#when it was like “meddlesome” i was like his thoughts exactly

[gemkun]

what type of love are you according to the ancient greeks ?

      ⸻       philautia   (   love   of   the   self   )

  coming   from   the   word   ❛   self   —   love   ❜   in   ancient   greek   ,   this   shape   of   love   is   the   most   important   to   a   person.   however   ,   there   are   negative   side   effects   too   such   as   in   the   form   of   narcissism.   not   to   fret   ,   for   there   are   numerous   form   of   selfless   love.   i'd   either   offer   two   pieces   of   advice   :   focus   on   yourself   and   /   or   keep   up   the   focus   on   yourself   for   the   days   to   come.

tagged by : @oneireth ( love you boo ) tagging : @tavustlik ( always gotta tag pookie ) , @raytm , @kafkaisms , @eldkitch , @wingspiked , @defiedlife , @starspurn , @moonrisenmuses & any curious souls out there !

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Cultural Differences: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have cultural differences! Check under the cut for 10 fics that explore the differences in Caleb and Essek's cultures and how it affects their relationship, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

Courting of the Caleb by VexedVixen (6884, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes, Choose Not to Warn

Beau realizes Essek is courting Caleb before Caleb does.

Reccer says: Good world building, it’s cute, and plenty of both Caleb and Essek being flustered!

The Secret Romance of Essek Thelyss by Cardinal_Daughter (18629, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

All Essek wants is to celebrate his and Caleb's anniversary and present him with a very special gift. Naturally, nothing goes quite as planned.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Double Dip by Defiler_Wyrm (622, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb’s Empire table manners threaten to ruin a perfectly pleasant dinner. (He’s going to get away with it, the little shit.)

Reccer says: Just a saucy little slice of life, pun intended.

Fine Things by Defiler_Wyrm (1296, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek is accustomed to luxury on a scale that Caleb finds baffling and troublesome. Sometimes, though, he has a point.

Reccer says: This is a fic about culture clash in terms of class, and about poverty trauma, handled gently. I tend to think that the class disparity between Caleb and Essek must be a touchier thing to navigate than the broader Empire vs. Dynasty ones, and that's exactly what this fic is about.

Love Letters to be Tossed in the Fire by Anonymous (61367, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb and Essek get to know each other through a series of letters

Reccer says: This fic is creatively and beautifully written. I love the different ways the letters are sent. The two wizards learn about each other and their different cultures through the course of this fic, especially at the end.

Loose Translation by owlaholic68 (58379, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Due to an incredible comedy of errors on the part of the Cerberus Assembly, what is thought to be a pesky bureaucratic for one meddlesome Caleb Widogast, turns out to be a powerful political alliance and symbol of peace and unity between the Dynasty and Empire… through the marriage of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss and Caleb Widogast. Canon compliant until episode 141.

Reccer says: This is one of my all time favorite fics! The author does an incredible job at writing the political intrigue, manages a beautiful balance of the fluffiest fluff you could ever imagine with an undercurrent of yearning and angsty misunderstanding, all the while exploring the worldbuilding of the Kryn Dynasty in a way that is soso tasty. Truly, this is an addicting read that had me screaming, kicking my feet, and hyping up the characters to “go get his ass!!” all throughout.

Love in Creation by LuckyOwlsFoot (1662, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb watches Essek work, and learns a little about the role of lace making to the Kryn dens.

Reccer says: The author does a great job at describing the physical motions of tatting, I felt like I could see it and understand what was happening despite have very little understanding of the craft- this really added to the visuals of the fic.

The following three fics each received two recs!

of blossoming hearts and glittering souls by quinn_of_aebradore (77995, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb and Essek realize they've caught the Feelings, and try to figure out how to propose to each other, with each other's different cultural customs

Reccer 1 says: It's so soft and sweet, it's a lovely read <3 Reccer 2 says: This fic is so sweet. It's so sweet. It pulls no punches when it comes to expressing emotion and revolves around the entire proposal, engagement, and marriage/lovebinding procedures with such depth and care. Read it and weep (the happiest of tears)!

but i didn’t do it right, can i try again, and again? by queenbeetle (53385, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

An already together Caleb and Essek play at Dynasty courting rituals, but they keep their hands off each other long enough to play the game?

Reccer 1 says: I’m gonna be so straight forward this fic is SUPER hot. There is a phenomenal scene with gloves, and I will say nothing more. I really enjoy the cultural differences as seen through courting thing, especially when theres some misunderstandings about the levels of intimacy something might imply sprinkled in- and this definitely has that! Reccer 2 says: It has a delightful build up with a very rewarding and steamy pay off!

Indecency by RainyDayDecaf (5898, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence, The fic is tagged with graphic depictions of violence, the scene written is about canon typical levels of violence

The many times Essek and Caleb accidentally court one another by Kryn or Blumenthal traditions and when they finally do it on purpose!

Reccer 1 says: Not only is it very cute, the world building is also very smart. The Blumenthal traditions that are made up by the author feel very in the spirit of what would be considered romantic to the way Caleb grew up. They clearly took time to flesh out his background and folk traditions just as much as they do Essek’s high class courting etiquette, which is a true treat! Reccer 2 says: It's wonderfully written and descriptive! Also just very funny and sweet with lots of good pining.

Want more fics that explore cultural differerences? Check out our previous rec list on this subject!

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring getting nerdy about magic! Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

[buddiesmutslut]

Rules: give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words (feel free to interpret however you would like).

tagged by @kyoteugly, thank you sm, yapping about fics is my fav thing to do on here, I'll take any excuse to do so 😍

Most hits - Is happiness on the highway, or is it parked in a driveway? Post lawsuit angst, Buck's planning on leaving after the fight in the grocery store, but then Chris gets sick at school & some things change. I didn't realize this one had gotten so much attention, I really thought my BuckAbby baby fic was still the fic w the most hits, whoops lol.

Second most kudos - You help me find my fire OmegaVerse Buddie, written before Omega Eddie was canon, unfortunately lol, but still fun!

Third most comments - Golden Morning Sunbeams I LOVE THIS FIC SM. Not that I don't like the first two, but they were when I first started writing fics, so I feel like my style & the way I think about stuff from canon has changed, and this one is more indicative of where I'm at now as a writer, I feel? Anyway, Chris gets sick while in El Paso and calls Eddie bc as upset as he was, sometimes you just need your dad, and Eddie drops everything to get to his boy. Featuring guard dog Buck & meddlesome Diaz parents.

Fourth most bookmarks - Lonely Girl Buck discovering he has a teenage daughter fic oh, I love you so so much 😭 Takes place right after Chris Ubers to Buck's house, a teenage girl shows up at the loft, claiming to be his daughter, leading to some fun Buddie interactions, Buck pining while Eddie dates Ana (no Ana bashing in this fic). Idk, this fic is so so special to me, all of my buddie kid fics are. I love making those bitches dads again & again 😂

Fifth most words - It's gonna' take a lot to drag me away from you BUDDIE BLENDED AU. Buck & Eddie are two single dads w 2 kids a piece that end up taking a joint vacation in Africa after getting tickets from Bobby & Athena after a Bathena misunderstanding. Blended is one of my fav movies, it's so so so incredibly silly and sweet, and giving buddie four kids & putting them in Situations was so much fun, this is probably my funniest fic; I can't exactly take credit for that because I used stuff from the movie, but I still love it so much. I was writing this in the middle of the night for Summer of Buddie bc I was obsessed with getting it finished after not thinking I was going to have a fic for the romcom prompt lol.

Fic w the least words - Joy I also jumped on the post-Confessions Buddie getting together ep coda train too, I am only a woman lol. Eddie has the search for joy ringing in his ears & Buck is stuck on somebody other than Tommy being his last, and they figure it all out in only 798 words lol.

Tagging @sofa-king-lame (bc I love yapping about YOUR fics as well lmao) & anybody else who wants an excuse to share their fics & their rambling thoughts bc I always want to hear them 🫶

[spikezonebby]

Hi again, sorry i mess it i hope it is right now ^^, a request for song fics could you with tfp optimus prime with the song Shawn Mendes, Camila Cabello - Señorita with a fem!human!reader, genre to Romance?

Senorita - TFP!Optimus Prime/Fem!Human!Reader

Word count: 1,672

Your first meeting had actually been entirely an accident. Optimus knew some humans had an affinity for vehicles, and you were one of them. Even a Prime can only take so much fawning over his grill, rims, or decals before he gets flustered and ends up blowing his cover.

That set the tone pretty well for how your entire relationship with Optimus was going to go. The other Autobots treated their leader with all the grace and dignity deserved of a Prime, but you never let the great title dictate how you treated Optimus. You weren’t ever afraid to speak your mind or ask questions. You questioned his commands, not to undermine him but to genuinely understand and clarify. 

You seemed to find everything Optimus said fascinating, and when he’d watch you he could see the inner gears of your mind chugging along. Picking apart his words and always seeming to know exactly what was on his mind, even when he himself wasn’t entirely sure. You were the probing sort, someone Ratchet often found meddlesome and too-like Miko, but there was a grace to your inquiries. 

Optimus was, perhaps, somewhat shy to admit that he liked it when you asked about his past. Especially when you would ask about the moments that weren’t so great or grave, like his walk home in the evenings from the Hall of Records or his favorite small pleasures. There was something warm, familiar, even humbling to the idea that your two lives weren’t too different.

You used to work at a bookstore and did its inventory, spending hours organizing piles upon piles of books. He would spend cycles listening and sorting through videos and audio files to archive them in their appropriate places. You’d stop on your way home and get a donut and coffee. He’d occasionally indulge and get himself a slice of chrome-alloy cake.

Optimus did not consider himself a poet, nor any other kind of lyrical savant, but he would describe the closeness he felt to you as… magnetic. He found his gaze drawn to you in the room, your laugh made his spark skip in his chassis, and even the persistent hum of the matrix seemed more at ease around you. 

He wondered if, maybe, you knew what you did to him. It certainly seemed like you knew when you’d come close to him and lay on the lower portion of his chassis, just beneath his windshield. It seemed like you knee when you’d find a quiet moment to rest with him in his seldom-used quarters, your whole tiny body level with his face. For someone who could fit in the palm of his servo, you liked to make your physical presence known and tangible. 

He couldn’t say he minded. In fact, that was a thing that brought quite a bit of distress to the poor Prime’s mind in the moments that should be peaceful. The longer he knew you, the more enthralling the pull became. He found himself wondering if you’d hate it if he curled his servo around you, cupping you between his digits like a treasure. He thinks about the scent of your skin and the warmth of your body, should you finally close the distance between them.

You were human. You were fragile. Leaders weren’t built to have fragile things, but protect them regardless.

But he still wanted you. Enough to forgo the logical sense he had to distance himself and instead, let you keep invading his space and his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to stop this.

