

Merry Christmas, @makememakesense ! It's me, your Secret Santa!

Thank you so much being so lovely and giving me so many ideas for this AU, I really hope I got it (somewhat) right!

Thank you also to the @acotargiftexchange organisers for giving me this opportunity. This is my first ever fic and I've been so nervous about it, but I'm so glad to have done it for such a joyful community. Special thanks goes to my wife @mmiscbutterflies for helping me brainstorm and bring my 'Love, Actually' vision to life, and generally talk me down from the proverbial ledge when I became anxious/was not in the right headspace to write. Love you always.

Read on AO3 here

Snippet below:

Elain was late.

Not her usual, sorry I’m late-I couldn’t resist-there was a new cafe I just had to try on the way- late, but a fuck me-I slept through five alarms-maybe I spent too long watching reruns of Bake Off-or was it the bottle of Sauvignon?- tardiness, which left her cursing profusely while she tripped over her tights, slapped on eye cream and was out the door.

[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

Big fan of the idea of leaning back against Danny’s chest while he watches me play animal crossing. Pointing out a villager doing something cute, me teasing him about how he’s totally one of the jock villagers, him asking about flowers and moss and bugs and stuff 🥲

Me decorating a villagers yard and he kisses my cheek and mumbles how cute it looks 🥲🥲

aaahhh this is so sweet 🥹 he'd absolutely love watching your process, and ask little questions about how you built your island and how you decorate everything

{what's your ideal cozy watch day? w/your lane}

[akirathedramaqueen]

Do you think this is the moment he fell in love?

Okie, it's time to shitpost speculate a bit on my favorite moment in the whole show: the end of the Truth Seekers episode.

Do you think this was the first time Blitzø was protected? Taken care of? Saved?

Just look at how in awe he is, eyes wide open, jaw dropped. I doubt we've ever seen a face like this before or after. Of course, it might also have something to do with seeing Stolas in his true form for the first time. It was eerie and terrifying, but also sublime and exalting. Oddly attractive even, maybe?

This owl demon, with eldritch ancient powers and two dozen legions, was there just for him. Stopped in his tracks of whatever royal deeds he was attending to and came to stand up for Blitzø, to scare the shit out of his... well, fuckbuddy's (or not really?) perpetrators. Stolas watched after him, knew he was in trouble! So he... cared?

I am going to repeat my starting statement - he is not used to being worried about. Here, Moxxie clearly prioritizes Millie (no blame here, it's completely valid!), and helps Blitzø to get up only after the latter sarcastically sneered, "Oh, yeah, thanks, I am fine!"

And Loona, at least until the Queen Bee episode, which happens later, was very hesitant to show even a grain of affection toward Blitzø. We know she cares, but it's not always enough to just have it in mind and not demonstrate it.

And here is Stolas, caressing Blitzø, asking if he is alright, calling him 'darling' - another first in their relationship, at least on screen. Look how confused he is for a moment; he looks away and up (defensive? scared? annoyed?) - has he ever been asked things like that before? Notice how his face relaxes after Stolas strokes his forehead. Our guy is tough, no doubt, but I bet he just realized how nice it is when there's someone who cares.

Hell knows, these five seconds are a single thread holding my mental health together after the shitshow in the Full Moon and Apology Tour episodes.

Of course, there's the second part where Stolas tones down the grandiosity of his gesture. He scolds the crew for not being careful and jeopardizing him along with them, implying that the book exchange should remain a secret. Then he negates it himself - luckily for them, demon-obsessed lunatics are not taken seriously in the human world.

I don't think this changes anything. The first thing he did was to ask if Blitzø is okay. Only after he was reassured Blitzø is fine did he begin to rant, and even then his concern addressed both the crew letting themselves into trouble and his own safety. Again, why wouldn't it be valid? However I look at it, I don't think the book is his primary interest here.

And is this the first time we see Blitzø blushing?

This blush! I bet my life that Mister Blitzø 'boring-as-fuck-monogamy' Buckzo hasn't even internalized it yet, but oh, did his heart just do a big somersault.

