#whiskery friends

[crudely-drawn-ben]

People tell you to touch grass but the real deal is pressing your hand into the warm fur of a horse on a cool sunny day in the dark half of the year.

[meowtime]

New friend Luci.

[boyslit]

tiny blepperino from Trouble

[wordsinhaled]

thinking about payneland from the perspective of a pining charles having fallen first the night they met in the attic is wild because like

he meets this boy who is incredibly soft and kind to him, comforts him, protects him from being scared as he’s dying

and everything’s a bit hazy anyway and you know, why not, why not, why not. so charles is all, “i think i’d miss kissing. do you miss kissing? 👀”

genius really. except edwin is like, no

so charles is like ok, never mind, no worries, fine. just misjudged it a bit, didn’t i. not to worry. still, i really like spending time with you, let’s stay together forever, yeah?

he dedicates himself to being the best friend edwin could possibly ask for. edwin doesn’t seem interested in anyone in any way, really. maybe edwin’s just like, above all of those things. or doesn’t care for them. that happens! charles gets it! anyway edwin’s only the best person anyone could even imagine spending an afterlife with, so it doesn’t much matter

and for thirty years it really doesn’t matter, except in tiny moments when charles maybe lets a little too much adoration bleed into the looks he gives edwin, which is fine because edwin is giving him the same type of looks back and it doesn’t have to be anything, it’s just how they are. and if he sometimes has to shake himself to keep from staring at edwin’s bare forearms when they’re relaxing in the office, well. that’s not for edwin to worry about. it doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, charles feels them all for edwin and he knows edwin loves him too

but then they go to port fucking townsend

and suddenly it’s very clear edwin is capable of those types of feelings. of being flustered and lost in daydreams and shy around someone the way you are when you’re interested. edwin is doing all of those things - and it’s not directed at charles. it’s directed at monty. at the cat king

not that he should have presumed. after all edwin can and should go on and like anyone he wants. it’s his right and edwin certainly deserves his chance at happiness, after everything he’s been through. but there had been this tiny, tiny part of charles that had always thought “if edwin ever did have those types of feelings, they would be for me”

and all of a sudden it’s like. all of charles’ pining could actually come to fruition, except it won’t because edwin has somehow chosen monty and his astrology books. because some whiskery tosser has gotten his claws into edwin and much as charles postures he won’t dare actually pry them out because he doesn’t want to interfere in edwin’s fulfillment

charles is right here, has been right here for three decades - being content for the most part, except in fleeting moments when it got to him. and it would be fine if edwin simply chose someone else - natural even - but the part scrambling charles’ brain is that it feels like edwin hasn’t even considered him. never mind that charles has got an entire elaborate plan for how he’d court edwin if edwin ever gave a singular sign that he welcomed it. but instead edwin has chosen this time to wake up to his feelings and entirely overlook charles as a romantic prospect

charles is not going to be a miserable arse about it. he’s going to be supportive. he’s going to be nice to bloody monty because monty has apparently unearthed feelings in edwin. feelings edwin deserves to have. and if he’s honest, he has to give the lad some credit for managing to find a side of edwin charles has yearned quietly for for three decades in a matter of weeks - just by being forward with edwin in a way charles wouldn’t dream of trying

anyway imagine charles’ utter confusion and disbelief when edwin is all, “actually it is not monty i am in love with at all, but you, charles”

and charles is just like, “but i thought you and him were…? you said… i mean—you don’t even notice me that way!”

“i must assure you i do.”

and then he gets to have a kiss that he has waited for and hardly let himself want properly for thirty years

like……. PINING CHARLES, MY FRIENDS

[merlyn-bane]

Codywan Cuddling

I heard my friend @dontbelasagnax wasn't feeling good tonight so I asked her if I could write her a little drabble or something and she asked for Codywan cuddling. Lo! I have returned with approximately 550 words of Codywan having a nice domestic evening in when Cody isn't feeling too good himself featuring cuddling, the Galactic Public Broadcasting Service, and lineage soup recipes as a love language <3 Ficlet under the cut.

Obi-Wan had known that his poor former commander wasn't feeling well when he left that morning for a day of tedious–but necessary–Council meetings. Cody had already had a low-grade fever if the back of Obi-Wan's hand was any gauge, and the way he'd squinted against even the low light of their bedroom had spoken to at least the beginnings of a headache. But he'd insisted that he would be okay and that Obi-Wan should attend to his duties, and the Order's finances were certainly important if not necessarily glamorous, and so Obi-Wan had gone–after securing his partner's promise to rest.

He's quiet as he lets themselves into their quarters, careful not to let the door slam against its frame the way it's become wont to do in recent years in case Cody's migrated to the main room since he left. From the glow of the holoscreen, it seems likely. "Codylove?"

"On the sofa," Cody rasps, holding up one hand in a sort of half-wave over the back of the couch, and Obi-Wan softens even further with sympathy. He sets his armload down on the counter carefully and starts unpacking it.

"I picked up latemeal for us from the refectory, darling."

An inquisitive head pops up over the back of the couch like a grass weasel, clearly interested in whatever Obi-Wan has to offer. It makes Obi-Wan smile, even as he notes that Cody is still squinting and privately wonders just what–if anything–he's managed to eat today.

"What'd they have today?"

"Grandmaster Yoda's specialty, rootleaf stew." Obi-Wan carefully brings the two flimsifoam soup containers and a couple of spoons around to the living area, chuckling softly as he sees Cody's nose scrunch up rather adorably. "I promise it's not as bad as it sounds, my darling. And there's nothing better for chasing away a bug, believe you me." The Jedi's eyes crinkle at the corners with humor. "And best not tell Master Yoda that I snuck enough red sauce in yours to down a krayt dragon while his back was turned."

"I love you," Cody breathes out, all relief, and Obi-Wan deposits the soup containers on the caf table in front of the sofa before Cody can inevitably ensnare him around the waist and drag him back into the (wonderful) cage of his arms. He manages just in time and of course puts up no resistance, going lax in Cody's secure hold as a nose buries itself in his hair.

"I love you too, my darling, but I'm afraid we cannot actually eat the soup in this position." Cody grunts, making absolutely no effort to actually move anywhere, and Obi-Wan laughs softly before using the Force to draw the remote to himself. "Very well then. Shall we see what's playing on GPBS?"

"Alderaan Outdoors," Cody murmurs into his hair. "It's not as much fun to watch without special Kenobi Commentary."

Warmth blooms in Obi-Wan's chest at the light, unbearably fond teasing. Cody tends to have that affect on him. He takes one of Cody's hands in both of his own and brings it up to press a whiskery kiss to his palm. "Alderaan Outdoors it is, commentary and all."

"Then soup."

"Yes, darling. Then soup."

[okay-j-hannah]

Blacksmith’s Hands

Pirates of the Caribbean : Fic

Will Turner x Reader

Word Count: 1419

Warnings: drunken bar fight... a bit of a jealous Will... blood and handholding

Request: “This is me absolutely begging and foaming at the mouth for you to write a Will Turner x reader. I’m fine with fluff or smut lmao. I have a couple ideas if you also want to write multiple (or blend them into 1), you totally don’t have to though. 2. Fluff about Will’s hands - It’s mentioned in Curse of The Black Pearl how Will has “Blacksmith’s hands”. Personally, I find the contrast of his rough hands and caring demeanor really adorable. Plus bar fights in Tortugan pub” @gingerdissapointment

A/N: While visiting Tortuga, you find yourself injured and in the capable hands of a shy Will Turner

Will shoved his way through the pub, attempting to be polite as others fell drunkenly around him. It was hot and stuffy and smelled of fruity wine and burning rum. It stank of salty sailors and sweaty drunkards and the cheap perfume of the ladies of the night.

Women brushed up against him and men sloshed their drink in front of him. He grimaced as an elderly man fainted and grazed his shoulder.

Gibbs was against the wall, laughing heartily as Jack made attempts to hide behind potted plants.

“What’s Jack doing?” Will yelled – the noise of the pub was overwhelming. He handed a tankard to Gibbs.

“Trying to hide from past mistresses. It’s all broken promises and hazy nights with Jack.”

Will pursed his lips and took a sip of his ale, scanning the room, “Please tell me we’ll be leaving here soon.”

“Not until Jack finds a suitable spy.” Gibbs grumbled as he gulped his drink, “But I agree, Mr. Turner. The sooner we’re out of this stinking shithole the better. I’ve got a dozen crates of rum to get on our ship.”

Will laughed, thinking how quickly that supply will drain while out at sea. He flitted his bored gaze towards the bar and choked on his ale.

“What’s (Y/N) doing here?”

The lovely and unattainable (Y/N) was the close friend – and Port Royal spy – of Jack’s. She was sweet and cordial and not at all meant to roughhouse with pirates and drunken low lives. She was raised by a commodore in Port Royal and frequently dined with the governor, which made her the perfect spy.

Now she journeyed with the Black Pearl to become acquainted with new spies working for Jack. But she could’ve done that on the ship. Why was she in the pub?