Not when you invited yourself into his quarters, shimmied your way up to the space on his berth right beside his neck cables and jaw, and built your own little nest of blankets and pillows there. Not when you had so much faith in him, and talked to him about all of the soft things he thought they’d killed in this war.

“That’s Neocybex, right?” You ask, snuggled up beside his audial as he laid on his back, both of you looking on up at the data pad he had in his servos. He pauses in his scrolling through, balancing the stylus in his grip as he tilts the data pad further for you to read.

“Some of it is. Other parts, like here,” He scrolls down, “Are Primal Vernacular.”

“A different dialect or a different language wholly?”

“Neither. Primal Vernacular was the predecessor of the Neocybex all Cybertronians came to speak in modern times. When I was given the Matrix of Leadership and all of its knowledge, I was also gifted the ability to speak and read this ancient Cybertronian language. I find it easier, sometimes, to take notes in.”

You sit up a little, bracing yourself with a hand on his cheek vent. “So you’re the only one that knows how to speak it?”

“Most likely.” Optimus admits, somewhat sullen, “Even before the war, it was considered a dead language on Cybertron. Transcriptions existed of people speaking the language but as Neocybex became more common, it simply was lost to time.”

You hum, and leaning this close to them, he can feel the way the small sound rumbles up through your chest.

“Teach me. At least a word or two. Something I can remember.”

“You wish to learn Neocybex? I do not know if your organic vocalizer can reproduce the sound.”

“No, no! Primal Vernacular! The letters almost remind me of… Arabic. That’s a human language so, surely I can wrap my head around some of that.”

His spark warms at that, your enthusiasm contagious. It couldn’t hurt to attempt it, it would be a good excuse to brush up on his own pronunciation.

“Ṣdyq,” He begins. “It means ‘friend.’ And if you begin it with Rjl, it becomes ‘brother.’”

“Oh so it has different rules than Earth’s version of Arabic.”

“Yes. It is fascinating, is it not? That humans have taken such an old language and made it their own?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice in a way. Makes things feel less…” You fish around in your thoughts for the proper word, then hum. “Lonely. Yeah. So… Rjl… Ṣdyq… means ‘brother.’ How do you say ‘sister,’ then?”

Optimus’ lip plates quirk into the shallow shape of a smile, spark warmed by your botched attempt to match his pronunciation. 

“The translations of the words are different based on their cultural meanings. Cybertronians are very rarely forged with siblings, so ‘brother’ means something closer to ‘ally.’ A feminine version of the word didn’t appear until very late, when femmes started to become more prominent. It was very rarely used though, mostly due to the… intimate implications of the word. I once listened to an interview with a linguist on the matter and he theorized that it was coined initially by Megatronus Prime of the Thirteen, as a term of endearment Solus Prime. It’s ‘Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq.’”

Now that has you fascinated.  Optimus often chose his words carefully, using them as a tool for peace and command just as often as he used his own two servos. With you, conversation came easier. Optimus only had a select few people whom he knew and trusted to allow him to talk so easily.

You stood up, keeping one hand against his jaw as you walked around him. He could feel you use him to steady your steps as you hoisted yourself up onto his neck cables. You were so light he hardly felt the pressure at all. Instinctively his servo came down to gently cup behind your back, fearing you might fall off.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound irritated. Worried maybe, curious mostly.

“I want to see the way your mouth moves when you say those words.”

It’s an innocent goal, he insists it is. A request to turn on his first level of cooling fans pops up on his HUD view. He almost denies it, then worries that he might grow too warm for you to touch. In the end he does allow them to kick on and wholly misses the way it makes you smirk.

“Come on, boss. Say ‘em.” You coax, resting your folded arms against his chin, “Please?”

Optimus looks down past his nose, examining your face as his fans cycle a little faster. Right, it would be rude to refuse you whatever small teaching aid he could offer. Even if it was unorthodox.

“Ṣdyq.” He says. You lean forward a bit, watching the way his lips move with every sound. “‘Friend.’”

“Uh-huh.”

“Rjl Ṣdyq.” You reach out and trail your tiny fingers across his bottom lip. Optimus loses his train of thought.

“Which means?” You prompt him, feigning forgetfulness.

“Ah, ‘ally.’” He can see the way you bounce a little when he swallows the thick lump forming in the back of his intake.

“Cool, cool.” When had you gotten so close to him? And it didn’t seem like you minded at all as you even used his servo balancing you from behind to boost yourself up and lay across the flat plane of his chin. 

He says your name softly. His data pad is forgotten in favor of clutching onto the tarp and padding on the berth beneath him.

“And what’s the last one?”

“Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq,” When had he started to feel so breathless? Like his fans weren’t cycling enough air.

“Mmmhm… I like that one. There’s something about the way you say it. Say it again, please?”

“Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq,” He says again, just so he can hear the joy on your voice when you giggle, “Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq. And it means– mhm?”

Before he can even finish his statement, your small, warm lips press to his bottom lip, silencing him quicker and easier than even the sound of blaster fire. His servo cups closer behind you and he knows he should stop this, he knows he doesn’t deserve this, but you make it so, so clear you want to give it to him.

And in the end… who was he to deny his Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq?

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Fate Of A Fae - Part 5

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Soulmate Match: Theme: Soulmates / Monster/Fantasy AU

You know on sight. Friends also know when they meet you if you're a match for one of their friends.

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Chapter Summary: We see a little of Bucky's perspective.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of past historic abuse and blood.

Bucky Barnes was born with dragon's blood running through his veins. His mother and father both from the purest dragon stock that still survived.

His American father had met his American - Russian mother whilst serving in the military, and they had known the moment they set eyes on each other that they were a match. Days of the Cold War surrounded them and Bucky's father, George, was concerned as to how his family would react bringing home a wife and mate that was part Russian but once his family and friends had met Winnie, and discovered that she was also from a strong dragon bloodline, hers even with a smidge of Russian royalty, there was nothing to worry about. George and Winnie had let this acceptance of themselves set the tone for how they accepted their children's presentations and that of their soulmates.

Nearly two weeks ago when Bucky had rushed into their home, his phone in his hand saying he'd found his soulmate, there had been a flurry of excitement. His nieces had squealed when they'd heard him mention you were a fairy.

"How are you gonna play this son?"

"Natalia will arrange something to introduce us, hopefully in the next couple of days."

"Don't come on too strong." His sister Becca had interrupted.

"Nobody asked you Becca." He grunted.

"I'm just saying....."

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!!!" He replied, raising his voice.

"This is exactly what I mean."

Bucky went towards her only to be stopped by Winnie's hand softly going to his chest.

"Sit down Yasha."

Bucky sat down with a huff and Becca pulled a face at him and stuck out her tongue.

"Rebecca Barnes-Smith may I remind you that you are not a child and you don't actually live here anymore, go home and make dinner for that very patient husband of yours." Winnie said, not even needing to turn to know her daughter was trying to provoke her eldest child.

"Now, as much as it pains me to say this, your sister does have a point." Winnie said, watching as Bucky rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Look son" George started "your mother and I know how much you want this. How much you want to get settled, be bonded, start a family, move upstate and all of that, but"

"But what?"

"But you're a dragon and we tend to be possessive of our things. Fairies are different to us. You come on too strong and she'll flit off, and I know how meddlesome sprites are. Don't let Natalia get too involved."

Bucky didn't listen and two days later he was walking into Natasha's Brownstone after you'd point blank refused to meet him or Steve.

Steve had taken your refusal a little too well for Bucky's liking, saying they should take this slow and let you come to them. Damn griffin, what did he know anyway? In Bucky's eyes, he'd given up way to easily as he'd left to go on an art finding trip for Tony and Pepper. But this also left Bucky almost unsupervised in his pursuit of you.

And it wasn't going well. You weren't talking to him or Nat. Steve on the other hand received a very short message that said you were fine and asking him to tell Bucky to back off.

Bucky hated being wrong and had continued in his chasing but it wasn't working and he'd tried plenty. Gifts, that you sent back. Messages, that you ignored.

But today something was off and Bucky was going to come to your apartment, not just watch you from the rooftop across the street, whether you liked it or not.

Steve had tried to talk him out of it, even going as far to ask Tony to talk to you instead. You'd briefly worked as an office temp for Stark Industries and Tony and Pepper had grown to know and like you whilst you covered for Pepper's assistant whilst she took an extended honeymoon. They'd also sensed you'd be a match for their friends but decided to not play with the fates and let things take their course. Unlike a certain Natasha Romanoff.

Bucky had contemplated waiting for Tony to speak to you but before he'd even had a proper chance to, he felt a need to get to you. That something was wrong.

As he ran up the stairs of you apartment, the smell of blood wafted up his nose and his dragon knew immediately that it was yours, and Stark was with you.

What the fuck was going on? He slowly opened the door, leaning in to see you curled up on the floor with Tony. The latter making eye contact and signalling for him to wait.

“That the asshole family had something to do with your lacking of wings and pointy ears.”

Fuck. Bucky hadn't even noticed. So caught up in his pursuit of you, in his possessiveness to have you, he'd not even noticed your hair always covering your ears and that none of the photos he'd seen of you, hundreds across your social media hadn't shown your wings.

“They won’t want me Tony. They won’t want me when they know.”

Bucky was torn between comforting you and flying off to confront your family. It'd probably only take one call to Romanoff to find them. Right now though, his dragon made the decision, he wanted to hold you, to clean the cuts on your legs and feet. The possessiveness wanted you out of Tony's lap.

“Doll?”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Soul Traitor

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence

Status: In-progress (6/?)

Tags: Reincarnation | Soulmates | Soulmarks | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Past Lives Death Scenes | Betrayals | Misunderstandings | Angst with a Happy Ending | Arkenstone - Freeform | Goldsickness

Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin VI, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former love will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin Oakenshield, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse but for the Arkenstone that was stolen so many years ago. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a hobbit translator for their quest. Yet, this hobbit may be the key to uncovering more than just a gem. An ugly truth that has remained hidden in the misdeeds and lost words of the past, about to be unlocked and free Thorin and Bilbo from this seemingly never ending cycle.

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

New Chapter: Chapter 5- Old Hurts Heal Slowly

“Master Baggins?”

Bilbo didn’t scream, but it was a near thing. Instead, he whirled around, hand clutched to his chest as he glared at the tall dwarf leaning against the tree beside his spot. 

“Don’t scare me like that!” Bilbo gasped. “I thought dwarves were supposed to be loud?”

Bilbo could have sworn he saw the edges of Thorin’s mouth lift up into a small smirk, but it was gone within the next blink of an eye. Probably just a play of the light then. Bilbo looked back towards the camp to see if anyone had noticed where their leader was at, and found himself subjected to Frerin’s trademark glare. He mentally groaned as he looked away. It wasn’t like he asked for the dwarf to come over here!

