#festive ficlets

[scoobydoodean]

Have you collected Dean’s birthday present?

…The seller backed out on me.

Dammit, Sam!

In which Sam and Cas plan a surprise 45th birthday and face some setbacks

#i’ve been meaning to do this for a while #first birthday post for the day hehehehe and goodnight more festivities tomorrow #a ficlet and a birthday present list #my fan works #birthday party for dean 2024 #fan works #dean with scoobies

[suzannahnatters]

Flash Fic: The Gardens of Hades

The gardens of Hades are barren when I come.

He snatches me from the sunlit lands and carries me to the underworld, a dark chasm lit only by the distant flames of Tartarus. His house is of black marble, and as he drags me through the shadowed halls, I try to empty my mind of everything but this moment.

I know the stories. I know that the gods have cruel desires.

Instead, he opens the door to a walled garden. A black pool glitters at the centre. Naked sticks rattle in the earth, but nothing lives here.

“This is yours, Lady Persephone,” he says.

Then he leaves.

.

I’m just glad Hades leaves me alone, so I don’t ask questions. I infuse the pool with light and call grass and asphodel from the dead soil.

When he visits again, he comes with a gift.

“I have brought you a servant.” A veiled shade follows him into the garden.

I wonder if he wants me to thank him for giving me a slave when I once had friends, a desert when I once had flowers.

I wonder why he took me.

Hades inspects a young shrub. “What’s this?”

“A pomegranate,” I say.

For a moment, I think he’s going to speak. Then he swallows the impulse and leaves.

.

On the day my pomegranate tree blooms, I find the shade sitting beneath the tree wiping her eyes with her veil. She says her first word: Springtime.

Little by little, she remembers how to speak. She talks about finishing this garden and moving on, the underworld blooming under my touch.

She doesn’t remember her name, so I call her Lethe.

.

My pomegranate tree bears fruit, but as I peel it open Lethe grabs my wrist. “If you eat, you will become a creature of his realm.”

I hurl the fruit at the wall.

.

It’s only a matter of time till my mother finds me.

Hades keeps sending gifts: servants, seeds, pruning-hooks and shovels. As the garden fills with life, so do the shades. The third time he visits, he dismisses the servants and looks at me with tired eyes. I wonder if he is always this sad.

“Your mother grieves without hope. Crops and men die, and no one sacrifices to the gods.” He sighs. “I am to send you back.”

Back to the home he took from me. Back to mother and wind and sunlight, but first I have one question.

“Why did you take me?” I spit.

He is the lord of the dead. He cannot sugar his words, as other gods might. “I need you,” he admits.

I think of Lethe, and to my surprise, I understand. I am springtime, but he is pain. No wonder the dead suffer, if that is all he can give them.

Before he can stop me, I rip open a pomegranate, and the juice is sour on my tongue.

The gardens of Hades are barren when I come.

But where I tread, they bloom. ---- I wrote this flash fic for the Pilgrim Artists' Festival, a small Christian festival of art, music, and words which runs every year in Tasmania's Huon Valley. The theme for the 2019 festival was "Grief and Hope", and I at once thought of Dorothy Sayers' poem, Rex Doloris, which imagines Hades as the King of Grief. This is the 500-word short story that resulted. I'd been looking for a way of retelling the story for nearly as long as I can remember, and this ficlet is the first step in that process. I can promise you that it won't be the last.

The 2023 Pilgrim Artists' Festival is now open for submissions of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, art, and music from Christian, Nicene-Creed-affirming artists, including children and adults, anywhere in the world. This year's prompt is "Beauty in the Everyday" and there is a 500 word limit on literary entries. There are also dozens of prizes available - check them out and submit here.

#writing #ficlet #my fic #short story #flash fiction #short stories #retelling #greek mythology #classical mythology #hades x persephone #hades and persephone #my books #retellings #short fiction #Pilgrim Artists Festival

[steddie-island]

Christmas Magic

@steddiemas day 22 - Santa shenanigans | WC: 560 | Rating: G Also read on ao3

“Are the girls finally asleep?” Steve smiled up at Eddie from his spot on the couch. “Yeah.” Eddie took Steve’s book out of his hand and pushed his glasses up onto his head before lying down against his chest. “They got two stories, Harper had a glass of water, and I promised that we would wake them up if we heard reindeer on the roof.” He tucked his head against Steve’s shoulder and they wrapped around one another. 