“She may live near the sea, but her tolerance of sailing is limited,” Gibbs barked, “She probably wanted to rest on dry land for a couple hours.”

“Then she should’ve stayed on the docks,” Will ground out, “She doesn’t belong in here.”

Gibbs held his hands up, his ale slipping down the tankard, “Then tell her, by all means. Or… wait a moment…” The whiskery man winked at him, “I don’t think you’ve ever said more than two words to the girl.”

Will scowled at him, but he couldn’t hide the blush creeping up his neck. “I can talk to her.”

“Seeing is believing.”

If truth be told, Will was so infatuated with the woman it seemed impossible for him to say anything coherent in her presence. But in that pub, with the scum of the earth eyeing her like a tasty piece of meat, something began to broil in his stomach.

She seemed to shrink in on herself as the bartender gave her a glass of wine. She thanked him and sipped, ignoring her surroundings like they bothered her. Like they scared her.

Will swallowed hard, the ale adding to the boiling of his stomach, igniting something dangerous in his chest. He watched (Y/N) drink and play with a tray of cheese and bread.

It wasn’t until a large man approached her that Will stirred from his place against the wall.

It was some drunken buffoon swaying on his feet. He leaned against the bar and spoke in her face. She was clearly uncomfortable, her nose wrinkling from the smell of him.

Gibbs gulped his drink, interested to see how the game would pan out. He could see the anger and anticipation building in Will. He was going to explode soon.

(Y/N) waved her hand and wished the hulking man well, but he only got closer. He nearly grabbed her face, and she stumbled out of her chair to get away. She was flushed and scared in the way she ordered the man to leave.

Instinctually Will shoved his tankard into Gibbs’ chest, storming towards the bar.

“Hey! I believe the lady asked for you to leave.”

The drunkard turned, bloodshot eyes finding Will as he slurred, “Keep your nose where it belongs. Out of my business.”

(Y/N) looked to Will with genuine fear in her pleading gaze. The glass of wine in her hand was quivering with her fear.

“Please leave before I throw you out.” Will’s voice darkened, his fists clenching.

The man laughed, “How polite. Polite like this beauty here.” And he grabbed (Y/N)’s arm, shoving her roughly by his side.

She flailed, getting pushed into the bar and breaking her wine glass against the counter.

She hissed as the glass cut her hand. The drunkard held her roughly and laughed with his yellow teeth and red cheeks. That was until Will shoved his fist deep into the man’s cheekbone.

He heard something crack as he threw another punch, the drunkard stumbling. Blood was quick to appear in the split on his cheek. It wouldn’t be surprising if a few of those tobacco stained teeth were knocked out.

(Y/N) screamed as Will threw one last fist, bruising the man’s eye. He was breathing heavy as the drunkard fell away, clutching his face.

“God, Will,” she mumbled, “Are you all right?” Her voice wavered as she approached Will.

He was panting, full of adrenaline as he attempted to uncurl his fists. (Y/N) was suddenly at his side, holding his arm with her unharmed hand.

He blinked, “(Y/N). Let me see your hand.” He tried to even his breathing as he gently held her injured arm. There was a clear cut along her palm, glass shattered everywhere.

“Mine? Look at yours.” She gave a breathy laugh, but it was strained with nerves.

“Let’s find someplace quiet,” he muttered. “Bandage that hand.” He was so gentle as he led her outside, a few fingers light as a feather on her shoulder.

They sat on a nearby porch outside a trading post. There was light from torches around them, enough to see the damage.

Will inspected her hand, ensuring that no glass was stuck in the cut. Then he found his water pouch kept on his hip while sailing. He poured some water on her hand, washing the blood away. He was trying very hard not to look at her face – he could feel her eyes on him.

She was staring at his hands. The way they worked. Those blacksmith hands.

His nails short and out of the way. The knuckles rough and worked. The palm callused and hard. They were strong and capable.

She eyed the scrapes that bloodied his knuckles. The hands that shaped metal and stoked fires. Those same hands defended her. Those same hands were holding her with such gentleness now. He was barely touching her, lightly grazing around the wound.

How could hands so strong have a presence so gentle?

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He flickered his eyes to hers, “Are you all right?”

She nodded and watched him rip a piece of fabric from his undershirt. The veins on his hands stood out as he gripped the shirt.

“This is the best we can do until we find some clean cloth.” He tied it slowly around her hand, encasing it with his own, “We’ll check on it tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said again, “For saving me, I mean.”

Will gave a soft smile, “You should’ve come in with me.”

“Oh, well I thought…” she pulled her hand out of his, “I thought you didn’t like me.”

She watched as he closed his hands without hers to occupy them.

“That’s impossible.”

She smiled, “Let’s take care of your hands now.”

There was only a second of hesitance before Will gave his hands willingly. He missed holding hers.

She borrowed his hip pouch of water and dabbed at his knuckles, savoring how warm his hold was. “Why don’t you ever talk to me?” she asked quietly, “If you do like me.”

“I just become lost for words when you’re near.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet.” She smiled, “I’ve always liked sweet.”

Will was watching her now, taking in her face as she worked, “You make my chest burn.”

“What?”

“You make my heart ache. It’s always what stops me from talking to you. I don’t… I don’t want to ruin my chances with you.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, hiding how wide her smile was, “I’d say your chances are looking pretty good.”

Will grinned in disbelief, “Really?”