“I don’t think your brother is very pleased that you’re talking to me.” Bilbo remarked drily. 

He was completely floored when Thorin actually rolled his eyes at this.

“He forgets sometimes that I am the eldest and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” He growled.

“Well.” Bilbo stated. “Perhaps you should go over there and remind him.”

His subtle hint to get the dwarf to leave was completely ignored, much to Bilbo’s dismay.

“Actually, I wish to speak to you if you were amiable.” Thorin stated, stepping a bit closer.

Bilbo took a step back to maintain their distance.

“What if I weren’t amiable?” 

Thorin frowned before choosing to plow on with what he wanted to say anyways.

“It’s been pointed out to me that my apology may have been inadequate…”

“It wasn’t. Apology accepted.” Bilbo returned, hoping that would be enough to get the dwarf to leave him alone. A tick in the dwarf’s jaw let Bilbo know just how well he was accepting Bilbo’s curt responses. Good. Finally getting a taste of his own medicine.

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

[ruiningsalads]

Happy Friday! How about “Ha. Don’t think too highly of yourself. Just because I crave your company every now and then, doesn’t mean you’re my weakness. You’re not.” for Varric x Cassandra from the 'I'm weak for you' prompts?

ugh I'm obsessed with these two. this maybe wasn't exactly the prompt, but it's making me feel all the feels. a lovely little ficlet for @dadrunkwriting

Varric's head lolled forward, his chin resting against his chest despite the muscles in his shoulders screaming in agony. He was simply too tired to keep his head up, even though he would prefer to see what his captors were doing.

Their plan was the most hare-brained scheme he'd ever heard: capture the dwarf to lure his Inquisitor friend into a trap. He was touched that they thought he was important enough that Lavellan would rush in without thought just to save him; but he also wasn't in any hurry to remedy their misconception. After all, they might just kill him outright if they knew. So, he sat on the most uncomfortable chair ever made with his hands tied behind its back and imagined all the horrible things he would do to them once he had Bianca back in his grasp.

He also now knew better than to wander off alone to take a leak. Apparently, that was when people liked to sneak up on you and throw a sack over your head.

The sound of fighting outside his little room had his head snapping up. The meathead left to guard him drew a small, but wickedly sharp, knife as the door splintered open. There, her sword and shield at the ready, was Cassandra, and she was mad.

"Stop, or the dwarf gets it!" The idiot actually held the blade to Varric's neck. He felt the cold metal nick his skin, releasing a warm trickle of blood.

Cassandra's cold gaze flicked from the knife to the thug holding it. "Do you think that threat works on me?" she demanded.

"You seem awfully eager to get him back," the man leered.

"Do not mistake my duty for eagerness," she retorted as she took a step closer.

Varric hissed as the knife cut a little deeper, and she hesitated. The man laughed, low and mean. "Duty, eh? I'd say the only duty you're doing is--" But before he could finish that thought, Cassandra swiftly pulled a small knife from her belt and threw it. Suddenly, the blade at Varric's throat was gone as something heavy fell to the floor behind him.

Cassandra moved to untie him, not paying any mind to the dying man.

"Duty, huh?" he rasped, pressing a newly freed hand to his neck wound.

With surprising gentleness, she pried his hand away and peered at the cut. "It's true. My duty is to the Inquisition and its agents." She tsked and pulled a small vial from her belt, poured some of its contents onto a handkerchief, and pressed it to his neck. Immediately, he felt a sting as the cut began to heal.

"And here I was thinking you actually cared," he grunted through the pain.

Her eyes locked with his. "Whatever my personal feelings are, they cannot interfere with my duty." Maker, he was starting to hate that word. But then she reached with her free hand to stroke his cheek. "That does not mean I will sit by and let someone harm you, not if I can stop it. Understand, Varric, that I cannot allow myself to have such a weakness, no matter how much I care about you."

He grimaced. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks for saving me anyway." When he moved to pull away, she gripped his shoulders to hold him in place. Reluctantly, he met her eyes.

"I love you, Varric. Never question that. I am only trying to say... I just mean..." She sighed in frustration. "You're far better with words than I could ever hope to be."

"Just say that first part again," he murmured.

Her smile was more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen. "I love you, you meddlesome dwarf."

[louwhose]

Untold Myths Light and Time Event

Day Two | Light AND Time | Truth and Lie

Just a short drabble of an idea for Book of Ages today. It... loosely fits the prompts, but it was more just a satisfying way to explore the character dynamics than anything.

Link took a deep breath as the magic finally released him, trying desperately not to remember what it had shown him.

He had lived through that. Being here now was proof enough of that. But… it had felt so real, so like he was living it again and there was all the uncertainty of the future as he had at this moment.

"Maybe," he said, voice shaking. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if we left this realm be. Perhaps it would be better if we left this power to right itself."

There was no reply.

"Zelda?" Link turned around, to see if he could see the meddlesome princess. She was still as enraptured by the spell as he had been moments ago, except her face was pulled tight as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Now, he might not exactly like her very much and was only sticking with her on the promise that she would give him that necklace when they were done here, but he wasn't so callous that he'd steal it off a girl who was clearly in so much agony. He walked up to her and shook her. "Zelda!"

He was glad that is was that simple to get the spell's grip off of her, and the staff fell to the ground and it faded.

She slowly blinked and looked at him, still crying. "Link?"

Zelda hesitated, but for barely a moment before she leaned forward and buried her head into his shirt and began sobbing in earnest.

He had to bat away the thought of how easy it would be to just unlatch that pretty silver chain with the memory of what it had made him remember and feel all anew. Just because she was a spoiled princess with healthy parents and grandparents that loved her didn't mean she'd never had hardship before.

Or so Link tried to convince himself of that as he wrapped his arms around her. The whole embrace was a bit awkward, considering how much taller than him she was. "What happened?"

"He… I can't believed they… I didn't know, well, I mean I knew but I didn't know…"

He took a deep breath. Mostly to try to conceal the sigh he gave. "Who's he? And they? I'm not following at all."

She took a shaky deep breath. "My brother. And the real reason I haven't seen him since I was a child."

[bengiyo]

At 25:00 in Akasaka Ep 2 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Shirasaki got his first big break as an actor to star as a main across from his former senior Hayama in a forthcoming BL. Shirasaki, struggling to find the emotional core of his character, decided to go to a local gay bar and try to hook up with a man. Hayama intercepted him there and suggested Shirasaki have sex with him instead. We all noticed some of the similarities with I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama, even down to the leads having similar hair and big ass ears and eyes. I’m having a good time.

Yes, it’s time to film the sexy promo pictures and reinforce the dangerous dynamic here.

Haha put this dick appointment on your calendar.

I’m definitely vibing with the anxiety gripping Shirasaki.

How does he have that cup perfectly level on his legs like that?

Girl, he just gonna close his eyes and let it happen?

Hayama, I want to understand you. How long have you yearned for this boy? What made you so determined for him to want you back?

I’m enjoying Hayama’s game plan. Make Shirasaki list all the dates you will go on and encourage closeness by making him use your given name.

I don’t trust this meddlesome supporting actor. He seems like a shit-stirrer. Why encourage the new lead actor to read goddamn fan comments if you’re not trying to damage his confidence?

GOOD NEWS, FELLAS! HAYAMA HAS A BIG ASS TV AND A SOUND SYSTEM. But that goddamn lamp from Love is Better is here again!!!

Shirasaki, don’t blow the movie night over fan comments!

Ah yes, the amusement park/aquarium, that great site of many successful BL dates.

Hey, that was some good eye work from Komagine Kiita as Hayama when Shirasaki said his name for the first time after accepting the encouragement.

Fellas, is it gay to let your costar hug you for an extended period in public while hiding from overeager fans?

I’m really excited about this as an original production from GagaOOlala. I really want this to be good and successful so they can grow their brand. I like the way Shirasaki is struggling with his own nervousness and ambition. I like that he isn’t exactly a sad sack, but he’s stiff. This is now one of my must watches.

[ukepichu]

centaur lbh x mermaid sqq fic idea

Having been recently exiled for being too 'violent and rough', Luo Binghe decides to go beyond the mountains he used to call home to explore the great beyond. No one liked him anyway, in fact they absolutely abhorred him, beating him up and calling him insults nearly every day, no, every other hour would be more accurate. A petty argument with a particularly meddlesome herd member was apparently the last straw for both parties. Well, good riddance! Luo Binghe's four hooves are enough to take him anywhere, is what he naively thought before he arrived at a large lake with seemingly no end in sight.

Great, just great. Of course, since when was luck on his side? Luo Binghe can't help but vent his frustration by trashing about and kicking up the earth, causing tremors and dust clouds. He was too occupied to notice the stagnant lake rippling, a mysterious figure steadily rising from its dark depths.

"...Hello?" the figure cautiously speaks. Luo Binghe almost misses the soft voice if it weren't for his sensitive hearing. He jerks up to survey his surroundings, his gaze caught by the head of a beauty peeking out of the water. How stunning. Lustrous, silky, ink-black hair stick to the face of the beauty as a result of the water's adhesive property, his sharp yet gentle eyes create an alluringly seductive sight, beckoning Luo Binghe to instinctively inch himself ever so closer to the lake's shore.

"Hello," Luo Binghe replies, "May I ask who you are?"

The beauty speaks. "You may call this one Shen Qingqiu. Mortals refer to me as the guardian of this lake. I sensed a disturbance on the land, hence prompting me to assess the issue. What troubles you, young centaur? What brings you to my lake?"

Luo Binghe bashfully apologizes, heat rising up on his face. "Apologies, lake guardian Shen, I was just in the middle of my travels when I came across your lake by total coincidence, please believe me on this. As for what troubled me, I just felt a bit of annoyance since I cannot swim to get to the other side."

Shen Qingqiu tries to cover his chuckle with his hand. His long, sharp nails capable of effortlessly cutting the thickest vines fascinate Luo Binghe. "Ah, of course, this one forgets centaurs aren't exactly the best swimmers, do forgive me, I haven't interacted with one of your kind in a very long while. I could help you cross the lake with my magic if you wish."

Surprised at the sudden kind gesture, Luo Binghe readily accepts the lake guardian's proposition. Shen Qingqiu slightly frowns, "Young one, you shouldn't accept help that quickly. For all you know, this one could be planning to lead you to your untimely death by pulling you down and drowning you."

This time, it's Luo Binghe's turn to laugh. "An evil person wouldn't say that, besides, I have not much left to lose, for I am a lone centaur with no place to call home." He then remembers he hasn't introduced himself yet, "Where are my manners? Guardian Shen may call me Luo Binghe."

Shen Qingqiu briefly remains silent as if in careful thought. After a few seconds, he says, "You must be weary from your travels. There is a cove down that way. It could serve as temporary shelter from the elements if you need a place to rest."