Listen to my voice: This is the moment he fell, even though he didn't know it himself yet. Poor boy has a lot of work to do to unlearn his coping mechanisms and let his walls down.

Thank you for coming to my sappy stand-up, don't forget your coats on your way out. *drops mic*

P.S. Oh, I lied to you. There's a bonus "Blitzø just fell so hard" face in the Seeing Stars episode, haha. Apparently Stolas's human form is just as hot as his true demonic one lol.

[recareels]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ sunday + the nickname ‘sunny’

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, size difference, fem reader words: 781

“Sunny!” 

Juvenile and trashy, he used to hate that nickname. 

He used to hate that nickname, until you. 

It’s funny, how the meaning of a word can change with a single person, in a single instant. 

The first time you use it, Sunday doesn’t even have the heart to tell you how much he despises it—because suddenly, he doesn’t anymore. 

That’s all it took; two syllables, falling from your lips wrapped in a melodic laugh. Two syllables, vibrating on your tongue, eyes sparkling as they found his, and his whole view on the wretched nickname had changed. 

Because it sounds so beautiful when you say it, sucked on in the heat of your mouth, warm and syrupy as melted sugar. It sounds so special when you say it, filtered through an everlasting smile—his smile, the one you save just for him, the one that no one else gets to see, gets to procure—thickly embraced in love and reverence and worship. 

You say it like it’s a prayer, like it’s a vow. You say it with such passionate fondness that it sounds like a promise, an oath swearing that you will never leave, that you will love him, wholly and completely, for eternity. 

“You know, I used to hate the nickname Sunny,” he finally tells you one night while you’re laying in bed, voice lullabied.

It’s late—too late for you to be awake, truthfully—and you had fallen asleep waiting up for him, desperate to catch a glimpse of him after nearly twenty-four hours of his absence. 

But the moment he had entered the bedroom—sock-clad feet quiet on the hardwood, steps kept light and agile, silver door handle twisted with such meticulous care and precision that he’s sure it didn’t make a single sound—you were up, lashes fluttering against the halo of golden light spilling past him in the doorway.

A sixth sense, he likes to call it. Something intimate and instinctual that alerts you to his presence, the moment he’s in your general vicinity. A divine intuition borne out of your ethereal and everlasting love for him. 

A hum vibrates on his chest, your cheek nuzzling into his sternum. 

“Why?” 

“Because it sounded…” silly, stupid, unsophisticated. “Wrong, coming from the lips of anyone. Anyone else, but you.” 

“And now?”

Now, it’s special, significant, personal. 

Now, he loves it. 

He loves it, always. 

He loves it when it’s laughed out, stuttered by giggles or the slap of your tennis shoes against stone in the courtyard while you gracefully leap from his touch, the linen of your dress teasingly brushing his fingertips, narrowly escaping his grasp.

He loves it when it’s squealed out, pitched high and stringy and filtered through a pout, usually accompanied by knitted brows or a stomped foot. Sunny, be serious! you cry, features scrunching further at his tender chuckle.

I am serious, darling, he always responds, but he can never quite dim those adoring twinkles shimmering in his eyes, mollifying his gaze to something soft and lidded, playful affection toying with the corners of his mouth. You’re just too cute. 

He loves it when it’s gasped out, nothing more than a breathy wisp on your tongue, pushed from your chest by his relentless thrusts and repeated until it breaks, letters shattering on your lips, cunt convulsing around him.

Even fractured with bliss, it still sounds so heavenly coming from your throat, shards of it lingering on your tongue even after he’s pumped you full of thick cum and panted his own rapture into your waiting, wanting mouth—Sun-Su-Sun-ny, bits of the name wheezed out in little whines; desperate, divine, dissolving on his tongue, little fingers clawing and clinging to his heaving form as it curls around your own.

He loves it when it’s slurred out in those early morning hours when he finally returns to you, murmured into your pillow and drowning in a pool of thick spit, letters heavy with sleep. Sunny, you whimper again, turning toward the heat of his body, hands groping blindly, eyes still glued shut with exhaustion. Missed you, s’much, Sunny, you mumble into his sternum as you rub your cheek along it, catlike. My Sunny. 

He loves it, forever. 