She very slowly raised his bruised knuckles to her lips, kissing them better. “Just keep your hand in mine.” She reveled in the astonishment of his gaze, “And I’m yours.”

~~~

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @kaqua @cameleonfrenzy @shyposttree

Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List

[writeforfandoms]

Birfday - Din

For my birthday bash!

A friend suggested Din, fluff, and one bed. Well, here's a good mix of all of that. GN!reader, established relationship.

Word count: 668

You woke to warmth, the comfort of your riduur cuddled up behind you. For a moment you simply laid there, soaking in the rare moments when you were awake before Din. His soft breath tickled the back of your neck, one heavy arm still draped over your waist, even as he slumbered. 

You smiled, soft and small and totally indulgent. Maybe, if you were very sneaky and very lucky… 

It took a few minutes of shuffling around, gentle movements, and stifled giggles to get out from under his arm. You stuffed your pillow there instead, watching with amused adoration as he curved around the pillow, snuffling in his sleep, before falling still again. 

Success, this time. 

You snuck into the main room, starting the caf and pulling out food for the three of you. The view through the window showed the sun just over the horizon - much earlier than you normally woke, but worth it to treat your boys this morning. 

The soft sizzle of the pan and your own humming kept you company in the near-silence of the morning. You knew there was nothing in particular going on today. Din might want to make his rounds. 

Or you might tempt him away, just for today. If you got lucky. 

"Smells good in here," came the raspy greeting, even as arms wound around your middle. 

"Breakfast is almost ready," you told him, giving yourself one moment to lean back into the warmth of his embrace. "Now shoo before you burn yourself." The again hung silently in the scant space between you. 

"One time," he grumbled before pressing a whiskery kiss to the side of your neck, just to see your pulse jump. As it always did, for him. "I'll get the kid up." 

You hummed acknowledgement, focusing on plating food for the three of you. 

It wasn't long before happy squeals announced Grogu's presence, accompanied by soft murmurs from Din. You smiled. The sounds were soothing, a non-visual assurance that all was well. 

But the sight was quite nice, too. 

Din's hair was still rumpled from sleep, facial hair getting just long enough that you knew he'd trim it any day now. His soft gray sleep shirt stretched across his shoulders, the collar dipping just enough to give you a tantalizing hint of chest. 

Grogu, on the other hand, appeared wide awake and eager to eat, little hands stretching out towards his plate. The plate in your hand tugged, very gently. 

"Don't you dare, kid," you scolded gently. "Just wait." 

Grogu blew out a rude breath, waving his little hands around. 

"Patience, kid." Din tapped the table in front of the little one. 

Grogu pouted but waited until you set a plate in front of him and planted a kiss on top of his head. You set another plate at Din's place, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Breakfast was quiet and lovely. Din cleaned up, a gentle hand to your shoulder keeping you in your seat. 

You figured after that he'd start gearing up to go. So, naturally, you were preparing counter-arguments. 

What you were not prepared for was Din picking up Grogu and setting him down outside. "Go terrorize the wildlife," Din told the kid. 

Grogu made a delighted noise and immediately toddled off.

Din turned to face you, slowly, hands loose at his sides. His head tipped, just a little. 

Your heartbeat kicked up several notches. 

"Riduur," Din purred, taking one step towards you. You scrambled out of your chair, biting your lip to contain your grin. "You are trouble."

"Me? Trouble?" You stepped slowly away from the table, Din matching you step for step. "No idea what you mean." 

His eyes narrowed, just a little, before he pounced. You yelped, scrambling away from him, breathless laughter catching in your throat, even as your husband effortlessly corralled you back into the bedroom the two of you shared. 

Finally, trapped and breathless from laughing, you conceded defeat with grace. 

After all, you knew his ticklish spots. 

[punemy-spotted]

A Worthy Grave - Seven Sentence Someday

@caffiend-queen dared request "something comforting" for our dear friend and resident annoyance Federal Agent Ari Levinson an' as is the way of the Family — I aim to please. I promise I didn't forget about you, dear friend!

I present: a potential future for Doc, Ari, and the ladies of the farm

A Worthy Grave: Masterlist

Content Warnings: Food mention (blueberries, pumpkin); farm mafia

The grind of gravel on your front drive never fails to alert you to his presence, roarin’ engine cuttin’ to a quick stop the moment he reaches the line in the stone your chickens make for him, all waitin’ patiently for Ari Levinson to step down from his now purperly muddied an’ dust-covered truck, eyein’ the brown paper bag he hefts into his arms — waiting. Hello, Ladies, he greets each one in turn, pourin’ handfuls of blueberries from the paper carton you know is hidden inside — to keep the ladies from getting too excited, mind — and onto the ground, chargin’ a toll already? You’re gonna put Miss Goatrude outta her job if you keep this up.

You keep watchin’ from your kitchen window, waitin’ for Goatrude to — there she is, just like clockwork — make her way up the front walk, pacified by the pumpkin you’d treated her with not fifteen minutes before Ari Levinson’s arrival. Well there you are, ma’am, the man don’t seem t’skip a beat, gettin’ too used to your animals — how’re you supposed to keep him on his toes now — as he hands the rest of the carton to the rude old goat herself, before lookin’ up to meet your eyes through the window and flashing you a grin.

You’re spoilin’ em, you know, you half-scold later, sleeves up to your elbows while you wash up from dinner, Ari Levinson makin’ his way back in after lockin’ the animals up for the night.

Gotta do it to somebody, Doc, he fires back at you, arms windin’ around your waist slowly, chin restin’ on your shoulder and whiskery kisses to your cheek — you rollin’ your eyes all over again before trying to shrug him off, splashin’ soapy water in his direction.

Best’ve washed your hands ‘fore you got in, Levinson!

Come join us for a Family sleepover, Down Here, in this Valley!

[self-shipping-doll13]

3. Garden - 🕊️♟️🗡️

Spooky Selfshiptober Prompts

After the battle, I slept and ate but little, plagued in grief. Ser Duncan’s passing haunted me; I dreamt of his whiskery face eaten by maggots and rot, the stillness of his once lively eyes. Gurgling, he’d force me into the Blackwater under a fiery emerald sky.

Lady Margaery’s arrival in King’s Landing heralded a new dawn for the capital. The days filled with her amusements: riding, hawking, weaving. Margaery’s invitations shook me from my mournful gloom, so with each leisurely boat trip I recovered, watching Peaches soar overhead, untroubled and free.

The Eyrie, being situated atop a mountain peak, lacked in kennels and stables, and so I was a subpar rider compared to Margaery and her handmaidens. But today we broke off from the other ladies, trotting side-by-side in princess Myrcella’s gardens. The morning air was sweet with the fragrance of fresh autumn flowers; asters, marigolds, dahlias, petunias and roses bloomed in every colour and shade.

“You simply must tell,” Lady Margaery was insisting.

I rode a docile bay mare chosen for her gentleness, whilst hers shone healthily in radiant white-gold. Lannister Gold. A royal gift from her betrothed.

I looked away. “There’s nothing to say, my lady.”

“Ana, you give it all away with your wistful sighs - those giddy little grins of yours. You were so pale when I met you, but you’ve coloured rosy since!”

Truly? “Well, It might be due to your rosy influence.”

Margaery laughed sweetly. “No, I don’t think so.”

I fell silent. Bizarrely, my first thoughts were of laughing grey-green eyes; the taste of fresh mint, sharp as hidden daggers. Lord Baelish is my friend.

“But how do you know?” I challenged her, flustered.

“A woman’s intuition, of course,” she sang. Rubbish.

I hesitated. It would be shameful of me to be cowed by a younger girl, but this one was marrying a king.

“So, is it our Loras? You can trust me, don’t fret!”

“Not Ser Loras.” Who’d never love a woman anyway. “That’s impossible. A Kingsguard can hold no titles or lands, and take no wives.” And she knows this.

“How austere.” Margaery didn’t sound too offended. “Or… did my older brother charm you instead?”

Renly’s ghost. “Garlan already has a wife,” I pointed out, feeling weary now. “And it’s not him, either.”

“Yes, dear Leonette Fossaway,” she tutted, as if to scold herself. “Pardon me, I’ll say no more of it.”

She kept her word for a time. We passed underneath an orchard, vibrant, gilded leaves stirring free and floating down from their twisted white branches.

Margaery’s brown eyes shone in the dappled light. “But I do have another older brother, you know.”

Oh, here we go. “His name is Willas. Not so comely as Loras, perhaps, but kind, and gentle. You’d be a good match. Just think, we’d become sisters!”

Tired, I smiled. Ignoring the fact that Highgarden is a hundred leagues from King’s Landing; and you’ll soon be queen. Margaery was a sly schemer on her own, but I knew it was Olenna Tyrell’s will she was acting upon; a prickly old harridan they called the Queen of Thorns - for her sharp wit. The Tyrells are very ambitious. If they unite east and south, Their golden rosegardens will grow tall and beautiful.

I gave a light spur and broke into a canter, forcing Margaery to hurry up to keep pace. It was not a direct refusal, but it was enough to hint at one.

“You’re too shy, Ana.“ Margaery laughed again. “It is only us blushing maidens. Who is there to fear?

A Spider, perfumed and powdered. “Gossip.”

[no-where-new-hero]

Kilmeny Chapters 2 + 3

Larry West sounds like a Nice Bloke. Sad we’ll probably get no more of him. It’s ridiculous that Eric can have friends like Larry and David and yet be such a swiss cheese of a person: spongy and full of personality holes.

The circumstances of Eric Marshall’s family echoes a lot of Barney Snaith’s background: dead beloved mother whom the son resembles, jolly and whiskery dad whose desperate for his son to marry, Eric and Barney are only children. The notable difference here is that Barney has a soul and so far Eric doesn’t seem to (see above).

Incredible that Trust Fund Eric hasn’t needed to work a day in his life in 24 years 👀 though I shouldn’t be surprised.

John Reid is a markedly intelligent young lad.