Luo Binghe can't help but be moved at how generous Shen Qingqiu has been for the past few minutes he's gotten to know the lake guardian. He tells Shen Qingqiu to lead the way, marveling at how his long, jade colored tail shimmers, its scales bewitchingly reflecting the moonlight. This is Luo Binghe's first, and immediately the most memorable, encounter with a mermaid. Shen Qingqiu glides through the water elegantly, it takes Luo Binghe's breath away. He feels he could spend all day watching Shen Qinqgiu swim gracefully.

Within a few minutes, the pair arrive at the cove. Luo Binghe settles down and swiftly makes a fire and a makeshift bed out of leaves.

Shen Qingqiu tells him, "If you ever need my assistance, you may touch the water and call my name and I shall be with you shortly." The mermaid softly smiles, Luo Binghe could feel his heart go straight to his throat. "May you have sweet dreams, Luo Binghe."

Too engaged in steadying his traitorous heart, he replies to Shen Qingqiu with a fervent nod. In an instant, Shen Qingqiu dives down, and Luo Binghe is alone once more. He longingly clenches his chest.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay here for a while.

[foundtherightwords]

Irresistibly Contagious

Pairing: Arthur Havisham (Dickensian) x OFC (Elsie from "The Road Forgotten")

Summary: Arthur discovers the joy of Christmas with some help from Elsie and two unexpected guests.

A/N: This was written for the JQ Holiday Ficathon. Since Dickensianis a Christmas show, I've wanted to write a Christmas fic for Arthur for a while, but as I was in the middle of my longer WIP, I thought I wouldn't be able to finish it in time, but I did! It's technically a sequel to "The Road Forgotten", though you can more or less read it as a standalone.

And of course, I had to have some references to Dickens in here. The title is a quote from "A Christmas Carol" ("There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor.") The quote about family ("Not merely those with whom we share blood...") is a paraphrase from "Nicholas Nickleby".

Warnings: None! There are some very brief mentions of psychological trauma and infertility, but other than that, it's the fluffiest of fluff fics.

Word count: 7k

The village of Oakley lay at the foot of the Surrey Hills, a handful of cottages clustered together, overlooked by a church at one end and a manor house at the other, with a little thoroughfare called the High Street by its inhabitants with a touching, if slightly inflated, sense of pride. As it is usually the case with an English village, especially one of this size, everybody tends to know everybody's business. They take great satisfaction in it. When Mr. Babcock made his first visit to the doctor in twenty years, his illness was known around the village by lunchtime. When Mrs. Shackleton bought marmalade at the village shop, it meant her mother-in-law was visiting and she couldn't bring out her homemade preserves for fear of the old woman's reproach. When young Stanley Milford went to the West Indies for five years and came back with a native wife in tow, the story of exactly where and how he'd acquired her was quickly discovered and whispered over teapots and shop counters for days.

This is not to say that the people of Oakley are a censorious, meddlesome lot, far from it. They care for their neighbors. Thanks to them, Mr. Babcock's son was able to come back from Scotland and saw his father one last time before the old man passed away. Mr. Sidwell, the grocer, knew to keep a pot of marmalade on the side for Mrs. Shackleton whenever he saw her going to meet the stagecoach. And despite their initial wariness, they eventually made Mrs. Milford feel welcomed. No, the people of Oakley are good and kind. They simply think that lending one's neighbor a cup of sugar is an excellent opportunity to find out what they are having for pudding, that's all.

So when some people moved into the old Avery cottage on the edge of the village, they caused quite a ripple in the still pond of Oakley. The newcomers were a young couple, though they didn't have the bright, eager look of the newly married about to build a life together. They looked rather world-weary, like those who had been through a lot and only wanted to settle down to a quiet existence. That contradiction was enough to pique the village's curiosity.

The husband, a pale, boyish young man, was called Arthur. The villagers couldn't seem to find out what his christened name was. The wife, handsome rather than pretty, was Elizabeth, or Elsie, as her husband could be heard calling her. So they became known as the Arthurs. Supposedly they used to live in London and came to Surrey for Mr. Arthur's health. When the villagers heard of this, they nodded sagely, for Mr. Sidwell, whose son worked as a clerk in London, never missed an opportunity to regal his customers with tales of the horrors of the big city. Anyone who moved away from that den of vice and pollution was bound to have a lot of good senses.

But some uneasiness remained. Truth be told, the couple did nothing to disrupt the quiet life of the village. They kept to themselves, worked hard to turn the old dilapidated cottage into a cozy, homey place, and were affectionate with each other and cordial to their neighbors. Their biggest fault, however, was something the people of Oakley could not overlook: they did not celebrate Christmas.

For a small village, Oakley took Christmas very seriously. Every year, as December rolled around, the village positively dripped with evergreens, pine boughs and ivy vines and holly branches adorned every door and window, Mr. Sidwell's shelves burst with chocolate and oranges and other good food, people talked of little else but the Christmas feast that the Squire gave every year at the Assembly Hall, and children could be seen gawking at the toys on display in the window of the village shop or racing after the fattened geese as they marched through the village on their way to the Christmas Market in London.

Through it all, the old cottage at the edge of the village stood quiet and closed off. No wreaths decorated its front door, no cheerful carols came through the window, no enticing smell of roast goose or plum pudding rose from the chimney. The Arthurs, who went to church as regularly as the rest of the village, made no appearance at the Christmas service, bought no Christmas present or provision, and although the Squire extended to them an invitation to the feast on the very first Christmas since they arrived, every year they politely declined. There were always excuses. They had just moved in and couldn't prepare in time. Mr. Arthur wasn't feeling well enough. They were away visiting families (Mrs. Shackleton, whose house was closest to the old Avery place, went by to check that year, and indeed, they seemed to be away during the day but were certainly back in time for the feast that evening.)

Since the Arthurs seemed in every other way pleasant and humble, the villagers agreed that this was not a snub to the Squire or the village itself. The only reason they could think of was that the young couple, inexplicably, objected to the very idea of Christmas itself.

But the young couple didn't object to the idea of Christmas, or at least, only one of them did.

"I ran into Mrs. Shackleton at the shop today," Elsie told Arthur as they walked down the path that led from the woods behind their cottage to the back gate of Langton Asylum. This was a shortcut they had discovered shortly after moving to Oakley. It was a rather pretty walk in the spring and summer, through dells and glades filled with bluebells and other wildflowers, and shaved off nearly half a mile from the main road, for which Arthur was grateful. It had been nearly four years, but his bullet wound still troubled him sometimes.

And more importantly, the shortcut shielded them and their weekly visit to Elsie's sister, Marianne, from the prying eyes of the likes of Mrs. Shackleton. Arthur knew Elsie had worked hard to keep Marianne's existence a secret, not because she was ashamed in any way, but because she knew how the villagers would talk if they found out she had a sister in a lunatic asylum, and talk was something both Arthur and Elsie wished to avoid.

"What did she say?" Arthur groaned. He was more sensitive to gossip than Elsie, having been subjected to it most of his life, and had had to avoid even going out into the garden for the past few days for fear of being accosted by Mrs. Shackleton. He had a very good guess as to what that good lady had to say.

"Oh, she asked what I was going to wear to the Christmas feast." Elsie glanced at him questioningly, and Arthur braced himself for the inevitable. "I told her I haven't decided yet," Elsie continued. "Are we going?"

Arthur sighed. "Elsie, you know I don't want to."

"I know." Elsie tucked her arm through his. "Only this would be the fourth year in a row, and I do believe Mrs. Shackleton would come to our door to personally drag us to the feast if we decline again. We may need a plan of escape."

Arthur smiled but felt no amusement. When they first came to Oakley, he had been recovering from his injury, and with the roof leaking everywhere and the rest of the cottage barely fit to be inhabited, Elsie had gone along with his decision to not join the Christmas feast. But when he had declined again the year after that and showed no wish to celebrate Christmas at home either, Elsie had been at first surprised, then indignant, and then, when Arthur had refused to explain it, she had dropped the question, but it became a sore subject for them ever since.

From her gentle teasing, Arthur knew Elsie was trying to make light of the matter. He also knew he was being selfish, and unfair to her.

"You can go, if you wish," he told her.

"I'm not going alone. How would that look?" Elsie replied, aghast. She peered at him, her green eyes slightly hurt but still full of sympathy, trying to understand. "What is it, Arthur? Why don't you like Christmas?"

"I have nothing against Christmas," Arthur said with a scowl. "I simply think it's silly to spend money on a tree that you're going to throw away and overpriced gifts!"

"What about love, compassion, good cheers, and all that?"

"Those are just pretty words, made up to sell chocolate and sugar biscuits."

Elsie stopped in her tracks, her arm slipping out of his. "You sound like a bitter old man. What about family?"

"Family?!" Arthur exploded. "What family? Our parents are gone, your sister is in an asylum, and mine has locked herself away in a crumbling old house. What sort of family do you call that?"

As soon as those words were out of his mouth, he realized how horrible and hateful they were. He could only watch helplessly as Elsie reared back, looking like he'd just struck her across the face.

"Elsie, I—I'm sorry—" he said, reaching for her hand.

Elsie stood still, not moving away from him, but not responding to his touch either. "Aren't we a family?" she said with a quietness that hurt him a thousand times more than her rage. "Or am I not enough for you?"

Arthur silently cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? When they had first become intimate, Elsie had told him of an accident during her years of working at a bawdyhouse, which had left her unable to bear a child. Although Arthur had reassured her again and again that it made no difference to him, he knew she still keenly felt the pain, the void. And here he was, reminding her of that void all over again.

"We are," he said, drawing her into an embrace. "And you are. More than enough." He kissed her to show her how much he meant it. 

Elsie's stiff back slowly relaxed under his hands. Encouraged by her response, he took a deep breath and revealed the painful truth. "I know this doesn't excuse what I said, but the last Christmas I had with my sister—with Amelia—that was right after our father died. The beginning of the end. Compeyson had wormed his way into that party, tainting its memory. From then on, I could never celebrate Christmas without feeling like I was making a mockery out of everything."

Elsie's eyes softened. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Arthur shook his head miserably. "I didn't want you to think Compeyson still had any influence on our lives." Damn Compeyson. Damn him to Hell. Arthur could never utter that name without tasting bile in the back of his throat. It seemed they could never be rid of that fiend.

"But he's in prison," Elsie reminded him. She cradled his face between her palms, her touch both fierce and comforting. "If we avoid mentioning him, we will always have to live in fear of him. He is gone, Arthur. And we must continue with our lives."

Arthur nodded, wishing he had her conviction. They went on their way, Arthur slipping his arm around Elsie's waist to hold her close. From time to time, he caught her looking at him with a thoughtful expression, but she said nothing.