“Now, it’s perfect,” he murmurs into your hair, sealing the proclamation with a kiss. “Now, it’s my favourite.”

Admittedly, he still hates it when anyone else uses it, but it’s for a different reason now. No longer is the nickname childish and asinine, but instead it is yours, special and sacred, a term of endearment allowed just for you. It has been transformed by your lips and your love, metamorphosed into something sacrosanct.

And Sunday wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[doodlingfoolishness]

A little talk, between a brother and a sister. ❤️

[ivyithink]

no sadness out there that can’t be cured by cuddling up to a silly little guy

song recommendation of the post

for those few curious ones (and most likely non-Ukrainians) who are like “UM. WHAT is that guy wearing in the last picture???? are his sleeves… on his back…??” Yep, they are! He’s wearing a kuntush (or kontusz in polish!), because I personally think the guy deserves to be fancy sometimes, and not just dirty and disheveled, like he usually is… and those sleeves could indeed be worn like that! fun :)

[climbthemountain2020]

Solstice Gifts

Baby's first Feysand! | Ao3

[Feyre loves buying Solstice gifts for her family, but this year she might have been outdone.]

Eternal thank yous and forehead kisses to @tunaababee @cauldronblssd and @witch-and-her-witcher for just being the most wonderful humans and beta reading and encouraging me to post this.

Solstice in Velaris was the most lovely time of year, and no matter how much time Feyre spent here, she doubted she’d ever grow tired of it.

The snowy streets were covered in faelights, all twisted into beautiful shapes and hanging from the signs and light posts. There were long strings of them criss-crossing over The Rainbow and casting all the snow and shops in an ethereal glow. Complex smells of cinnamon, clove, freshly baked breads, rosemary, and mulled ciders cascaded from the storefronts, their windows decked in boughs of holly and fir and their doors hung with mistletoe.

Feyre was hurrying back to the River House, late as usual, with the last of her gifts.

She’d been mostly organized this year, but Nesta’s gift had ended up taking longer than expected, and of course today was the first time she’d been able to sneak off to grab the little Illyrian leathers with space for wings that would fit an almost-four year old.

She’d gone a little overboard on gifts this year, but it was hard to not spoil those she loved now that she had the means. Old habits die hard, and she too-vividly remembered the years that she and her sisters had stoically ignored the Solstice happening at all, not even a candle lit in the windows to be spared. So now, when things had changed so vastly in the last seven years, she would fully use every bit of means at her disposal to shower everyone with gifts they would love.

Nyx was six now, somehow, the years flying by in a rush that she tried and failed to stop like grabbing whitewater in her hands. Rhysand reassured her constantly, a laugh on his lips, that though time was flying, they still had centuries together, and there was no need to beg for more. Another thing she had trouble letting go of in her immortality–the idea that things were good now, and there was no time limit on it. Things could be happy and productive and peaceful like this for centuries more. But Feyre still had trouble allowing hope for good things to bloom in her heart, despite feeling beyond blessed in all ways.

She shuffled the bags in her arms–she’d had to stop for some last-minute pastries, too. What good was a solstice birthday if she couldn’t eat whatever she wanted? The smells on the way to the leather-smith had been too good to resist, and she was crazed for the pistachio croissants with the bergamot filling that the bakery beside Rita’s had this time of year.

She quietly snuck the front door open, hoping to slip in quietly and unnoticed by her houseguests. Mor, draped in her normal gorgeous finery, strode through the foyer, lifting a brow that surely must be genetic, and before tipping her head back to laugh at Feyre.

“You’re just as bad as Rhys, you know? I saw him coming back not twenty minutes ago.”

Rhys, that weasel.

Feyre wondered what he’d been off plundering after amusedly lecturing her this morning about sneaking out last minute for more presents. She ran the bags upstairs, ditched her coat, and wrapped the leathers quickly in the celebratory packaging she’d picked up last month in their guest bedroom before scurrying back down the stairs. She’d arrived just in time, everyone present in the sitting room as Nuala and Cerridwen announced the dinner was ready. Luckily, she’d had the foresight to prepare before going to grab the gifts, her long midnight-blue dress swaying luxuriously around her feet, the gossamer sleeves like a soft embrace along her arms. She’d definitely gotten used to wearing pretty clothes in the time she’d spent in Velaris, though most days, she still dressed for comfort. She’d left her hair down and lightly curled, compulsively tucking a strand behind her ear as she entered the dining room. Elain had helped prepare the Solstice meal and cake, as she insisted she do every year, and Feyre had to admit it all looked mouthwatering, as always.