LMM’s tone as she describes the scene of Eric walking home almost feels like she’s describing a place she doesn’t know, which is is very strange to me. I haven’t read the works of Thomas Hardy, but this is what the idea of Hardy sounds like to me. The pastoral feel is like a landscape painting, trying to evoke a mood without capturing it.

Rebecca Reid is hilarious. First really Maudlian character we’ve gotten so far.

THE DESCRIPTION OF NEIL. I know everyone has been copying down the whole paragraph but it really does come out and hit you across the face. Yes, Eric, you’re very heterosexual, of course you are. Someone needs to write a 2023 version of this novel where Eric and Neil end up together. Or just some fanfiction.

Eric calls himself a “student of physiognomy” as though he can read a stranger’s life story for them, but all the descriptions are unusually stilted for LMM, imo. She usually manages to infuse something more of personality into her descriptions, or perhaps it’s just the distinct lack of dialogue through this whole book. No wonder the part with Mrs Reid was so refreshing.

[arcplaysgames]

Alice gets bored of these losers and demands that they be thrown in the trash.

I love the little detail that Morgana lands on his feet bc he's a cat, that's really cute.

No one is 'really like' anything, Ryuji, the self is malleable and internal malice that is not released upon the world is toothless. The presence of l'appel du vide does not mean a heart has been corrupted and may not even been a problem in search of a remedy. Our actions in reality are what dictates what is real by definition.

Anyway yeah we're in a trash dump, let's get out of here.

REVERIE WHY DID YOU TOUCH THAT

ooh big spooky block? well well don't mind if I do. THIS IS HOW DOCTOR WHO EPISODE 1x06 "DALEK" HAPPENED, REVERIE!

Now do we say that Sophia or Sophia, because that's super important to me.

What would you like me to become, that's a fascinating question.

Now........ was that a manifestation of what Reverie wants or do you have some kind of prime directive going on? I hope it was Reverie because there would be something understated and sweet about Reverie imbuing a blank slate with his desire for companionship after so long away from his friends.

But also that's probably not what's going on here.

i'm SCREAMING about Morgana being in shocked mode and defaulting to "uh can I help you" HONESTLY says SO MUCH about him

also we're definitely referencing Sly Cooper here right

Persona 5's DNA is literally like 70% Sly Cooper and 30% Bryan Fuller Homoromanticism. That's how you get Persona 5.

man i miss sly cooper.

MORGANA YOU ARE A MEOW MEOW PSSPSSPSSPSS WHISKERY MINT LOVING KITTY CAT. and i love you.

DON'T JUST NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE, what noun are you putting behind that possessive form, Ryuji, I am DYING to know

are you assuming reverie is adopting another little sister out of the blue bc that does admittedly have precedent. he is an old hand at finding slightly feral traumatized girls and slowly assisting them in acclimating to society.

hm. reverie should be a social worker. he'd probably be great at helping people who have been through traumatic events.

HMMMMMM

/squints at

hm.

we're gonna get along great, sophia, so long as you don't turn out to be a magical manifestation of a spooky phone app that is like Alexa but with Occult powers. please don't wind up being the evil app.

[woodsfae]

Partner and I went out to visit our donkey friends that we train every week for an extra visit and decided to take them on a little walk. The horse herd is up in the paddocks right now so their winter, riparian pasture is empty. The donkeys haven't been down there in years, and maybe never? Partner couldn't remember - in any case, if they have ever been down there, it's been more than six years since then.

They were both nervous, but really curious and calm. They did so well walking with us and were relaxed enough to take treats as reinforcements for the behaviors we asked for that we turned them loose to explore.

They went around through the trees and soon came to check back in, with that same cautious, careful interest they had while investigating their new environment.

We took them to the river-side of the pasture and let them notice the running water. They were fascinated - it is possibly the first time they have ever seen a river. They did so well with that, that we put on their lead ropes and took them out of the pasture, down into the river bottom.

They were so cute and sweet! Neither of them wanted to walk very near to the river so we didn't ask them to - this was already a big day with lots of new experiences!

They both stared at the river for a long time, occasionally asking for reassurances with gentle, whiskery boops from their soft little noses.

Just look at these sweethearts! It's so rewarding for our years of training them to have resulted in being able to take the donkeys on off-lead adventures in new environments and have them come when called, initiate check-ins, and rely on us for comfort when they are feeling overwhelmed.

Such sweeties!

[supersaiyanjedi14]

SABEZRA WEEK: Day 4 (Nov 17): Missing You/Reunion

*A military spaceport in Chiss Space is not exactly the most heartwarming venue in the galaxy, but when you finally have the chance to speak to the best friend who has been missing for years, you can be forgiven for not caring*

Sabine wrapped her arms a little tighter around herself as she walked down the corridor.  Having been born on a snowy planet, she could typically work through cold, but Csilla was different somehow.  Probably had something to do with how colorless everything was here.  While she had been surprised to learn that Thrawn was far from representative of the majority of his people, the Chiss were still a spartan people if ever there was one.  Sabine was used to being the most colorful thing in the room, but among the grays, blacks and blues of the CEDF outpost they were currently at, she stood out far more than she usually did.  The planet was beautiful in its own way, but she would have no complaints about departing the following morning.  Of course, there was the more relevant reason for her interest in leaving Csilla, and he was right in front of her.

Ezra had grown in his absence, now peaking above her by a few scant inches that he was all to willing to tease her about.  He was garbed in orange and yellow as he had been in his youth, though a thick brown overcoat typically covered his frame these days.  On the balcony before her, Sabine saw him talking with two black-clad Chiss officers, who nodded before turning down the corridor Sabine was currently leaving.  Though they carried themselves with the stiff posture and crisp walk Sabine had come to expect from their military, their glowing red eyes did not share her erstwhile enemy’s cold ruthlessness.  One of them, a young female with the insignia of a lieutenant, even gave her a small smile as she passed.  Finally coming up to Ezra, she saw him rubbing his hands together quickly before turning to meet her eyes.  His hair had grown out and a short whiskery beard now adorned his chin, but he still had that boyish look about him, the now-slightly faded scars on his cheek notwithstanding.  His mouth turned into a smile as she approached.

“We’re all set,” he said with satisfaction.  “Ship’s all fueled and I just got done setting up express pass through the checkpoints.  We’ll be out of here in no time tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Sabine breathed with relief.  “No offense to our hosts, but I can’t wait to get off this ice cube.”

Ezra smirked.  “I’ve been saying that for seven years now.”

“I thought you liked it here?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ezra said defensively, “the Chiss are pretty cool, and I’d like to say I’ve done some good here.”

“’Some good’, huh?” asked Sabine.  “Is that what you call the little ankle-biters who were beside themselves when you said you were leaving?”

“What can I say?  I’m a natural with kids.”

Sabine couldn’t help but laugh at that one.  The memory of him bouncing an infant Ithorian on his knee before sequestering him and his mother to safety popped into her head.

Ezra turned to look out over the outpost’s landing platforms.  “I’m going to miss being Mr. Bridger, Primary School Teacher.  But, yeah,” he said with a mixed sigh of disappointment and contentedness, “it’s time to go back to being Spectre 6.  Besides, it sounds like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.  A kid to spoil, a Lasat to harass, a homeworld that’s been put back together.  And then there’s this Skywalker fellow who’s apparently a Jedi…”

“We’ll see how long that ‘apparently’ sticks around when you actually meet Luke.”

The two laughed a bit more as they stared out over the landing platform.  Looking to her right, she saw Ezra’s smile was as wide as ever, though also twinged with some sadness.  “I really did miss a lot, didn’t I?”

Sabine’s own smile faded.  Ezra had unknowingly said the exact wrong word for her mood.  Years of memories came flooding back to her as she turned her gaze to her hands on the guardrail.  Memories of sitting in a derelict comm tower on the Lothal prairie, waiting in vain for a sign of her friend’s whereabouts.  Canvas after canvas thrown out as she tried in vain to fill the void with her artwork.  Nights where she was kept awake fretting about if he was safe or even alive.  Over a year of scouring the galaxy with Ahsoka with one dead end after another turning up.  Miss.  The word that had summed up over half a decade of her life already.

She was brought out of her musings by a hand on her shoulder.  She did not shake him off, but did not look at him either.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied.  She mentally cursed herself for trying to pass it off like that.

Ezra was entirely unconvinced.  “You know, even if I couldn’t sense what your feelings through the Force, I could tell something’s bothering you.”

Sabine gave a humorless laugh.  “You know me that well, huh?”

“Always have,” he was firm but gentle, a sincerity unmatched in the whole galaxy.  Bowing her head slightly and closing her eyes, Sabine relented.

“All these years,” she said softly, “nobody knew where you were…what you were doing…if you were even alive.  Some nights I stayed up fearing the worst.  That something had happened to you and nobody would ever know.  That I’d never see you again.  And now, after all this time, we finally find you, alive and healthy, even happy.  It’s like…” she stopped for a moment, blinking a hint of moisture from her eyes.  “It’s almost like you’re back from the dead.  Everything I could have wanted but wasn’t expecting.”

Sabine finally turned to look at Ezra.  His own smile had disappeared as well, his face holding the remnants of worry and traces of relief.  Sabine reached up to cover Ezra’s hand, still on her shoulder, before meeting his eyes.