By the time they arrived at Langton and an orderly had brought Marianne out, Elsie seemed to have forgotten the fight, turning her focus on her sister. They gave Marianne a bag of oranges and some chocolate—though they didn't celebrate Christmas, they always brought little gifts for her. Marianne exclaimed over them with the delight of a child, which she was, still, mentally and emotionally. Elsie stood a little further back, watching, as was her habit—Marianne had improved a great deal over the years, but she was still in danger of a relapse if she was reminded of the past, and sadly, that included Elsie. The look on Elsie's face, half of love, half of fear, whenever she turned to her sister, put a twinge in Arthur's heart. A visit to Marianne was always bittersweet for Elsie, and he wanted to kick himself for piling on her pain with that pointless fight.

While they sat with Marianne outside—it was cold, but the snow was yet to arrive, and the garden gave them a reprise from the constant moans and screams of the asylum—Arthur saw, curiously, two children running around, a girl of about seven or eight and the boy of three or four. They didn't make a lot of noise, but their lively movements and quiet giggles struck an incongruous note amongst the sedate inmates of Langton. This was no workhouse, so where had these children come from? Were they with a visitor?

Arthur soon had his answer. A woman, dazed and frail-looking, was led into the garden by an orderly, and the children ran up to her—or rather, only the little boy ran to her, showing her all sorts of things he'd found, from a pretty pebble to a piece of string. Meanwhile, his older sister stood back, looking at the woman with the same exact expression that Elsie had whenever she looked at Marianne. It was painful to see such a grown-up look on a child's face. The woman didn't respond to the boy. She didn't even seem aware of either child.

Marianne gave the children some chocolate, which they took gratefully. The little boy clearly wanted more, and Marianne offered him the rest of the bag, but his older sister held his hand back. "That's enough, Simon," she said sternly. "Remember what Mama says. You mustn't be greedy. Save some for Marianne."

Elsie and Arthur smiled at her bossy tone, though Arthur felt an echo of guilt in his heart, faint but never faded, like an old scar. Those children reminded him of another girl and another little boy, running around Satis House a long, long time ago. He hadn't heard any news of Amelia in nearly two years, since their lawyer, Jaggers, informed them that Amelia had adopted a little girl, whom she named Estella. Arthur hoped that Estella could bring his sister, if not happiness, then at least some comfort.

Later, as they took their leave, little Simon ran up to Elsie and shyly presented her with a branch of holly, its red berries shining like rubies amongst the shiny green leaves.

"Why, thank you," Elsie said, sticking the holly to the brim of her bonnet. "Do I look ready for the Christmas pageant now?"

The boy only smiled at her. Arthur wondered if he could talk at all.

A voice called behind them, "Simon! Betsy! Stop bothering the visitors and go inside now, it's time for your tea." They turned around to find Mrs. Gordon, the matron, striding toward them. The children took off running.

"Is the asylum now taking on the children of patients as well, Mrs. Gordon?" Elsie asked, after they had exchanged greetings.

Mrs. Gordon shook her head with a sigh. "No, these are special circumstances." She dropped her voice. "Their father was killed in a mine collapse right after Simon was born. The shock was too much for their mother." She indicated the frail woman, who was still walking around the garden in short, jerky steps, leaning on the orderly's arms. "She can no longer take care of them. A benefactress has arranged for her to come here and the children to be put into an orphanage, but it is too close to Christmas, the orphanage cannot take them yet. I'm letting them stay with me in the meantime, but you both know that this is no place for children—"

As if to prove her words, a long, mournful wail sounded from somewhere in the depths of the building. A moment later, the children came running out again, their faces pale.

"Mrs. Gordon," said the girl, Betsy. "Daisy did it again. She called Simon her son and grabbed at him." Simon clung to the matron's skirt, his sleeve hiked up to reveal a reddened wrist.

Mrs. Gordon gave Elsie and Arthur a long-suffering look. "All right, dearies," she said, absently patting Simon's head. "You stay here and have tea with me."

"Which orphanage, do you know?" Arthur asked her in a low voice, so the children wouldn't hear.

"I don't know. I only know it's in London. It's been all arranged."

Arthur fell quiet. During his time in London, he'd seen enough of those orphanages and workhouses, like the one ran by the Bumbles, not far from where he used to live, to know what their conditions were like. He looked down and saw little Simon's brown eyes staring up at him. He tried to remember if he'd ever looked like that once, so trusting and full of hope. He must have.

"Arthur, can I have a word with you in private, please?" Elsie said, drawing him away.

Arthur knew what she had in mind even before she could open her mouth. He could see his own thoughts reflected on her face. "Elsie, no."

"I haven't said anything yet!"

"I know what you were going to say. We can't."

"It's only for Christmas!"

"Let Mrs. Gordon take care of them."

"She has her hands full with all the patients. And you see it yourself, it's not safe for them."

"We don't have the space."

"There's the spare room."

"They're children, not some stray dogs or cats we pick up from the street—"

"Exactly." Elsie looked straight at him. "They're children, Arthur. And they have no one. Just like us."

"We have each other."

"We found each other. And now they've found us."

She took his hand and laced her fingers through his. When she held his hand like that and looked at him with those green eyes, so bright and beseeching, he would've given her the world. He relented. "Well, if you can convince them—"

A quick smile lit up Elsie's face. "Mrs. Gordon," she said. "Would you trust the care of these children to us? They can stay with us during Christmas, and once the—once they are ready to leave, we shall deliver them back to you."

"Could you?" Mrs. Gordon said in relief. "That would be a great weight off my shoulders. We're always short-staffed around the holidays, I can't spare anyone to watch them too."

Elsie turned to the children and asked, "How would you like to stay with us for a few days? We live in a cottage not far from here."

Simon let go of Mrs. Gordon and tugged at Elsie's sleeve, pointing to her reticule, where she'd kept the chocolate. Elsie laughed. "No more chocolate for you, young sir," she said, "though you can have cake for tea if you want."

That seemed good enough for the boy, but his sister was more circumspect. Her eyes, of a darker brown than her brother's, regarded Arthur and Elsie with suspicion.

"You told us we can stay with Mama until after Christmas," she said to Mrs. Gordon, accusingly.

Mrs. Gordon cleared her throat, uncomfortable. Elsie crouched down until her face was level with the girl's. "You are Betsy, aren't you?" she said.

"My name is Elizabeth," the girl said, lifting her chin, "but Mama calls me Betsy."

"That's my name too, except I'm called Elsie. This is Arthur. And I believe you know my sister, Marianne." The girl nodded, still full of wariness. "Now, I promise you, Betsy, that you and your brother can come visit your mama any time you want. And if you don't like staying with us, we'll bring you back here to Mrs. Gordon right away. Do we have an agreement?"

She extended a hand. After a moment's hesitation, Betsy placed her own small hand in Elsie's, and they shook.

Soon, Arthur and Elsie were leading the children down the path back to Oakley, Arthur carrying the two small valises containing their things. Elise took Simon's hand, but Betsy stood at the start of the path with her arms crossed, refusing to move.

"Why are we going through the woods?" she asked.

"It's a shortcut," replied Elsie.

"A shortcut?" Doubt flitted across the girl's face. "I don't believe you. Is it some sort of trick?"

"It's not a trick, Betsy," Elsie said, her eyes twinkling. "We live in a cottage made out of gingerbread, and this is the only way to get to it."

Simon's jaw dropped. Betsy rolled her eyes with all the exasperation and contempt of a big sister, which Arthur instantly recognized from his childhood memories of Amelia. Elsie must have recognized it in herself as well, for she turned away to hide a grin.

"There is no such thing as a gingerbread cottage, Simon," Betsy said. "It's only a story."

Arthur was close to leaving the girl in the woods at this point, but Elsie's patience knew no bounds. She simply said, "Well, why don't you come along and find out then?" and went on her way.

Betsy scowled, but eventually, she followed them, running ahead to take Simon's other hand, not wanting Elsie to command his entire attention.

Back at the cottage, while Elsie busied herself making up the bed in the spare room, Arthur stirred up the fire in the kitchen and put the kettle on. He brought out the seed cake Elsie had baked the previous day, which went a long way toward lessening little Simon's disappointment that the cottage was not made out of gingerbread. The cake even managed to smooth out some of the furrow between Betsy's eyes as well.

"You don't have any Christmas decorations," the girl pointed out.

"Oh, we don't—" Arthur began, but he didn't have a chance to finish, for Elsie had appeared in the doorway and smoothly interjected.

"We don't have time to put them up yet," she said. "Do you want to help?"

The children's eyes both lit up eagerly.

"Then eat up and have a good night's sleep," Elsie continued, "and we'll start early tomorrow, shall we?"

As the children stuffed themselves on the cake and scones and preserves, Arthur went into the spare room on the pretext of helping Elsie. He grumbled, "I know what you're trying to do."

"I'm not trying anything," she said evenly, spreading a quilt on the little bed. "I only see some poor, lost children, and I'm doing my best to give them a happy Christmas. You don't have to be such a grouch about it."

Arthur didn't ask if she was including him as one of those poor, lost children as well.

***

The next morning, Arthur was awakened by Simon's excited scream—the snow had finally arrived, and the cottage and the garden were covered in a white blanket, as though a giant baker had passed by during the night and given everything a dusting of icing sugar. Arthur grudgingly admitted to himself that it was the perfect Christmas scene.

After breakfast, Elsie took her old coat off the peg by the kitchen door and turned to the children. "Which one of you would like to go with me and pick out a tree?"

Simon jumped up, waving his arm.

"And where are you going to find this tree?" Arthur asked.

"In the woods," said Elsie. She went out the back door and picked up the axe lying by their wood pile.

The thought of her trampling through the cold and the snow while he sat at home with his feet by the fire was more than Arthur could bear. He snatched the axe out of her hands. "You'll do no such thing. I'll go."

"But—your wound—in this cold—"

"I was shot through the collarbone, not my lungs. I'll be fine."

A small smile played around Elsie's lips as she watched Arthur shrug on his coat, while she buttoned little Simon into his jacket. She then wrapped a scarf around Arthur's neck and tucked the ends into his coat.

"Find us a pretty tree, won't you, my dear?" she said, giving him a peck on the lips.

"You'll find that my taste in Christmas trees is impeccable. And don't call me 'my dear'," Arthur said, trying to scowl and failing utterly. "You sounded like that old crook Fagin."

They set out into that world of white, Arthur slowing his stride to match Simon's short one. The boy said nothing. The silence between them was peaceful, not uncomfortable, broken only by the crunch of the snow under their feet and Simon's occasional tuneless but contented humming. Arthur was thankful for that, for he had no idea what to say to Simon. He didn't have Elsie's easy way with children, and there was no one he could have looked to as a model. His father had been both harsh and distant; Arthur's only memories of him were of his many reproaches and punishments.