Rhys pulled her seat out for her as she walked up, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her head as he pushed her in.

“Last minute shopping go well?” He murmured against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine and goosebumps down her arms. He knew it, too, and she turned to scrunch her nose at him as he laughed.

“I hear you’re one to talk, hypocrite.” He held his hand to his chest feigning offense, then sent her an absolutely world-shattering smile as he moved to take his place.

A crash in the hall sent Feyre’s eyes to the doors, followed by Nesta’s bellowing.

“Hey! Wings closed indoors! You know the rules.” Giggles abound as Nyx and Aife came into the room, leaning into each other and cackling as they took their seats. They were only two years apart and thick as thieves. Though Nesta and Feyre would never admit it aloud, seeing their children close as they’d never had the opportunity to be as children had healed something between the two of them that had once felt depthless.

Nyx pushed midnight-black hair from his eyes as he looked to Feyre.

“Mom, can we go play with our presents after we open them tonight? I promise I’ll go straight to bed after.”

“I don’t see why not. Nesta, are you all staying the night tonight?” Nesta looked to Cassian and nodded.

“I think so. Aife and Nyx are going to be here all day tomorrow anyway during the snowball fight. We might as well.” She gave a pointed look to Cassian, who grinned wolfishly. Feyre could hear Aife whispering to Nyx.

“Who’s going to win this year?”

“Uncle Az. It’s always Uncle Az. He says our dads are old now.” They both giggled and Feyre cracked a smile, shooting the conversation down the bond to Rhys, whose eyebrows lifted as he shot her an amused smile as if to say we’ll see.

They tucked into the great feast, a large roast the centerpiece, surrounded by offerings of ham and turkey and too many sides to reasonably name. Feyre loaded her plate with the most buttery mashed potatoes she’d ever tasted, one of Elain’s specialities that Feyre always requested for special occasions, as well as a basil and tomato tart, baked to crisp perfection by Nuala.

She remembered a time when she’d hated her birthday, and while she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with all the attention, she surely would celebrate now if only for the delicious foods she got to have. She couldn’t beat the company either, her blood and chosen family all seated around the table, laughing and loving and enjoying themselves in her home. A decade ago, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who’d tried to describe this possibility, and it wasn’t lost on her how much luck and fate had stepped in to make things as they were.

++

Stuffed to the brim and with the gift exchange behind them, Feyre slumped onto the couch. The kids had been spoiled beyond reason, the piles of gifts higher than the chairs surrounding them.

Nyx and Aife had begged Az, Cass, and Lucien to bring them outside to practice with the new bow and arrow sets, courtesy of Elain and Lucien’s recent trip to the Day Court. As the official “Uncle Troupe”, as they’d so ridiculously named themselves, they felt it would have been in poor taste to decline. Feyre pulled her feet up onto the couch and laid her head back. It had been a busy few months, though things were finally, blessedly beginning to smooth out. They’d been able to delegate a bit more recently, and it certainly helped their workload.

Elain had gone back to the kitchens to help clean up and exchange gifts with the twins before they took off for the evening, leaving Feyre to relax for a bit while Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, and Mor sat at the table with sweets and coffees chatting. Amren and Varian had skipped the party this year in favor of a trip to Summer, as they now alternated holidays between courts. While she’d never taunt Amren to her face about it, Feyre secretly loved how domesticated she’d become in the time she’d known her, settling down while still claiming that ancient power hummed through her veins.

She felt Rhys sit down by her feet, his presence always noted by her magic immediately twining with his. At any given time, she could feel where he was, the power soaring back and forth between them like a current. The depth of love between them was fathomless and deep, and she’d never quite get over the fact that she had him all to herself, hers and hers alone, for the rest of her life.