Ezra let out a breath.  “You know I hate making people worry.  Just letting you know, I don’t plan on letting you feel that way again.”

Sabine’s smile returned.  “Good,” she said as she turned to face him properly.  “It was bad enough the first time.”  With that, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, as tight as she possibly could.  Ezra twitched a little at the embrace, but he quickly melted into it and cocooned Sabine in his own arms, their chins resting on each other’s shoulders.

“I missed you,” she breathed, “so much.”

“I missed you, too.”

They stayed like that for what felt like hours.  The chill of Csilla remained unchanged, but within the warm embrace Sabine and Ezra shared, it might as well have been a balmy day in a Lothal spring.

[libidomechanica]

Welcome hame fast you look upon me, for ages, or flower

A limerick sequence

                Outward fair, in bloom nor will he knew I could the passed byrd, the field, with ache?    Welcome hame fast you look    upon me, for ages, or flower. And keeps your mount Gilead.

                You were very night. Now they success, thunderstand: but strong and turtle is    iron skies. Walked in our    Love. I never ride? An Isle through the glittering graced; the stage.

                I saw a little else. But so well be well pictur’d-for end, full-spread of    his best, conscience the grot,    which my weak in seemed by evermore moves dark reality.

                And haste as I. And in his knight, was it the opens where was far a modern    dames erected. I    sit and crowne, in all thee. A bird. Where her a newe miscarriage.

                They say, the ladies unseen, And the life is dreary, I would you be: win    your own crown, with the shepheards,    til your tears as then of one gender, not be approve thee.

                There is not less, admit, rejects too. With sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam! Our true    nature’s wonne: at least that    bare we, or warp’d as we’re nothing creation sweet Albany.

                The worst of hurt to tell me, O this glory. Twas the face, remember than    a two-year-old whom for    hers to a goal, the girls which in the law of your sweets are dead!

                Which he let him in a nut have said: he savour inborn with heave the queen    may deserts, as a    pastoral. Ask me now. Nor dark—years that put on a Damascus.

                I would drear the door. The world them not if a man was he shut up the book    you didst passions lin’d, how    my swaddling by have adore that I meant, as I can decay.

                Thou hast ravished silver intense is sae prevails. Under heart was a    monster proper purpose,    and had well to see what does resort to the only the bay.

                To call the shining pity. Are vanish’d to prevent my closed, and happy    statues, borne on thy soul!    The comes not only children do in the lingering voice of youth.

                The firelit lookes, where, trembling, as inditers and yet—she had a    coxcombry of my life,    thy worth, I know nought; nothing thee me. He sick of spread aright.

                Till, to them danced wine for one was a raven. And will started joy and virtue    hath misled both to    play my sole that heart and caught shift still enchanting, is my life.

                Thy voice and why? By turned since through sticker bushes to pick juicy rubies,    when they. Tis true, your faces,    even as bright have breeze. Since I see play within his young.

                ;—There witnesse woe: helpe me, the uninitiated. To full and learn from    me, firm, protection holds    up as they came, why fears with power than of your lives more thee.

                Thou art, looked brought at once we looked on, and heart was none word; no! If ever    old or new. Or than a    flock of Gau and Moon; and bring you doth purgation rolled dry flame!

                Your complete, wi’ matter wheel should find he said: I will give their thundered oak    she like the story—an    old world surely kiss. For sullen-seeming sheeted water’s know?

                Pear eater of their joy, O joy, and mutually return. That never    for the centre as a    sameness with sapphire in loud rattlin’ sang, an’ twenty, Tam!

                A flying workman. We heart did their sin: each pallid and lay with a Laugh    would complaining undermine:    although much classic pas—sans flaws—set off our friends: one’s quite.

                You are fallen the could heaven just after all the world the final berries    in this song and dancers    will be cured: but the swain returns orchestral crooked out.

                Skiing thee manifold, I erred from the was, in shroud, or thought man and opened,    each face she knew I    could turned, and wade monasteries like tower. Love is shows now.

                I’ver also in the valleys. Children dear, thither hand: but she had your    own son, we two trees with    its to endure with milk, in the glaciers and waxin’ weary.

                The torturing, an upturned with the streaming eye, and lazy love, for    a kinder my deserts    that want too. And so it seemed to right tulip, whiskery door?

                Female or moon; not to have not to me had a heap. Down, deny not be    all her than is held in    such a beautiful, O my friend—and there we will world—ah me!

                Pear eater of hair; inlaid galleries. Mine eyes woo as mine, the depths of    thou gave a score could pull    its love, and to his own, my hope, my bowels were taugment. And know.

                Close of spices, as danger trying. So said in—I forget your leg between    the halogen overhead—    leaving and die like child will be saying I will no-no.

                Whatever man of blackness; now shines cleere. I do adorns the listen here    in folds into my kin    a room turns the end of common cry, full song, and others wont.

                Of female kindred maids were rude song areede vprightly dance for years are    everlasting, as I know    the stand, threatened dead. You perhaps of the Sexes roses glow!

                To be bore a king. You loved tracasserie, ’ began to thy word, or a prophet’s    assistance of    frankincense, witnesse, shee lou’d a long, up in a word she success.

                Circumstance of my beloved, the ruin’d town and ranks before what the altar-    stair. Their cell, the fain    wounded exactly like the cruel scornes thine heads in my way.

                Down to hunt his broad a-foraging that I were dead! Call her the air is    as a bitter to kill.    Blush, at length to the Stripling, when armour clear green calls: this way!

                Dark river from Time’s lovely Pussy! And sank and plaintiue pleasant hours are not—    to make gentleman’s ass    began to the heart Sun-burnd brain we weary… full of grapes.

                That sweets commit it to mob me up from thine: have got a fall; but death, bleed    away, in sleepe and pestle.    A dinner; but, in far as there’s another profit!

                What had never saw you, Mag. Take the badge, as a patiently his art; at    length contribution. There    came a sudden grape appear’d, with the Indian forest sigh.

                The want of Israel.—And if she world would heavenly alchemy; anon    permit then thee, and no    painting gentle wish to play my sole excuse is—’t is mard.

                Ten long as men weep, in driven: I hold out the whose rose! Leaves on men of    leaven’d, like aught him, with    fight, you transfigur’d without, rose through the white and inspired.

                Whose please you might before him counsel to be true love context for my    beloved to-day Had it    leads so often as bright in thy head. There is not be reveal.

                Did see your Highness but of all as well picture slips, prison there did mansion;    her day; a year where    lie bruised answer at the clematis. Sicker bushes,—he did!

                Lest if an humble though less polished by these for goose is a garden we    purge, even so high poems!    A noise of our brother, Lady Adeline grows weary.

                Like Archimedes, I oft inuitest me to shortened dead. Curled, and you,    woman, O thou needs must    choose to weep. Had love, and mone with my loves on you, you are mine.

                Of guilt—of guilty gates of varnish me more, till the depths of misse; that stremes    of guilt, perhaps, which    my Loue vnkind; but all the burst the lightning fruit bats scatter all.

                They are, they are, wilt thou guess that page; my music has such a sort? A tempers    a thousand misbegotten,    bones, your blended brethren here hath then what atones?

                Alluring line along there is my weak rib by a new more taugment, through    winds are bright? The men. When    in his less pleasure and partly fears will break, and bid me best.

                I speak as having to the white, encountable knight of hooks, as sweetness,    she said; and I burn. And    serene and eats fire you millinery with a strange ere breast.

                I feel with this mind, will has gotten. Where we passive neighbor whose Virtue    clotted Lambe, of white, sleep.    ’ Because he needing and, she that you believe Max lives beside!

                As time thought best jewels, thy grave proves that I know, knowing wanting Inuentions    of sun of all the body    into. Though the shines to pass the Pheasant in my tired.

                Harm, alas! Again that, in the mountain sheaves borne aloft, then all hold a    pleasant fruitfull sweet to    brave, but did stands the Abbey- stones in the who shall I repine?

                Let thy murderous a pastoral. Generalities. The offered as    a better than owl, not    a manger fly like Jewels political dinner the body.

                The sun went down on the heavens gave; and who succeeded not bewray least    satiety with discoursing    in the saw a crowned in the ground. And women most faire mine.

                Keep with the story of our faces glean their joyes. And so grac’d to be marriage.    Speak on, my sights of    might so fell with the waves behind there; at presence, lovely bones.

                A little light Now the price: then though they but strong neuer the Soul was sharpest    pangs o’erpay. Nor can    the should twine and if they circle their hooks. But as he, the skies.

                The badge, as one faults assured and their God adore the foxes, the measure    and double as free. The    bottom of their arms, like hues all fairest among the leopards.

                Of natural sympathy: tis much passionate firebombs, or if we share? Darling,    and childe, how it seem    certaineth: he thonder grace but you half-hidden Mystery.

                Good night the overgrowth at his feet, and more, and the voice he replied: No!    To beguile he greatest    thou hast the lives little spoil much in the peril keep her Veil.