They managed to find a little fir tree of just the right size in the woods behind the cottage. "What do you think?" Arthur asked. "Is that pretty enough for Elsie?"

Simon nodded, his eyes shining.

They dragged the tree back to the cottage and set it up by the fireplace in the parlor. Bare as it was, it already gave the room a Christmassy look. Elsie was in the kitchen, rolling out gingerbread dough and cutting it with a knife under Betsy's critical eye.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, hanging up his and Simon's coats.

"Making gingerbread biscuits. We can hang them up on the trees, and eat them afterwards."

"What's that supposed to be?" He glanced at the shape Elsie was cutting.

"A bird," Elsie said, sounding peeved. "Isn't it obvious?"

"You don't say. I would think it's a mushroom."

Betsy hid her giggle behind her hand. Elsie glared at Arthur. "All right, so I might have skipped a drawing lesson or two in school. I'd like to see you try!"

Arthur was not artistic, but at least he'd had a few more drawing lessons than Elsie. While he cut the dough into birds, houses, stars, and men, Elsie taught the children to make garlands out of dried apple slices and stick cloves into fresh oranges to make pretty patterns. Soon, the gingerbread was in the oven, and the warm, spicy fragrance of ginger and cloves were added to the sweet smell of the fruits. Arthur shared the offcuts with the children, and when Elsie chided him for setting a bad example by eating raw dough, he only winked at them and popped another piece into his mouth.

Since that morning, Arthur had existed in a state of fearful anticipation. After Elsie had told him she was determined to have a Christmas celebration for the children whether he wanted to or not, he had been waiting for something to go wrong, for the old feeling of dread and guilt to come creeping back like a thief in the night. But it never came. It helped that Elsie kept him busy so he had no time to think about the past, and what they were doing was so different from what he was used to. He didn't remember much of his childhood Christmases, and after he came of age, Christmas had always been a day of gaming and whoring and drinking, until, inebriated, he would crawl back to Satis House in time to make an appearance at the Christmas ball and be reminded of what a disgrace he was to the Havisham name.

There was none of that in their little cottage. No scandalized whispers behind gloved hands, no cold looks of disapproval and disappointment, no harsh words of reprimand. There was only the soft swishing of Elsie's skirt as she moved from the table to the oven, the sound of her humming while she bent over a task, and the children's laughs. The sole note of discord was when Betsy told Simon he had put too many cloves into his orange and it looked like a hedgehog, and Simon stuck his tongue out at her, and even then, their argument felt tranquil, comforting in its triviality. The knot in Arthur's stomach slowly loosened, to be replaced by a little warmth. How much of that was due to Elsie's gingerbread and how much was due to her presence, he couldn't say.  

After the gingerbread had finished baking and cooled, Elsie iced them with sugar, put a piece of red ribbon through each, and together, they hung the shapes on the tree—Arthur managing to sneak a few more bites—and wound the garland of dried apple slices around it. Arthur draped some ivy on the mantelpiece. Elsie placed the clove-studded oranges amongst the green leaves, and they all stepped back to admire the effect.

"Well, Betsy?" Elsie asked. "What do you think of our Christmas decorations?"

"'s nice," Betsy said, discerning as ever. "But the top of the tree is missing." She turned and ran into the spare room.

Arthur and Elsie exchanged puzzled looks, but they soon had their answer, for Betsy returned presently, bearing an angel with a wooden head and a skirt and wings made out of gold foil.

"How pretty!" Elsie cried. "Where did it come from?"

"Papa and I made it," Betsy said, cradling the angel in her hands like a precious treasure. "He painted the face and cut out her wings and I made her skirt. He said for Simon's first Christmas, he would let Simon put her on top of the tree, but..." She sniffed and wiped furiously at her nose. "He never got to. And we never had a tree again."

Elsie looked close to tears herself. She reached out a hesitant hand, and when Betsy didn't move away, gave the girl's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Oh, sweetheart..."

Betsy said nothing, just stood with her head bent over the angel, and kept sniffling.

"Well, we have a tree now," Arthur said, "and we can certainly have Simon put the angel on top of it, can't we?"

He held out a handkerchief to Betsy. She obediently blew her nose and gave him a tentative smile. Arthur couldn't help smiling back. "Where's Simon?" he asked.

"He's probably cleaning up the last of the gingerbread," Elsie said, stepping into the kitchen. "I'll bring him."

She returned a mere moment later, eyes wide. "I can't find him."

"He must be around here somewhere," said Arthur.

"I was just in the bedroom, he wasn't there," Betsy reminded them.

Elsie ran to their own bedroom and quickly came back, shaking her head. Arthur's stomach dropped. The cottage was tiny—only the parlor, the kitchen, and the two bedrooms. There was nowhere to hide. And if Simon had gone outside, surely they would've seen him, wouldn't they? Unless he'd used the backdoor...

"Simon!" he called. "Where are you?"

"If you're hiding, it's not funny!" Betsy chimed in.

Elsie wasted no time. She went through all the rooms, opened every cupboard, and looked under every piece of furniture. When this yielded no sign of the boy, she threw on a coat and went outside. Arthur and Betsy followed her.

The snow, which had stopped while Arthur and Simon had been in the woods, was coming back, a spinning, churning curtain of white. Usually, such a scene would compel Arthur to stop whatever he was doing and marvel at the beauty of nature, but now, all he could think was how this fresh snow had covered up any footsteps Simon might have left. They spread out around the garden, calling for the boy, their voices sounding thin and reedy, muffled by the snow.

"Simon!"

"You don't—you don't think he's gone into the woods, do you?" Elsie said to Arthur, her lips trembling slightly.

"No," Arthur replied with a conviction he did not feel, trying to reassure her. "It's dark and frightening. Why would he go there?" All the while, he kept thinking that everything had gone wrong again. There may be no Compeyson darkening their doorstep, but this could be worse, much worse.

"Simon!"

They were in the back garden now. The woods, which had looked so lovely and inviting that morning when they went in to cut the tree, now stretched out cold and forbidding in the gathering gloom. If Simon had indeed wandered in there, how could they ever hope to find the boy with the snow coming down thicker and faster every minute? Arthur peered into the snow-covered grove, trying in vain to spot something that didn't belong. He realized he didn't even know what Simon was wearing. Why hadn't he kept a closer eye on the boy? How long had he been gone? How long could a little boy like that survive in the woods? Some guardian he was...

"Simon!"

"We can't go into the woods by ourselves," Elsie said, trembling either from the cold or fear. "We have to alert the neighbors, rouse a search party—"

"Miss-toe," said a voice from above, interrupting her.

They all looked up. The old apple tree was spreading its limbs over their heads, and there, perched on one of the topmost branches, was Simon. He was reaching for a clump of mistletoe at the very end of the branch, a defiant spot of bright green on the gray bare tree, the pearl-like berries gleaming here and there amongst the leaves.

"Miss-toe," Simon said again.

"Oh my goodness!" Elsie cried, arms outstretched even though Simon was far out of her reach. "Simon, sweetheart, don't move! Arthur, get the ladder!"

The ladder was already there, leaning against the tree—it must have been how Simon had managed to get on the tree in the first place. Arthur quickly climbed up and grabbed Simon, holding the boy tight to his chest for a moment, breathing in the warm gingerbread smell from his hair, feeling weak with relief. Then, carefully tucking the boy against him, he made his way down the ladder again.

The moment Arthur and Simon were back on the ground, Betsy was upon Simon, shaking him. "You idiot!" she screamed. "Didn't you hear us shouting for you?"

Elsie came to Simon's rescue, sweeping both him and Betsy into her arms in a tight hug. "Hush, Betsy," she said. "Everything's all right now."

Betsy buried her face in Elsie's shoulder, her rage quieting down into relieved sobs. Arthur knelt down and found himself enveloped in the hug as well.

Simon, oblivious to all the alarm and fear he'd caused, leaned out of Elsie's arm to point at the mistletoe again. "Now kiss," he commanded.

Elsie laughed. "You're a slyboots, aren't you?" She obliged anyway, and then, because they were all under the mistletoe, Betsy and Arthur each got a kiss as well. They sat there for a while, holding each other. The snow, big, ponderous flakes that did not so much fall as swirl majestically through the air, kept landing on their head, brushing their cheeks and their eyelashes with icy kisses, but Arthur hardly felt the cold. The warmth inside him grew, slowly but steadily, like the first spark of a fire.

***

Arthur put his gifts under the tree, a book of poetry and a little brooch for Elsie. Other gifts were already there, a silk cravat he'd seen Elsie working on for some time, a little hair bow, and a box of wooden blocks carefully sanded smooth and painted with colorful letters, things she must have made the previous night, after they'd decided to have the children stay with them. That was Elsie all over, always thinking of others, always taking care of everyone.

Looking over their parlor, he could hardly recognize it from the little room he was used to. It had always been cozy, if a little cluttered, but now, with the Christmas tree, completed with its gleaming candles and the angel on top—Arthur had lifted Simon up so he could put it in place—by the side of the fireplace, providing a spot of light and glitter, and the branches of holly and ivy draped on the mantelpiece and wound around the windows, it looked... festive. Cheerful. They hadn't discussed attending the village Christmas feast yet, but Arthur felt he could face it now, and perhaps even enjoy it as well.

In the spare room, Elsie was putting Betsy and Simon to bed. Arthur came to stand at the doorway and watched while she plumped their pillows and tucked the quilt more closely around them, murmuring some gentleness. Simon, tired after a day of excitement and his adventure with the mistletoe, fell asleep right away, but Betsy was still awake. She said, in a small voice, "Elsie?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Are we going to see Mama tomorrow?"

"Of course. You and Simon have to give her your presents, don't you?" That evening, Elsie had helped Betsy bake a little cake, and Arthur had managed to cut down some of the mistletoe after all, so Simon could wrap a bunch of it in a red ribbon as his present.

"And—and—are we—"

"What is it, Betsy?"

It came out in a rush. "Are we to stay with Mrs. Gordon until she takes us to the orphanage? Or can we stay with you?"

Elsie hesitated. "You can stay with us as long as you like," eventually she said.

"They're going to separate us in the orphanage, you know," Betsy said, as Elsie was getting to her feet.

Elsie froze. "Where did you hear that?" she asked.

Betsy shrugged. "Everybody knows they keep boys and girls separate there," she said with an air of resignation that seemed much older than her eight years. "But how'd Simon get on without me? He doesn't talk much. They'll think he's strange. And what if he wets the bed? He still does." She added, with loyalty, "Only sometimes though."

Elsie turned around and met Arthur's eyes. On her face, he saw reflected the agony in his heart. Then she turned back to Betsy and tried to put on a cheerful voice. "Come, let's don't worry about that tonight, shall we?" she said. "Now go to sleep, or you won't get your gifts in the morning."