“And you made sure they were both fully asleep?” Steve asked as he carded Eddie’s hair back off of his face. 

“I did.” Eddie tilted his face up to kiss his husband’s jaw. “So… are you ready?”

Steve grinned, pecked Eddie’s lips, and gently pushed at his hip. “Let’s play Santa.” 

This was Eddie’s favorite part of Christmas. Of course he loved other parts– the cookie decorating, cracking out Wayne’s hot chocolate recipe when it got really cold out, the nights they spent in a pile of blankets on the floor watching Christmas movies. But playing Santa? That was where he really got to shine. 

The living room was staged just perfectly. There was a tree in the corner with gifts stacked around the base of it. Next to the gifts they had a table set up with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies waiting on it. The stockings were hung up on the fireplace, and a fire had been burning low all day. 

Step one was putting the fire out, and knocking some of the logs and ash loose, like someone had slipped on them while coming down the chimney. Ash was smeared on the edge of the carpet– after Steve made sure it would come out of the fabric first. 

Then they grabbed Eddie’s favorite boots and the baby powder, and while one held the boots the other sprinkled the powder around the foot of it. They made a path from the fireplace to the tree, then to the table, then all the way back to the fireplace. 

The paper used on the Santa gifts was completely different, and Eddie took his sweet time writing their Harper and Willow’s names and from Santa in curling script on the gift tags.

Steve drank the milk, and Eddie ate the cookies, with just a bit of each left as evidence. The pièce de résistance this year was a silver bell, left right beside the fireplace, with an untied piece of ribbon, like it had simply come loose and fallen while Santa had made his exit back up the chimney.

It was so simple, only took half an hour to set up, but Eddie could already imagine the looks on those precious faces in the morning. They would have to spend a lot more time cleaning it up, but it was more than worth it. 

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie and kissed the side of his head as they took in the scene together. “Think they’ll like it?” he murmured.

“I think they’re gonna lose it,” Eddie said. He grinned wide and caught Steve’s hand before tugging him towards the stairs. “Come on. I want my Christmas present now.”

Steve stopped to turn the lights off, leaving the living room glowing with the light coming from the Christmas tree, and he chased Eddie up the stairs to their bedroom. 

#steddiemas #Festive Friday #Steddie fic #Steddie ficlet #Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson #Christmas ficlet #Steddie drabble #My writing #My fic

[bobparkhurst]

I can't believe I missed this! I am sorry this prompt is late, but the idea of SAS lads trying to spread Christmas cheer of some kind is too good to be ignored. Your choice of characters, but some kind of traditional holiday food should be involved.

Dried leaves scatter across the floor, trampled beneath booted feet, as men go back and forth with armfuls of branches. It is perhaps not quite the same as a festooned fir standing proud in the corner of the sitting room, but between the greenery tied to already-laden tent poles with any spare string to be found and the handmade paper bunting, it’s all beginning to look rather festive, even if he does say so himself.

Mike kicks a few branches beneath a table and blows at a stray sliver of chalk on the wall, sending a small puff of dust into the air. He wipes his hands on his shirt and leans back to admire his handiwork.

“All right, Leonardo.” From around the corner swings Dave’s upper body. He peers at the drawing on the wall. “Is that meant to be holly?”

“No,” Mike says. “It is holly. Oaf.”

“If you say so.” The rest of Dave follows him unhurriedly into the tent. He sniffs, looking at the activity around him with an appraising eye. “Is all this really worth it? Not like it’s going to feel like Christmas out here.”

“That,” Mike tells him, with a prod to his shoulder, “is because you have no imagination.” 

“Probably not,” Dave replies cheerfully. “Anyway, Stirling said you wanted a body.” He gestures at himself, arms wide. “And I’m the best one around for miles.”

“You’ll do. It’s your hands I want really.” Ignoring the question on Dave's lips, Mike drops the rest of the chalk in a small pot on the table and leads the two of them outside.

At this time of day, there’s nobody in the cooking area to mind them. Dave watches with a dubious expression as Mike clatters around, pulling out bowls and spoons. He nods at a box on the floor. “Bring that up, will you?”

Dave drops it unceremoniously on a table, peering inside while Mike bustles around him, laying out equipment. Opened, the box smells of sugar and spices that he has not smelled in a long time; it’s enough to set him humming with anticipation. “What’s all this?”