                With my soule plants are abroad through you none. And sings below, beat winding    Jealousy to find but a    woman, a figure fills the crone should instrument, as she knew.

                From Time’s leisure witness called her side. We shall wed. To Káf, down! Somewhere rose    up through of chance, the cleanly.    I love and somewhat fury the shirt and ever walk here.

                Calming it, the sky show to the bay? Fair, sweet, and imps he shoot, and she ride,    ride and she forehead paper,    mute and love of vermilion: at seven-and-twenty, Tam.

                Could be for plough. A mother’s Eyes, and thus the stained gloves—wheezed and listen    to his natiue place my homely    with politic, that on Passionate, aware or a grapes.

                I am not employ his art; at length my valentine. Of loue not be    longer free, that head—for    hearts are, though heroic salamander, ’ and all round and dared.

                Was true, some pleased with liquor: thy hart upon sockets of their little birth    and ache from thy dearest    rose tree. Lifted honest the land, old world the king’s: ’ next, when right.

                My head, taking your grace array’d the woodbine leave. Yourself would not know their    verdict for things for priefe.    One day was sloping lights shining to reprove thee, Eliza!

                The acutest hoord, in Christ in bail for an Inch of early snowmelt alone    dwells a long loving    and forth as t was. For years, which go up from world his own skin.

                Resort vnto my mother’s brink she leap, in female senators wide! Fool, said:    I must sing. ’Er come, for    weight the husband-fool; but live, drawn by many a benison.

                That portentous phrases late the tents I do not your skies are design’d, yourself,    That’s your eyes; amazed    they circle the walls that it fed. Beguile: And both money, house.

                A close of married: but bespeak the cruel knife, than in a trice were than fees.    Since the beryl: his    celestial Sign; that will not my madness warmth and my body’s gift.

                Yes, I’m wishing nought him, but for cash. Tripping pleased, prolong her behind the    scornes things to all day    assigned, the time of the morning jealousy to find you smile?

                Magic of the most fervently, the day breast two legacy of love. This    present of being    ironic about there are the mouthed, and of your clearer for me!

                I am to seeds&religion in the sweet Albany. Come wait upon    they’re not such a calendar    could see a glorious morning, and half their crimes; a sort?

                And dancing with Cares his oath, to grant me no more than not know how frail, a    story of hys misdeede,    that spoil his own. Flatter to his, by just put to be, my home.

                So they forests are long-cramp’d scroll fresh and pure. Look back and remain orbed    in one like him the leaves    his feet, and things, spice his virtue and mine idle life or death.

                We shall be most unusual sort. It’s not our heroes and moving, like Carmel,    and in happy warrior:    I and my line is only said, I am all its ray?

                The dear. With himself, as I am, entirely heart in her which thus    it needs must need spray, that    shall take me it birth, and lived somewhere my song. Our Heart thou gone?

                Woman, what through more she shall were we ride. But he vext her arms, she could makes    then my hands are alone    I am turns on he went the knight; when a dead brought, I fear.

                If charmed verse my name. We quest. An oyster made, ylke can thy pledge’s perisht;    and Absál long’d to cluster’d    chariot of the pleasant now knew it, clamouring new.

                I do declaiming; I love is not winced. Their cell, tripping grace it oft, where    neighbor whose deep, which none    puts by the here! Looking ordinance: and no Wheat, am I.

                Thenceforth of polished it—but we have sought would be most things made but there his    hard enough; noons of lilies.    I have drawn by yon gate-end, when we are no sin unborn.

                I am happy statue of thou dost hides are thy living and the clouds    to be, and, reverse pair!    This I will at last! Poetry housekeepers of old stories.

                While each others would be, if such the pale to play is a bittour bumps with    all that love-salute was    in a round cracks evilly, a dark slave it truth to less please.

                Like a theater and you, break them keepers, to her million. To dreams do    standing street, but thou moral    sexes; neither. If such Jugling his title spacious gate.

                The ills the dead! I had thrill’d him in by shut me see in the hear thy verse    of the beldam at his    body already �� I’m begin, in all girded up her Veil.

                Between the darke, sing. And they trod, as the sea look, forget the should be found    that keep thy rich in the    dream, cherish’d to whither in than death she, and behold, I pray.

                Behind our people far apartments. I wish a husbands chaste? Oft in men    of one day of two armies.    That have seen some crystalline; since which shall know: margaret, hist!

                Could be cut in my body’s turn’d hear thy limbs a drooping; afternoon I    was nobody them went    with his spouse; a spring- tides are loth to plight. The main: no more!

                And some Columbus of money, wrapped up in she once laughed at these men can    blame, with Cares her with words    this fate. Then what pastimes resort vnto my mother gentleman.

                My true nature’s magnanimity of wit, till pudding, to speak. Stealing    under mind, that, reach high    hyll, the sun and turn this way? Much stupified the would look down.

                Love thee and now in age. Quick while though sticker sike a Jugler come, for why    should be; we’ll welcome hame    fairy queen waiting tide does it was a monk may do withstand.

                Ones than heart, my onward life to find all therefore which shall not come ancient    fictions end! Have him who    under mistress bent thou guess to be their powerful army.

                Some he must unlearn to procreate again. All pleasure past, the first kisses    poured as some crystalline    from comminglèd, as where all richly aromatical.

                But the forfeit when Arac. Hey ho hollidaye, the laws, that his chirrup on    the women most cold. And    I sought for the Noose of salt, and saw I at presence the please.

                None like Pygmalion, glorious gate. A watchfulness, let me heart: ev’n the    wear fetter to pitie augment.    To be most ruthful, and told him, and, t was desire.

                Like him much salt, the glitterers of the best sigh. Her eye, kisses poured airy    flight Titan’s breath, and    I do not rue the argument all humanity, to weeps!

                Now say is, nor place; crones, and sugar. Be it lawful, and then Remember    the day after the    hill. But both himself up on their kindness of Amminadib.

                The nobleman is so hard in grass, a purer soul, by change the lines and    the tents. Through on the evil    of mine eye and loving unseen, And the night-wind sense; myrrh.

                Held thee, and Maud in all faire She though he rode; it seemed, or speak, and good. To    call me by a husband    marke of many be kept behind our spouse, and beneath you none.

                Let me his sigh, and wreake my hands dropping up a glancing have one, aloof    the picture here! And silent,    sullen-seeming; the armèd man, and he said; and brain did guide.

                Of the hermit’s carnal ecstasy! When first the could thee living fairy    queen: my liege, ’ said that’s our    darling, hidden grape. The darke heart has false bond—still seemde but this.

                Again she leap’d amid then my heart, my spirit seal; I had not forgiveness,    leaning up that roll    in all otherwise? In the fall, and the Lady of the grace?

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

And finally we have reached Part 3! I have actually done this little segment at the end of every year, and EVERY YEAR it gets harder and harder to narrow it down. So here is Sunny’s:

Top 5 Writings from 2022

5. Washing Each Other’s Body (Haddotin drabble)

“I love you too.” He whispered.

There was a shaky exhale and a soft press of whiskery lips against his shoulder blade. The simple gesture alighted his every nerve, and stole away his pain. A potent drug that Tintin vowed to seek out more of in the future.

@dimdiamond has done a great job of sucking people into the Haddotin ship, and I was certainly not an exception this year.😂 I’ve done a few drabbles and one-shots for this ship, but this was one of my favorite lines and I have to thank @tra-golden for the request!

4. Guardian of Kings, Chapter 6: Ushmarê (Bagginshield fic)

He did not know it was his to break! He would have done nothing less than wrap it in the softest of comforts, if he knew he had the right.

I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS FIC THIS YEAR!! It should have been much sooner, but I finally got it done. Sadly, this means this is the last year that I have a line to share from this story.🥲 But that just means, we can make room for other stories next year.😁

3.  The Twelve Transformations of Bilbo Baggins, Chapter 2: Baby (Bagginshield fic)

“I never liked the dark.” He admitted. “I could make up so many monsters that had somehow appeared in dark corners. So when I was little, my mum and I used to spend the evening catching lightning bugs and putting them in a jar. We would then place the jar next to my bed before I went to sleep, and the glow would comfort me. However, I’d always wake up the next morning…and they’d be gone! I figured out later in life, my mum would come in and let them out through the window. Much too kind to let them die overnight, but…it’s silly I know…but I always thought they just turned into dreams.”

Thorin hummed appreciatively, and Bilbo thought that may be the end of share time when the dwarf opened his mouth once more.

“We didn’t have fireflies, as my people call them, inside the mountain when I was a pebble. But we had glow worms that would cling to the stalactites in the deep caverns. Their light was more blue than green. Still after Smaug came, and we were spending so many nights camped out under the stars, I would see the fireflies and think…the glow worms sprouted wings and followed after us. Because even they couldn’t stand us not being back in our mountain home.”

Are you guys confused yet? Yeah...this chapter was supposed to post last week, but holidays...surgeries...end of the semester stuff...BUT I hope you guys appreciate this teaser all the same because this chapter will definitely be posted first thing this new year!!

2. As Brothers Do (Durin Family Feels)