Only after she'd closed the door to the spare room that Elsie fell into Arthur's arms and allowed her tears to flow. He held her close, rocking her against his shoulder. "Don't cry," he said softly. "You're doing a wonderful thing for those children."

"But is it enough?"

Arthur thought of how Simon had looked at him when Mrs. Gordon mentioned the orphanage, and how the boy's eyes had shone when they found the tree, when he found the mistletoe. He thought of how the four of them had held on to each other in the snow. They had felt like a family. He hadn't felt that sense of belonging in a long time, had never felt it until he met Elsie. Perhaps this is what family is. Not merely those with whom we share blood, but those for whom we would give our blood as well. The warmth inside him grew into a flame, bright and glowing, and with it, a decision formed in his mind.

"We could do more," he told Elsie. "We could keep them here, with us. We could take care of them, and have them close to their mother."

Elsie lifted her tear-stained face to look at him, understanding dawning, mingled with disbelief and trepidation.

"Could we?" she said.

"I'm sure it can be arranged. I shall ask Jaggers. He's arranged for Amelia to adopt Estella."

"No, I didn't mean the legality of it. I mean—could we take care of them?"

"We have been taking care of them."

"It's been only one day, and Simon almost broke his neck."

"He didn't, did he?"

Elsie still seemed unconvinced. "But could we do this for years and years and years?"

Arthur looked into her eyes and entwined their fingers together, finding his strength from their touches, their connection, as always.

"We can," he said simply, but that was enough for her.

"If you'd promise not to eat any more raw biscuit dough," she said.

"If it's as good as your gingerbread?" Arthur said in mock consternation. "I can't possibly stay away!"

They both laughed then, and Arthur leaned in to give Elsie a kiss, a long, lingering one that was an apology, an expression of gratitude, and a promise, all wrapped up into one. There was no mistletoe above them—they'd decided to leave the rest of it on the apple tree, for next year—but Arthur didn't need the mistletoe as an excuse to kiss Elsie.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Bradford," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Havisham," she said, kissing him back.

***

The next day, the villagers of Oakley got the shock of their lives when the Arthurs arrived in church just in time for Christmas service, bringing with them two little children, smiling shyly at their neighbors as they slipped into a pew. Gone was the weary, wary look on the young couple's faces, and as they looked at each other and at the children, whose hands they were holding, their eyes shone with such hope that the villagers felt this was a more eloquent picture of the Christmas spirit than all the decorations and gifts and feasts in the world.

Of course, Mrs. Shackleton took all the credit for herself, claiming she had finally convinced the couple down with her neighborly solicitude and persuasion. The rest of the villagers, on the other hand, simply chalked it up to a Christmas miracle.

THE END

[wildflower-otome]

[Translation] Shuuen no Virche - Scien Brofiise Short Story

Writer: Satomi Nakayama Source: Shuuen no Virche Error Salvation Visual Fan Book

Sureau ~Zeal • Joy • Pity~

A few days after being commanded by Scien to become his “errand person.”

Today as well, I was worrying over how to refuse that order while continuing to help him out.

‘-Pardon me.’

I entered the private research room.

-There was no response. However, that did not necessarily mean no one was there---.

‘…………’

Today too, the owner of the room, Scien, hadn’t noticed my arrival, and was completely absorbed in his research.

I entered slowly, so as not to disturb him---. Moving so as not to topple the books and experiment equipment scattered around the room…..

I tried observing Scien, to see how he was.

He wasn’t shoving his hand into the basket looking for bread. To begin with, it was still too early for lunch. In other words, at the very least, he wasn’t hungry. …..However, instead, there were dark circles beneath his eyes.

(…..I think he said this was his seventh all-nighter in a row.)

The circles were dark enough to make me worry just looking at them.

All the same, it wasn’t likely he would listen to me even if I were to tell him to “Please rest”…..

(…..That’s it.)

Having come up with an idea, I left the room and went to boil water in the small kitchen that Dahut often used---. I tried making tea with “certain tea leaves” that I had brought in a basket.

Returning to the room with the pot, after I had judged it had steeped sufficiently, I tried pouring tea that had become a beautiful colour into the cup I had brought.

---In that instant. A pleasant fragrance spread out through the research room.

‘…..I thought I heard someone, so it was you. What do you plan on handing to me next after the sandwiches?’

As if responding to the fragrance, Scien’s gaze went in my direction.

‘Sorry for bothering you. Truth is, I received flower tea leaves from Yves yesterday, so I tried making some tea…..’

‘Throw that away, right now.’

‘I-I don’t think they’re leaves Yves gathered himself. Last night while I was practicing making tea, Mam and I tried drinking some.’

‘In that case it’s fine, but you sure like doing odd things. Even without going to the effort of practicing, all tea is the same.’

‘They were gifted to me, so I wanted to make good use of them. …..And also, according to Yves, this tea is effective for whenever you want to relax or sleep comfortably, so…..’

‘So?’

‘So, thinking they might be of help to you, to recover from your fatigue---I brought them with me.’

‘Huh. What a considerate little miss you are.’

Speaking as if he could care less, Scien glanced at the tea, seemingly without much interest.

‘As I thought, you’re not interested in things like these, Scien?’

‘I don’t deny the benefits contained in plants in and of themselves. If it’s in front of me, I’ll drink it.’

To begin with, just think about it, Scien continued.

‘If it’s just to slake my thirst, I only drink nutritional tonics and water that happen to be around. The reason I bother to drink the tea leaves that Dahut brings when he’s being meddlesome is because I accept its effectiveness to a certain extent. ---Tea has the effect of increasing one’s concentration, after all.’

‘That’s true….. If you really thought they were useless, there’s no doubt you’d think even the time taken to boil the water was a waste.’

‘Exactly right. Well, even if I don’t sleep for long, my cognitive ability rarely deteriorates. I haven’t often really felt its effect in truth.’

‘…..In that case, perhaps this tea was unnecessary as well?’

‘I told you just now, didn’t I? If it’s there, I’ll drink it.’

Scien stretched out his hand towards the white tea cup, and took a single sip of tea.

‘How is it?’

‘It doesn’t have the taste of something that could kill a person.’

It appeared he was still wary.

As Scien continued to drink the tea, I quietly went on with my remaining duties.

…..Truth be told.

I wanted to talk much, much more to Scien about the deliciousness of the tea, but held back as I’d end up being a bother.

From then it took about an hour. As he poured another cup of tea, while I spent my time gathering up the jig-saw puzzle pieces scattered about the room---

‘…..For now, how about this. I’ll take a 20 minute nap.’

Having come to a pause, Scien looked up. Instantaneously, I moved the mountain of books that had been placed on the sofa.

‘Please come this way. I’ll wake you up in 18 minutes.’

‘Very well. …..Hm?’

Having taken off his white lab coat, the moment Scien looked at the sofa he frowned.

‘What happened to the pillow I had here?’

‘Ah, the truth is….. Some chemicals had gotten on it, so I consulted Dahut on how to wash it….. and he took it away saying, “Please leave it to me…..”’

‘…..That Dahut, doing something so unnecessary-‘

As he sighed, saying it couldn’t be helped-

‘Sit.’

‘…..Huh?’

‘I’m telling you to sit at the end there.’

‘U-Um…..’

Unable to ascertain what Scien meant by saying this, once I had gingerly sat down on the sofa---

‘…………’

Scien had lain down in the empty space right after and placed his head on my lap.

---I was being used as a so-called lap pillow.

‘…..!?’

I let out a wordless sound at this sudden turn of events.

‘S-Scien…..!?’

‘Starting now, for 20 minutes…..no, for 18 minutes, you’ll be my pillow. No objections allowed.’

‘N-No way…..Won’t my lap be more uncomfortable---'

‘It’ll be better than having nothing.’

After speaking plainly, Scien closed his eyelids. …..His surprisingly long eyelashes quivered with drowsiness.

‘You’re the one who made the tea and put me into “sleep mode.” Take responsibility and be my obedient pillow.’

Just like that, not giving me the time to refuse---

‘…………’

In the space of a few seconds, Scien had completely fallen asleep.

(Wh-What should I do…..)

My whole body was stiff with nervousness. Rather, right now for my own sake…..

(I want to drink some tea to relax…..)

Fervently continuing to make that wish, I waited for the 18 minutes to pass with my whole heart.

[piper-moroz]

( zoe kravitz / 33 / she/her ) wait, is that PIPER ALAYRA-MOROZ in the EMERALD LODGE again? i heard through a grapevine, that the LIGHT leaning fae has been in town for ALL HER LIFE, and currently works as THE HOTEL CONCIERGE. some say she can be MEDDLESOME and DIRECT, but i thought she was actually GOOD-NATURED and SOCIABLE. 

A B O U T

FULL NAME: Piper Alayra-Moroz. OCCUPATION: concierge at Emerald Lodge. AGE: physically 33 | ethereally it's anyone's best guess at this point. PRONOUNS: she/her. HAIR: black | often in worn in box braids or slicked into a bun or braid. EYES: brown. HEIGHT: 5ft 2inch. SPECIES: fire high fae (light) | 'THE STAR'. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single. SEXUALITY: put simply, pansexual.

P E R S O N A L I T Y 

COQUETTISH. Hearts are such a wonder of beauty; it's only natural she'd want to push the right buttons and dance with the light she's created in yours. DIRECT. She speaks the truth and speaks it clear. To be eloquent is also to speak with purpose, and goodness does she. But no, she doesn't always know how to read the room. GOOD NATURED. Despite how forward some of her comments might be, or how abrasive an intrusive thought might be when thrown in the middle of conversation, her warm intentions are always felt. She's quick to trust and quicker to tuck into your pocket without you realising she's gone and warmed her way into a permanent tenancy in your thoughts. MEDDLESOME. In the best ways! Of course she can do that little favour for you! It's harmless, and gentle, and loving... right? Wait... what do you mean the consequences are dire? What do you mean your intentions weren't pure? ROMANTIC. Is there any greater source of light than to give love, and be loved in return? SOCIABLE. She's the beacon of the room partly because she's so damn likeable, and partly because she can't control the way she shines. Careful now - lights are pretty, but they can be blinding too.