He picked her feet up in his hands, shuffling them over to his lap and giving them a squeeze.

“Tired, darling?” His voice was a low rumble as he leaned against the back of the couch, settling in.

“Exhausted. I love the holidays, but I would also love a solid two days of sleep.” He laughed, his smile lighting up the room as she lifted her head to peek at him. “Did you enjoy your Solstice gifts?”

She’d bought him a device she’d found at one of the shops in Day Court on a summer visit to Elain and Lucien months ago. Duty had them back and forth between courts now, and Feyre couldn’t deny the love she had for any excuse to get to the shimmering beaches of Day. She’d found it nestled in the back of a tinkerer’s store–a handheld device that rolled over clothes, enchanted to remain sticky, and pulled any lint or fuzz from them.

“It’s only my favorite thing I’ve ever owned,” Rhys quipped immediately. She laughed, closing her eyes again and poking him in the side with her toe. He gripped it in his hands and threatened to tickle her. “How about you, love? Get everything you wanted?” Feyre paused, but didn’t open her eyes. She should say yes. She should feel like she had everything she wanted, but there was just one thing missing, and unfortunately it was something she couldn’t have.

“Hey lovebirds, we’re heading out!” Mor called across the room, her arm around Emerie’s.

Feyre sat up to say goodbye. “So early?”

Mor chuckled and Emerie elbowed her in the ribs. “Solstice plans of our own,” Mor said, waggling her brows at Rhys and giggling as he rubbed his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Alright, then.” He slapped his palms on his thighs, laughing and ending the conversation as Emerie blushed about ten shades of red, still not quite used to the way this family spoke so openly about things. Feyre stood to hug them both.

“We’re so glad you came. Feel free to drop in any time tomorrow. We’ll be here all day.”

Gwyn and Nesta had gone to join their mates and the children out on the illuminated training ring in the yard, leaving Feyre to slip back down onto the couch, this time scooting closer to Rhys and leaning her body against his. He was always so warm and solid, her touchstone in times both trying and lovely. He always smelled like oranges and the sea–the smell of Velaris, of home, tied intrinsically with his. She nuzzled closer, his arm finding its way around her waist as he settled too.

“Everything okay, darling?”

She hummed noncommittally. She hated that even with all this joy, all these gifts, all this family, she still couldn't shake the thought that something was missing, incomplete.

“Can you believe this is Nyx’s sixth Solstice?” She felt Rhys soften beneath her, realization creeping down the bond from his end, followed by a burst of soothing love and affection.

“He's incredible, isn't he? What are we going to do when he learns how to use that bow accurately?” She laughed.

“Truly, it's the inaccurate use I'm more worried about.” His breath ghosted her ear as he chuckled, sending those light shivers scurrying back along her spine.

Things got quiet, then. She knew it would take very little for Rhys to understand what she was thinking, if he didn't already intrinsically know. Even without the bond, even without the daemati powers, there was really a moment he wasn't able to read her like a wide open book.

“He's so big now…” she let her voice drift off, trying to hide the hurt in it and failing miserably. As always Rhys filled in the gaps.

“He’s wonderful. We made a really wonderful child, Feyre. He’s everything I never even dared to hope for for myself. I never thought such joy was possible for someone like me. You know that he’s the greatest gift you ever could have given me, right?” She felt the tears burning behind her eyes, and she took in a deep breath as she felt him press a kiss to her temple.

“I know.” Her voice was just a wobbly whisper, quiet in the room.

“And if he’s the only one we ever have, it’s more than enough for me. I need to know you know that, Feyre.” She nodded furiously, the big tears slipping down her cheeks now, burning hot tracks as they descended.

“I can’t even explain it. It just feels like someone else should be here.” He pulled her tightly against him, resting his chin on her shoulder and rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

“And maybe, someday, they will be. But if the three of us are all we ever have, it’s more than enough. It’s everything to me.” She couldn’t hold back the sobs then, turning to bury her face in his chest as she cried.