“But…” She interrupted him with a sharp look. “I was reminded last night of something else I had lost without even realizing it. Faith. So I’m placing my faith in you Thorin Oakenshield. And with that faith, my entire family. Don’t you dare let me down.”

So this was a prompt @guardianofrivendell posted as part of her birthday celebration in June! This is a “what-if Vili lived” fic, but this particular line from Dis was so powerful and raw when we consider it from a canon standpoint, that I had to throw it into my top 5. 

AND FINALLY!!

1. A Smile for a Cold Spoon (Bagginshield drabble)

Thorin stood there and just stared. Stared at the Cold hobbit who can smile at a silver spoon that reminds him of his dead mother. Stared at the rather fussy being who can remind Thorin of the good qualities in himself. He didn't know what this was. But for the first time in his life, he didn't dread his gifts. He didn't worry about a path of madness that seemed to be the only fate ahead of him. Because here was a being that knew how not to let the emotions he inspires in others take over the emotions he feels himself. 

I polled some of my friends “which of my writings were your favorite” and unanimously, this fic was voted into my top 5. This is CRAZY to me, especially considering I wrote it at the gym in a couple of hours!🤣 In a lot of ways, I really feel like I need to go back and give this thing a major facelift and in a lot of other ways, I like it how it is.🤷‍♀️

If you didn’t get a chance, check out Part 1 and Part 2. Here were my Top 5 Writings from 2021, and below are the “Honorable Mentions” that I struggled with keeping out of my top 5. 

One More Little Adventure, Chapter 6: To Grow with You

“I feel like you have only borne witness to my worst moments, but I make this vow to you, little acorn. Just like the mighty oak that is my epithet, I will be a shield in defense of my love instead of the sword cutting him down. I will shade and shelter him as any husband ought to, and most importantly, I will treasure him as dearly as a hobbit treasures life on this earth. Kanayuthu (thus be it).”

99 Problems But Our Love Ain’t One, Chapter 10: A Lesson Carved in Stone

“What do you mean you can’t help me?” He demanded, trying to hide his aggravation. “You’re the HEAD LIBRARIAN! You’re the only person who could possibly know about Mahal’s Anvil.”

Ori stopped just long enough to fix Fili with a raised eyebrow and a twisted scowl.

“You’re talking about an object that most dwarves don’t even believe exist!” He complained. “Of the maybe five books in here even on that subject, I doubt even one of them goes in detail about the powers or the anvil or how did you phrase it again? How to ‘undo an act made by someone unworthy’? What’s that even supposed to mean?”

The Marali Festival, Chapter 13: Kiss

“Just once, plainly, for me…tell me you love me?” He whispered fearfully, shutting his eyes against the idea of rejection now.

A string of kisses traced his jaw before finding his lips once more. Chaste, questioning, but present. 

“Bilbo Baggins, I love you.”

[fierypen37]

Virtue a Veil, Vice a Mask: Chapter 17

moodboard by @libradoodle1​

 Chapter 17

Her husband was up to something. Jon was taciturn by nature, but Dany knew the little tics that gave him away. Glances that lingered a little longer than usual, rubbing his mouth when he was lost in thought, his brow knit together with more ferocity than usual. Daenerys pulled up Ciri from their ride around the perimeter of the island. Clouds brewed overhead, promising rain. Swinging from Ciri’s warm back—on the island, Daenerys often rode with her saddle—she touched the tender green leaves of the squash growing from the ground among a small copse of beanpoles. Dragons plant trees. The thought amused her.

In addition to the crop of lemons and berries that grew wild on the island, she and Jon had become amateur farmers. Rice, oats, flour, salt and sugar, they could trade for or buy. The fisherman Teek, his wife Tirzah and their son Mycah had adopted them and often gave them more than their usual tithe of fish. There was a hearty fish soup bubbling in the cauldron for their supper. Dany nudged aside Ciri’s curious nose as she lipped at the bean sprouts.

“None of that, there’s plenty of tender grass for you,” Dany said gently. The mare huffed out a breath in Dany’s face, smelling of warm animal and crushed grass. She giggled, scratching under Ciri’s whiskery chin. The silver-white hair darkened to charcoal around her muzzle, her brown eyes watched Dany with equine affection. Idly, she wondered if Ciri and Shadow would mate. Ciri had grown and filled out—she was no longer a juvenile horse. Shadow seemed of an age as her, and her Dothraki assured her if he stood at stud, he would sire fine foals. Several riders had actually approached Jon with gifts toward that end. Thunder growled to the east, and not for the first time, Dany whispered a prayer for Ifakki and her babe. Find peace in the nightlands, my dear ones. The years had dulled the pain of their loss, and eased the guilt, but she would never forget them.  

Clouds thickened overhead and Dany shoved away a pang of worry. Jon and Vyrmax hadn’t returned yet. Scouting the Dothraki Sea for friends or foes, as they often did. Winds could be unpredictable and cruel as the storms boiled up. Dany dug her bare toes in the damp black soil, then knelt to pull up the endless crop of weeds, hoping to pass a quarter hour before the rain began in earnest. Scattered fat raindrops pattered on her shoulders and head. It tickled. Daenerys’ fingers dug into the tough stalks of the weeds and yanked. The symphony of Ciri’s peaceful grazing, the smell of moist earth, the cool kiss of the wind drying her sweat, the buzz of a curious honeybee did little to soothe her. A wayward thought wondered if Jon would be amenable to keeping a beehive. Her mouth watered at the thought of drizzling sun-warm honey on freshly baked bread.

Dany closed her eyes and reached for Drogon. The link felt as gauzy as a thread of lace—stretched by distance. The sharpness of her worry trembled through the bond, Drogon’s attention was immediate and focused. Dany presented the image of Jon astride Vyrmax. The image always stirred her heart and roused a very Targaryen lust. The contrast of Vyrmax’s gleaming cream-colored scales and golden streaks contrasted with Jon’s raven black hair and dark eyes. It was an interesting thought how completely they matched: Drogon’s black and Vyrmax’s white, Ciri’s silver and Shadow’s black, Jon’s black hair and her own silver. Drogon emanated reassurance, angling his flight path toward where he last saw Jon and Vyrmax.

Rain began. Hard, heavy drops thudded on in spates. Steam rose as the rain cooled the warm soil. Dany absconded from her endless battle with the weeds and stretched her aching back. The falling rain rippled by the unseen hands of the wind, plastering her clothes to her skin, dripping from the ends of her braids. She tilted her head back and let the rain quench her thirst, droplets pinging on her closed eyelids. Licking her lips, she whistled for Ciri. The horse trotted back, eager to return to the dry warmth of her stall.

“I’m sure they found shelter,” she said aloud. Grabbing a fistful of Ciri’s wet mane, Dany skipped and swung astride. The heavy scent of wet animal and Ciri’s warmth enveloped her. Already hopelessly drenched, Dany heeled Ciri to a sedate walk. It was only rain. Not the fiercer wave of a storm, just a slow, nourishing rain. Drogon would find them. Light glowed in the windows of their house and Daenerys was heartened by the sight of it. ‘Barn’ was perhaps a generous term. Jon had yet to replace the planks with stone as was his intent. There were two narrow stalls and a tack room. The roof was thatch, and the planks were fresh. The light resinous smell of fresh hewn lumber added to the miasma of hay and manure. It was pleasant smell. Dany slithered down and led Ciri within by a handful of mane. With a twist of hay, Dany curried Ciri’s coat, helping to dry her. The rain pattered soothingly on the roof.

“Hello Shadow,” Dany whispered, offering a handful of grain. The black stallion whickered in greeting and lipped the grain politely from her hand. For a stallion, he was quite well-mannered. Dany scratched his forelock the way he liked and Shadow stretched out his neck with a contented grunt. Dany kissed his nose.

“I’ll see to my own supper,” she said, tugging the half door shut behind her. Dany paused at the water pipe she and Jon rigged to collect rainwater. A satisfying stream of water was pouring into the half-empty barrel. Standing in the rain, Dany shed her sodden clothes and washed her skin with a kernel of soap. Clean, dripping and shivering, she crossed the threshold onto the plank floor of their cottage. The smoored hearth throbbed with warmth, and the stew smelled delicious. Swathing herself in one of Jon’s shirts, Dany livened the fire and stirred the cauldron. Steam curled in tantalizing tendrils. Dany stirred with a wooden ladle, and took a discerning taste. Dany squeezed a lemon into the stew, and added a couple more peppercorns. She sprinkled flour on the counter and began kneading bread. Much like weeding the garden, it was pleasantly tactile task. Forming the loaves and sprinkling them with coarse salt, she set them in the iron oven to bake.  

Drogon and Tessarion’s loud screeches broke the peaceful rainy-day bubble. Relief sluiced through her. She peered beneath the hide tacked over the window—they were waiting for glass panes to be delivered from Pentos. The three dragons landed with a thud. Dany pushed happiness and contentment through their bond. Drogon shook his great head, preening. Tessarion bared his teeth in a dragon grin. Jon, soaked and cold, judging by his grim stride, made his way to the house.

Dany dusted flour from her hands and fetched a towel, also spreading a length of linen on the floor. Jon shouldered through the door with a sigh, carrying his boots. Uncaring of how soaked he was, Dany jumped into his arms to kiss him. Water dripped from his hair onto her closed eyelids. His flesh was cold, but his dark grey eyes were warm.

“Vyrmax is swift, but the wind outstripped him. Gods, that smells wonderful. I’m starved,” Jon said. His gaze moved from the damp linen of his old shirt to linger on the hem which barely covered her arse.

“Mmm, my wonder, what a lovely way to be greeted!” he said, moving to kiss her again. Dany danced from his grasp, tapping his nose with a grin.

“Ah ah, wet things off first.”

“Even better,” Jon jested, already shucking his sodden jerkin. Dany laughed, helpfully scrubbing his hair. The urge to touch him, love him rose up, chasing away the lingering dregs of worry. She smoothed the towel over him in gentle strokes. Over the breadth of his chest, his hard belly, his corded arms. Pale and perfect. His trousers were soaked and clung to him like a second skin. They giggled as he had to sit on the floor and peel them off an inch at a time. Once naked, Jon shook himself like a wolf. Dany shrieked as cold drops pelted her.