B I O G R A P H Y

"She is one in a million." No one quite believed her parents in the years that waited — the ones that took their time to draw a darkness around good faith. Darkness that threatened to snuff light with an unquenchable thirst. Darkness that threatened a marriage, an oath, and an entire line of ancestry. Until there was light. Blazing, furious, beautiful light that consumed and devoured the very soul she offered forward. Light that was destined to be her one, true source. Eternal truth. - Piper has lived in Westray all her life, including the years she stopped counting. She still has a connection to her parents, though they suffocate her brilliance when she's around them. She sees through them — where they masquerade in loyalty and warmth, Piper can sense the pride they feel isn't for the girl herself. But for the title and regency she bears. So she yearns to collect light the way it had collected her — to be nearest to those that shine the brightest. She is good to her very core, helping guests of the hotel find things to do, people to meet, and places to see. It's not her fault that she usually ends up alongside them... even though she's not exactly invited. Subconsciously, it's because she keeps them clear of troubled shadows that go bump in the night, and the songs of creatures that call to prey. And yet, there's a selfish lustre that craves to prey on those plagued by darkness. THE STAR is an uncontrollable force pleading to both be contained and set free. Pleading to do greater things; to protect, and when it cannot — to burn. She is one in a million. Folklore warns of dancing with devils, but it doesn't warn of the dangers amongst the stars.

W A N T E D

THE KING (character skeleton) – Fallen, like no other, he seeks revenge. Revenge on his younger brother, who was never meant to be the ruler of the merfolk. They need something special, something enlightening – an alliance, between the two most powerful species he thinks there are. And you are his sought out diamond – he proposes a marriage, to your parents. Of atlantian blood, he is. And that, your parents deem more than amazing. HER PARENTS - It's a complicated relationship between them. She loves them because they are hers, and she owes her life to them, but she loathes them for choosing to truly believe in her only after THE STAR had graced their ancestry again. ENEMIES - She's good. Good good good. So very good. Until the bubble bursts. Is that a burn on your arm? Surely wasn't Piper's fault now, was it? THE BAD INFLUENCE - Let her live a life other than her own. Let her escape in your world. Let her help you, no matter your intentions. FLINGS - Is it love? Is it lust? Is it a selfish craving in her pursuit of light? EXES - She's deluded, of course, by the romantic supercut that exists in her mind of the relationship. And of you. Were you her first love? Or just a traveller that couldn't handle the light. SHINE A LITTLE LIGHT - Characters that have lost their way, look to the northern star; it's in her nature to help, whether the problem is insurmountable or material.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Soul Traitor

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence

Status: In-progress (5/?)

Tags: Reincarnation | Soulmates | Soulmarks | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Past Lives Death Scenes | Betrayals | Misunderstandings | Angst with a Happy Ending | Arkenstone - Freeform | Goldsickness

Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin VI, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former love will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin Oakenshield, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse but for the Arkenstone that was stolen so many years ago. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a hobbit translator for their quest. Yet, this hobbit may be the key to uncovering more than just a gem. An ugly truth that has remained hidden in the misdeeds and lost words of the past, about to be unlocked and free Thorin and Bilbo from this seemingly never ending cycle.

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

New Chapter: Chapter 4- Songs About Gold

It did not endear Thorin to their hired translator, and he spent most of their journey doing his best to ignore the halfling. He thought his company would take cues from him, but Frerin’s hatred was a bit harder to overcome. Frerin made it apparent that they weren’t to engage with the halfling, weren’t to treat him like an actual person. For some reason, it didn’t sit right with Thorin, but he didn’t do anything to stop it either. He could tell that he disappointed Ori. 

His apprentice had a brilliant mind and a large heart. Ori didn’t understand why their race continued to punish another for the sake of one being. It was a source of contention between the two as Thorin had the memories of exactly what that one being had cost them. Still, he wasn’t too surprised when the company factioned to include the halfling and Ori was one of them. Kili surprised him, but not Ori. 

Still the desire to know what was in that journal nagged at Thorin. Sure, he had Durin’s memories, but another firsthand account of what Khazad-dum had been like was almost too much to hope for. The historian in him fought hard against the prince, demanding that he engage with the halfling. He didn’t have to be nice. It was a business transaction after all. He just needed to know. Every day though, he pushed that voice away. He would not, could not, be the one to interact with the halfling. And then the halfling surprised him by speaking to him first. Well, more accurately, warning him. 

Superstitious nonsense, and even if it wasn’t he couldn’t afford to look weak and bend to the commands of this halfling. Not with everything that was riding on this mission. His one chance to change his fate. No, he disregarded the halfling. Even as those determined, pleading eyes haunted him into the night.

Now, it may be too late to regret it.

Thorin weakly opened his eyes, unable to move his body as it was being draped in white cloth and golden baubles from the demons that stole him and his company. Their cold eyes shined brightly in the dark, and their screeches carried a certain cadence. Almost as if they were singing. They glided effortlessly around him, all except for the one at the end holding a long gleaming blade.

Thorin’s eyes drifted close, the energy fading from him fast. Durin, Thorin I, Dain, and now him. He’ll just be another voice in the head of the next dwarf.

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

[phdmama]

Ooh, I love the idea of the kiss meme you posted! I'd like to suggest #11, in joy, if that sparks anything creative for you! 🩷

Okay, this is literally pretty much SOOC (straight out of the camera, entirely unedited) and I even wrote it in the tumblr window?? I don't it's sort of a coffee shop-esque thing (in my head Draco is on an International Curse Breaking Team). Hopefully, it captures something for you! xox

It's an ordinary day at work. Slow, like it always is in the afternoons. Harry's already wiped down all the tables, refilled all the creamers and sugars. There's really nothing more to do and he's had more coffee than he probably should have, but in his defence, he works in a coffee shop. And he was up late writing to Draco. So now he's just kind of leaning against the counter, pushing his broom desultorily back and forth.

These deployments were hard enough when they were just friends; now that they're... this, whatever it is that this is, well. They're kind of agonizing, if Harry's being honest. And he can't even tell anyone because they'd agreed to keep it quiet until Draco gets back, and they can figure it out.

"Harry," says a voice from the doorway and Harry looks up with a grin.

"Ron," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"Closed up early," Ron says with an easy smile. "Thought I'd come see how you were doing."

Harry blinks at him. "I'm... fine?" he says finally.

"You sure about that?" Ron asks, and hums a few bars of Cursebreaking Man.

Harry drops the broom and covers his face with his hand as he groans. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Ron says happily and drops into a chair.

"How did you know?"

Ron shrugs. "You're not exactly subtle, mate," he points out. "And that last night before Draco headed out, well. Let's just say, it was pretty clear you weren't off to do some grocery shopping."

Harry drops his hands, his cheeks warm. "That was months ago, though. Why haven't you said anything?"

Ron suddenly looks a little shifty but is saved by the bell, literally, as the doorbell jingles as Hermione and Luna walk in.

"Harry," Hermione says with exaggerated surprise. "How are you?"

"Okay," Harry says. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Oh nothing," Hermione says.

Luna opens her mouth to speak but Hermione throws an elbow and Luna closes her mouth so quickly, Harry can hear the click.

"Are there any more of those gingerbread cookies?" Hermione asks and Harry frowns at her.

"In the back," he says and then sighs, because whatever else is going on, Mrs Albertson will murder him if he doesn't actually perform his job duties and fulfil a customer's request, even if that customer happens to be his oldest and most meddlesome friend.

So he walks into the kitchen, opens the tin of gingerbread cookies that just happens to still be out on the counter from when Harry had been snacking earlier, carefully plates three cookies and heads back out into the cafe proper.

"You're pretty lucky I..."

His voice trails off because standing there in the doorway is...

"Draco?" Harry whispers. "Are you... what are you... You're here?"

His heart is racing and his hands start to shake, so Harry hastily thrusts the plate out and someone grabs it.

"What are you doing here? I thought you..."

Draco's not supposed to be back for another month is the thing.

Draco smiles. He looks tired, Harry notes and then takes a second look. Draco's hair is longer, and he looks far too thin, with circles under his eyes and his arm in a sling.

"Figured I'd stop by since I'm going to be back in town for a while."

Harry takes a step and Draco takes a step and then suddenly, they're both moving fast to meet in the middle. Harry brings his hands up to frame Draco's face, runs his thumb over the sharp cheekbones.

"Are you okay?" he whispers and Draco smiles, ragged, but so real and here and something like Harry up like a firework.

"I am," Draco says, and reaches out with his good arm to pull Harry closer. "I'm home."

"That," Harry says as he leans in, "is the best news I've ever heard," and then his mouth is on Draco's and nothing else matters but this.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Midnight (2) Masterlist

part one

A New Year's Cliché (ao3) - ExclusiveGorgeousGeek

Summary: Phil talks Dan into going to a New Year’s Eve party with him. Between Phil having a great time and Dan trying to convince himself of all the reasons not to kiss his best friend at midnight, it’s sure to be one hell of an evening.

Because Demon Hamsters (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan has always been afraid of the dark, so when he wakes up afraid one night, he, of course, decides to do some midnight snacking.

'Cause You Had A Bad Day (ao3) - mistyegg

Summary: The aftermath of a midnight Dan Howell breakdown, where Phil is luckily there to help.

Happy New Years, Baby (ao3) - MaddyNeedsALife

Summary: As the clock struck midnight, everyone started cheering as the fireworks went off. Dan turned to look at Phil, ready to do the ‘New Years kiss’, only to find Phil on one knee, holding a small, black velvet box in his hand, grinning ear to ear.

aka Phil proposes to Dan on New Years

Horny Drunk (ao3) - MaeTaurus

Summary: Much to Dan's dismay, he and Phil attend a New Year's Eve party. But when Dan has a few drinks too many, Phil takes him home before midnight.

i wanna sleep next to you, and that's all i wanna do right now (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan misses the body next to him in bed that he'd become accustomed to during his week in the north.

Jump Off the Deep End (ao3) - pasteldnp

Summary: Sometimes it takes a road trip with your meddlesome brother and his girlfriend to end up exactly where you want to be.

Midnight Cab Rides to You (ao3) - QueenKatelynTheAristocrat

Summary: “Whenever he felt the spiralling of his thoughts that indicated an impending breakdown, there was only ever one place he would go. He wondered how many breakdowns he had left before Phil got sick of him.”

Also known as: Dan can’t stand another damn minute on campus, so he does the only thing he can think of to make himself feel like he isn’t dying. He gets a cab to Phil’s flat.

seven hundred miles down highways to Eden (ao3) - gogystyle

Summary: "It's the third time he's landed directly on his ass today, which is simply great. This midnight adventure is going to flatten the moneymaker." Dan can't sleep, so he drags Phil out of the house for some midnight fun. Featuring: the tragic fate of a skateboard, 3am meals from McDonald's and boyfriends in love.

This Is Love (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: It's New Year's Eve and Phil's has a special question to ask Dan.

Tweets and Deals (ao3) - Dustyboialex

Summary: 2009!phan where Phil is in the car in his way home from visiting Dan, and he smells something funny. Everyone has secrets, it's up to you to trust who knows them.

Two Too Many (ao3) - sleepyybabe

Summary: Dan wakes up to what could be a lovely morning, but is graced with the presence of 2009 Dan and 2012 Dan. A wannabe emo, clinging onto the notion that he will have a perfect relationship with Phil, and a slightly depressed, moody, downer.