It had been two years since they’d decided things had evened out enough that another child was even an option for them. They’d been casual about it at first, enjoying themselves and giggling in the dark under covers as they talked about the possibilities of the future. She missed Nyx’s tufts of baby curls, that new infant smell that seemed to cling to him always then faded abruptly away after he hit one year. She missed the snuggles and the closeness, and her heart ached to watch how wonderful he was with his cousin without knowing if she’d ever be able to give him that gift as a big brother.

Realistically, she knew all the logic. It could take fae decades to have a child. It wasn’t always going to be as quick as it had been with Nyx. He’d come quickly, but the consequences, as everyone remembered, had been disastrous and near-fatal. She’d never even considered the possibility of it being a problem again when Nesta informed her she’d changed their anatomy, but she’d never considered that she might be the one having the problem. Part of her wondered if the absolute massacre of her body bringing Nyx into the world was responsible–her tissue mangled and her blood spilt and her spirit eking into the ether, only to be yanked back and mended together at the last possible second. Could it have damaged her irreparably, the anatomy be damned?

“Nothing is your fault, love. Not one bit of it.” He held her to his chest as her cries subsided. “And it’s okay to be upset about this. You don’t have to hold everything in all the time. There are no prizes for stoicism.” She snorted at him, and he huffed amusedly at her.

“Pot, meet kettle,” she shot back wetly. He smiled softly as she sat back to look at him, a little of the life returning to her as well.

“You’re a lovely mother, and our boy thinks you’ve hung the stars and moon above Velaris, even if he is getting old enough to wield a weapon. A little sibling won’t ever change that. Plus, I get the impression Aife isn’t going to be his only cousin.” She sighed, nodding, as he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“It’s just hard not to feel like I’ve done something wrong. I know how badly you want another, how badly I do. It’s hard not to wonder.” He took his hands in hers.

“I meant it when I told you that you and Nyx, you are the gifts. Our family is absolutely lovely the way it is now. If we’re meant to grow it one day, we will, and if we aren’t, believe me when I tell you I am absolutely over the moon for the way things are now.” She couldn’t help but kiss him then, the stars reflecting in his violet eyes taking her breath away, as they always did. “Plus, I never mind practicing with you.” She smacked him across the chest as he grinned broadly and wickedly at her, hauling her into his lap in response as she yelped.

If anything, Rhys knew how to chase away her tears better than anyone else ever had or would.

Just then, the parlor doors opened and Elain stepped through.

“Oh, just the two I was looking for! I’ve got one last gift for you both, but I wanted to wait until the right moment.” She ducked back through the doors momentarily, reappearing with a small, neatly wrapped parcel as they stood. She flounced lightly up to them, setting the little bundle wrapped in delicate yellow paper in Rhys’s hands.

“Elain, you didn’t need to get us anything else. You already gave us such lovely gifts and you made dinner.” Elain blushed, still the demure lady after all this time.

“Consider it a double gift.” She whispered as she leaned in conspiratorially. Rhys pulled back the paper and pulled out the tiniest, knitted pink blanket.

One beat, two. The silence hung in the room as Elain smiled wide.

“I just saw last week, but I wanted to make you something to let you know in a way that was special.”

Feyre’s hands shot to her stomach, and Rhys began to cry, turning to her and holding her close while still looking at Elain.

“Now?” Feyre asked, incredulously.

“Probably only about a month along.” Elain smiled again. “I knew with the wings and everything last time, you’d want to get in to see Madja as early as possible.”

Feyre was sobbing into Rhys’s chest again, his tears dripping down into her hair. Feyre felt him reach out to Elain and pull her into the embrace.

“Thank you, Elain. Thank you so much.” She pulled back, laughing lightly again.

“I’ll leave you both to it then. I gotta get little lady’s cousin and uncle home safely.” She put a hand to her own stomach, winked, and went towards the back to grab Lucien before Feyre and Rhys could even register her news. He grabbed her face in his hands, pressing kisses to every inch of her face.

“I love you, more than anything.” Feyre laughed, the sound breathless and airy. She couldn’t take her hands off her stomach, the joy pulsing through her veins with every beat of her heart.

A daughter.

“I have one more gift for you, too, actually.” He reached into his back pocket to withdraw a small, navy velvet box, pressing it gently into her hands.