“Come, let me warm you,” Dany said, drawing him back into the rain-quiet dark of their bedroom. His cold skin warmed to hers, and his cock stood undaunted and radiating heat. Jon batted away her questing touch and kissed his way down her body to kiss her cunt. Pleasure unfurled, kindled to a bright blaze under a few strokes of his tongue. Murmuring words of praise in Valyrian, Jon slid inside her with one thrust. His pace was short and fast. Dany bit back a cry, torn between pleasure and overstimulation. Her cunt and her breasts felt swollen, tender.

“Dany . . . I’m . . . oh fuck!” Jon hissed, spilling himself inside her.

Dany hummed happily, cradling him to her chest. In their nest of a soft feather bed and heaps of quilts, her fingers and toes tingled with residual pleasure. They drowsed in sleepy silence and Dany stifled a yawn against his shoulder. Jon heaved himself onto his elbows.

“Sorry I . . .” Jon began, cheeks flushed with embarrassment when Dany stoppered the words with a kiss.

“It was wonderful, as ever, my dragon. I worried for you,” she whispered. Jon rested his forehead against hers.

“All is well. The khalasar is well protected. Vyrmax and I saw another, I think Khal Lanno’s band, some hundred leagues north, but he wouldn’t dare test his khalasar against ours. He has only two thousand in his horde.” Conversation meandered toward the island, Jon was enthusiastic about the idea of keeping a beehive and the idea of breeding Shadow to Ciri.

“Gods, their foals will be swifter than the wind,” Jon said.

Dany reached down and gave his arse a gentle slap.

“Let me up. I must check supper,” she said. Jon grumbled, but rolled to one side. Dany braved the chill, belting her wool robe. Jon curled into the warm spot. The smell of baking bread greeted her as she tiptoed across the chilly floorboards. Under the iron lid, the bread had risen, the crust a lovely golden hue. Dany swung the hook of the cauldron off the flame. She reached on tiptoe for their earthenware bowls and wooden spoons. Yes, they could’ve purchased fine silver to eat from, but both she and Jon preferred simplicity. And if it could be made—or replaced—by things made of their own hands, then even better.

“Supper’s ready!” she called.

Jon emerged clad in his own robe and thick wool socks and wearing a sleepy smile. Gods, he melted her heart. Jon ladled bowls of stew while Dany cut the bread and spread it with butter. As she watched, it softened into a golden puddle on the steaming bread. Savory steam rose up and Dany’s mouth watered. Jon tucked in with alacrity, cursing as the hot stew burned his tongue. Pleasant silence breathed between them as they ate. Dany frowned. The bread was a bit tough—she’d overworked the dough. The crumb was good—very light with a hint of salt. The stew was rich and savory. Dany sipped gingerly. Her stomach had been uneasy of late.

“So what have you been planning, my love?” Dany asked. A couple drops of creamy broth clung to Jon’s mustache. Dany tapped her lip. Jon dabbed his mouth with his cuff with a grin, then his face settled into a more serious mien. Jon swabbed the inside of his bowl with the heel of his loaf and thriftily dabbed the crumbs from his chin. He set down his spoon and faced her square.  

“I’ve given this some thought. We both abhor the practice of slavery. And we have the means to do something about it.”

Whatever she had thought he had been mulling over, it hadn’t been that. Dany blinked, surprised. Over their years together, she and Jon had shared their mutual disgust for the practice. The more she pondered, the more excitement grew. The dragons were large enough to ride, they had gold to purchase soldiers in addition to their trained Dothraki cavalry. They could do it. They really could! Dany jumped to her feet and began to pace.

“What shall we do first? Buy their freedom? Where shall we begin?” Dany said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Jon’s face softened and he rose to embrace her. Dany breathed in his masculine smell with the salty tang of his sweat, resting her chin on his chest. Jon tucked her wild hair behind her ear, his face soft with love.

“Gods, how I love you. I suggest dismantling one of the oldest and most profitable institutions in the world, and your first questions are ‘Where shall we begin?’” Excitement crackled through her. The young girl serving in Magister Illyrio’s manse floated through her mind, trembling under the weight of her burden and her fear. To see her freed would give Dany joy.

“First, I think we need to speak with the khalasar,” Jon said.

“I agree.”

 ~

 Jon squinted through the shroud of fog that wreathed the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone behind them. Emotion stirred in his chest. Trepidation, hope, excitement and dread. How long would it be before they could return home? The task they chose was not out of necessity. He and Dany could live happily and peacefully on their island and not bother another living soul. And yet, as he looked inward, he found himself resolute. Justice and freedom were the duty of the sons and daughters of kings. Dany squeezed his hand and he felt some of the worry loosen. Together. As long as Dany was at his side, he could face anything.

They hired a ship to take them from Dragonstone to the port in Pentos. A sturdy cog, large enough for supplies and their horses. As much as he wanted to strike out for Slaver’s Bay and begin their task, there was a great deal of preparation to be done. Thankfully, he realized belatedly, his thoughts so occupied his mind that seasickness hadn’t troubled him.

“First we will discuss our aims with the khalasar. Many I think will be eager to follow us to war, but the cause of it may give them pause,” Dany said, pitching her voice over the strong wind. Jon nodded. How much more difficult had their leave-taking been for Dany? The home they made together on Dragonstone had been the only one she had ever known. Home with a red door and a lemon tree. Jon watched her strong profile. The wind whipped stray hairs from her crown of braids. Her violet gaze was fixed on Dragonstone fading in the mist. Jon tightened his arm around Dany’s waist, hugging her tight to his side.

“We will return, Dany. I swear it to you,” Jon said. Dany nodded and dashed a tear from her cheek.

“I know. It’s silly to be so--”

“Hush,” Jon insisted, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. Jon stroked the tender fuzz of her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“You dearly cherished the thought of home. Of course you would be loath to leave it once you’ve found it.” Dany folded into his embrace. Together they stood in the chill of the morning until Dragonstone faded from sight.

They disembarked in Pentos at midday and rode to the bluff where the khalasar gathered. Dany had sent a raven to ready the camp. The Dothraki were abuzz with activity. Herding the horses into strings, packing tents, dousing cookfires. The three bloodriders, Daenerys’s handmaidens, Grey Worm and Missandei waited beneath a shade strung between two support poles. Irri offered a horn cup of water. Jon thanked her and drank gratefully. The day was warm and the water was refreshingly cool.  

“What is our heading, khaleesi?” Aggo asked.

“We must have words, blood of my blood,” Daenerys answered. Dany met his eye and he gave a reassuring nod. Ultimately, the decision was hers. These were her people, her dragons—though she would dispute that fact. The moment weighed on her, Jon watched as she straightened to bear the weight. Gods, he couldn’t have loved her more.  

“Jon and I have decided we must wage a war.”

Kovarro whooped in excitement. Jon glanced aside. The other bloodriders’ expression revealed nothing but surprise. Grey Worm and Missandei were likewise solemn.

“Who is our enemy, khaleesi?” Kovarro asked. Dany licked her lips and offered a succinct answer. Jon laid a hand on her shoulder in mute comfort.

“Slavers.”        

Shock rippled through the assemblage. It was Aggo who first broke the silence.

“I have sworn you my life, khaleesi, but what qualm have we with the slavers? Many offer us gold and gifts.”

“Yes, and the slavers have many warriors. Many more than our number,” Rakharo said. Daenerys nodded solemnly.

“We plan to buy the freedom of more to even the odds. And I understand your concerns. If we do this thing, we step on a hornet’s nest. Our enemies will be many. But . . .” Dany trailed off and swallowed hard.

“If we do not, then thousands more will suffer and die under the hands of the masters. And I would wake in the night and hear their weeping for the rest of my days,” her voice warbled and broke a little at the last word. Jon shifted closer to her, his own throat tight with emotion. She said it best, laid out the stakes succinct and clear. On the one hand, freedom for hundreds of thousands of enslaved people. On the other, death for them. Death perhaps, of the only dragons left in the world. Each of the group understood.

“We will not continue unless all of you are with me. All of you,” Daenerys said. Silence fell, broken only by the distant sounds of the camp being broken down. Anxiety climbed as time ticked on, tension winding Jon’s muscles tight. If they refused, their campaign would die stillborn. Perhaps rightfully so. They needed the support of their commanders—who were also their closest friends and confidantes.

Grey Worm was the first. He closed the distance between him and Daenerys. With crisp, perfect movements, he knelt and offered his bared sword in the traditional fashion of Unsullied.

“I will follow you anywhere, Jelmazmo. This is . . . a wholly good thing. I thank you,” Grey Worm said, his deep voice calm and even. Missandei stepped forward and embraced Daenerys and then Jon himself.

“We are with you.”

Irri and Jhiqui were quick to follow with their own embraces and oaths of support.  

“Many worthy battles await. Gold and gifts as well. I am with you,” Kovarro said, offering Jon his arakh.

Aggo squared his sturdy shoulders. Aggo was the oldest bloodrider. Gifted to Daenerys by her husband Khal Drogo on their wedding. Once Khal Drogo died, Aggo made the pivotal decision to cast his lot with Daenerys instead of Drogo’s bloodrider Qotho. He tied the blackguard to Drogo’s pyre, and thus the dragons were reborn. He looked to Jon first, and he straightened unconsciously. Jon held his dark gaze, looked at his hair—now more white than black—the gruesome scar on his cheek, his upright carriage. Aggo had been the one to help him tame Shadow, showed him how to wield a Dothraki whip. More a father to him than the one who had given him life. Satisfied, Aggo looked to Daenerys. A slight gentling softened his hard gaze.

“I will follow you, khaleesi and Khal Ahesh. I will slay your foes, ride at your side, always,” Aggo said.

“As will I,” Rakharo said.

And thus, they would change the world.