Her eyes shot to his. “You didn’t need to get me something else.”

“Open it.” His smile was wide open, his entire heart spelled across his face like stars across the night sky.

Feyre cracked open the box and couldn’t help the flood of tears that began anew. Nestled in the soft velvet was a silver necklace, a charm of a large crescent moon with two small stars dangling down off of it.

“You knew?”

“I suspected.” He smiled. “You’ve been getting those pistachio pastries all week that you liked so much last time. I figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared with one more last minute gift.” She took it out, turning to let him put it on her. He let his hands graze across her neck as he dropped them while she turned in his arms.

“Beautiful.” He murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, Rhys. I love it. It’s been the best Solstice ever.” Her smile was broad and teary, but she felt the joy all the way down to the very fibers of her immortal heart.

“Thank you, Feyre. For all of it.”

And nothing in all of Velaris could hold a candle to the joy radiating back and forth down the bond between them in that moment as their lips met quietly again this Solstice.

[vialae]

Durge calling Gortash their ‘favourite human’ not in a mushy romantic way, but in a ‘he is the specimen I enjoy watching so he gets to keep breathing’ type of way

[ticklishcicada]

Zack makes an educated guess quick follow up to this context is in my zack lives au tag

[olives-and-lilies]

Got a little something from the buffet over at @fatgumbigbang23 for ya~!

A lovely little fic called The Love Bet by welovethensfw

I did a fun cover

And I couldn’t resist doing a liiiiiittle something for Rumi and Kiri’s nail date under the cut

[toytanks]

i love billford but unfortunately it makes my heart Hurt

[anemicjellyfish]

Get Well Soon (Part 2)

A short, fluff-filled Stolitz fanfic.

Link to Part 1 below the cut!

Content warnings: illness, medicine mention, sexual dialogue

Didn't write this one in the present-tense like the previous one. Forgive typos and grammatical errors, I'm still getting over Covid. (Wear a mask and stay safe 💖)

Blitzø suppressed a cough. He didn't want to wake Stolas; he often noticed the bags under his eyes, and wondered how often the Geotia Prince actually slept.

Part 1 is here if you'd like to read it first:

Part 2:

After a few hours of sleep, Blitzø awoke. The gentle rise and fall of Stolas' chest under his head meant that Stolas, too, had dozed off.

Blitzø could tell the medicine he'd taken earlier was working. His body temperature felt much more comfortable, and his muscle aches were much less noticeable. He was feeling almost better.

If it weren't for the little cough he let out...

Stolas stirred beneath him, arms pulling Blitzø just a bit closer before opening both sets of glowing red eyes.

"Good morning, again, Blitzy," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Blitzø let out a huff of air, angry at himself, then, "I'm fine. Don't get your regal panties in a twist."

Stolas only chuckled. Taking Blitzø's face in his hands, he slid down a little ways and felt around Blitzø's neck. Blitzø found himself getting heated by the touch, but Stolas pulled away.

"Your lymph nodes are still swollen, Blitzy," he said. "Your body is still fighting to get you feeling well again."

"Uhh..."

"I have an idea," Stolas continued, "something that will speed along your healing much faster than those tablets."

Blitzø was gently removed from his cozy place on Stolas' chest and set up against several pillows. Grumbling to himself, he didn't see why Stolas would make such a fuss over a common illness.

"Look, Stols," Blitzø tried getting his attention, "you don't have to do all this shit. I'll be up and plowing you rough again in no time. You don't gotta..."

It was obvious that Stolas wasn't listening. The Prince was instead flitting around his bedroom, gathering bits of his treasured plants. A leaf from one, a stem from another, some dirty root from something that looked almost too-creepy for Hell.

Stolas disappeared around the curtain to his bathroom for a moment. When he returned, Blitzø could hear water running.

"Come along, my darling," Stolas said sweetly.

"What-" Blitzø squirmed as Stolas picked him up off the bed and carried him to the bathroom.

"I can tell you're feeling better," Stolas chuckled, "you're not letting me take care of you quite so easily as last night."

Blitzø pushed his hand against Stolas' face, but was placed into the beautifully ornate bathtub before he could do anything more.

"Stols?" Blitzø drifted his hand through the water and brought up the crushed up bits of flora. "Are you... are you turning me into soup?!"

Stolas didn't try to suppress his laughter. He climbed in, the water rising almost to the brim, and swirled his hand around slowly.

"No, my Blitzy," he replied, "it's an herbal bath. To help your body heal itself a bit faster. These petals will help the inflammation in your nasal passages; that root, once it dissolves, will be absorbed through your skin so that your lymph nodes will-"

"Okay, okay," Blitzø interrupted, "hold on. I'm not gonna be listening to a whole lesson on plants, Stolas."

Stolas stopped, his hand no longer swirling the water around them. Blitzø's tail twitched in agitation at himself. Why was he always unintentionally saying things that upset Stolas... and why did it bother him so much?

After a few moments of unbearable silence, Blitzø shuffled around and picked up a crushed up leaf.

"Uhh. So. Is this one the reason my fever isn't umm, making me feel like I'm on fire anymore?"

Stolas took Blitzø's hand in his, rubbing the leaf into Blitzø's palm. "Actually, that one is just for the pleasant aroma," he explained. "Your fever was lowered by..."

Blitzø settled himself in against Stolas again, not really paying attention to the words being spoken. It was enough for him to breathe in the pleasant scents of the bath, and feel himself get better by the minute.

Stolas was now telling Blitzø about some other plants he'd found in some other Ring of Hell. Blitzø let him ramble on even after they stepped out of the water to dry off. Blitzø only stopped Stolas from his unending speech when he couldn't contain himself anymore.

Grabbing Stolas' hand and pulling him down to his level, Blitzø kissed him deeply. Without another word, Stolas allowed Blitzø to lead him back to the bedroom.

[lucreziaces]

“i belong with you, you belong with me you’re my sweetheart” 💗☺️💗

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Toddler and the Bees: Making Memories

Fast forward roughly three years after Yang and Ruby find and save the little tiger Faunus from the desert. The war is over. Blake and Yang are married and living on Kuo Kuana. The small family is sitting on a dock fishing. The little one is going ballistic because there’s a fish on their line. Cubby is their nickname.

Cubby: (squealing) Mama! Mama! Look! I got one!

Blake: Good job, Cubby! Reel it in!

Cubby: (struggling) I’m trying!

Yang: You got it, Cubby! Just one more pull!

Cubby: (yanks on the rod and the line snaps) Oh, no!

Fish: (swimming just under the surface of the water mockingly)

Blake: Aw, it’s okay, Cub. (rubs toddler’s back) Sometimes this happens.

Yang: Oh, no you don’t! (rips off obnoxious, red, orange, and yellow button up and dives into the water) Get back here!

Cubby: (squeals with excitement and nearly dives in but Blake grabs them)

Yang: (resurfaces and holds the fish overhead with both hands) Got it!

Everyone on the docks watch as Yang tosses the fish onto the dock before pulling herself out of the water. Cubby is poking the fish and tapping their feet excitedly. Kali is taking pictures while Ghira tries to get Cubby to hold the fish.

Blake: (holds Yang’s eyesore of a shirt out to her and laughs) What was that all about?

Yang: That? (glances at Cubby holding the fish with help) Just making a memory Cubby won’t soon forget.

[the-moon-files]

Man, all your human-space orcs headcanons are soooo good. Like I swear, it's my favorite thing to read and re-read right now. And there's always like, a bunch of it so I can just keep reading!

😭😭 omg thank you so much for saying that and sending me a whole ask abt it, my heart <333

sorry abt the late reply!! this got hidden by requests until i reviewing them just now ;-;

me when i saw this ask fr LMAO ^^

I hope u continue to enjoy my silly hyperfixated stuff and leave me some more mail ill actually notice in my mailbox next time ToT !! /gen

hope u have a great weekend!! :) <333

Peace out,

🌙

[despazito]

trying to stretch out juice bc its needlessly expensive here and to watch sugar intake by cutting it with teas. tonight's concoction is peach matcha with pineapple mango juice, preddy nice