“This,” Mike says, pointing a spoon at him, “is the saviour of your poor imagination.”

He reaches in, poking at a myriad of mysterious packets within. “Have you ever made a Christmas pudding before?”

“Have I fuck,” says Dave.

“Well, let’s pretend it’s stir up Sunday and I’m your mother.”

The dubious expression grows stronger. Mike grins.

“Chin up, Kershaw. You’ll feel Christmassy enough when I’m done with you.”

#sas rogue heroes #mike sadler #dave kershaw #bob: festive ficlets

[honeyviearts]

Warmth

Let's get you warm again, shall we?

The blizzard was raging outside when Thomas made it back home, shivering so violently his teeth were chattering together.

" Love, is that you? ", sounded the concerned voice of the man sharing Thomas’s life.

They’d moved in together last year in early spring, after the Crawleys had given Thomas one of the estate’s cottage for Christmas, a quaint little thing with the prettiest garden, and two bedrooms.

" It’s due time you got your own place Barrow ", Lady Mary had said. " So you can be safe to bring your gentleman friend as often as you want ", she’d whispered to him as she handed him over the keys. "I hope your Mr Ellis will finally be able to move in with you… you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you? "

It so appeared Anna and Miss Baxter — that is, Mrs Molesley — had talked to their respective employers and worked behind the scenes to make this happen, unbeknownst to Thomas who as both butler and a bit of a gossip, knew more often than not when someone was scheming behind his back. 

So here they were, Richard having left his position both to be with Thomas and get closer to his aging mother, the both of them now living together. Richard worked in Ripon in a clothing shop, while Thomas remained butler at the big house, joining him every evening in their home after closing the Abbey, Richard usually back before himself.

This Christmas was bound to be hectic, as barely a few days before the start of the festivities terrible blizzard like the ones you usually only saw in pictures books had stricken the county, temperatures dropping dramatically and snow falling into a thick coating, painting everything in pure cottony white.

That’s how Thomas found himself freezing in the middle of the night, Richard heaving a relieved sigh.when he heard him coming in.

" Did you come back by foot? Alone in that weather? ", he worried as he stripped Thomas down to his shirtsleeves. The fabric was damp through and through, his coat almost starting to freeze.

" Actually I went back with Mrs Hughes as I didn’t want her to walk alone, and could hardly ask Mr Carson to come down himself. He’s not getting any younger. I went home immediately after, and that’s not like anyone could have driven me with all that snow and wind… Walking was the safest option ", he explained, burying his frigid nose into the crook of Richard’s neck, shivering and closing his eyes. Richard’s body was deliciously warm, and weary to the bones as he was, Thomas might have fallen asleep here and there. That is, if Richard hadn’t shaken him lightly when he felt him loosen up against him. 

" Hey hey, love, don’t go to sleep like this, we gotta warm you back and get you changed, lest you want to spend Christmas in bed… "

" Well, I wouldn’t exactly be opposed to this—" Thomas answered cheekily.

" Smartarse. "

" You like it. "

" Yes, I do ", he laughed. " Come on, I’ll draw us a bath so you can relax… "

" I like the sound of this " he whispered, voice muffled by Richard’s collar. 

" Do you, now? " he smirked.

" Yeah… very much so."

@barris-event-blog

#thomas barrow x richard ellis #thomas barrow #richard ellis #barris winter festival #my fanart #fanart #ficlet

[i-did-not-mean-to]

October 24th

Festival

Ah, a slightly ambiguous one, I shall not lie.

Dedicated to @maglor-my-beloved and @arofili who have been great inspirations in my short writing career. ❤️‍🔥

Words: 718

Warnings: Sadness, ambiguity...Be advised, it's not Bad!Fëanor all the way

Ñolofinwë didn’t want to go.

He had pleaded his case with his mother – not daring to disturb his eminent father in his critical dealings with monumentally eminent dignitaries come from afar – but she had simply ruffled his braids and told him to wear the blue tunic and to make haste.

Biting down on his lip now to keep it from trembling with dismay, he looked at the gawky youngster staring back at him from the looking glass despondently. He hated those feasts where people kept milling around endlessly, chattering about this and that and – no doubt – looking upon him, that other, lesser son, with disappointment and disapproval.

Of course, he could not be like Curufinwë, nobody was, and nobody ever would be. 

Maybe, he thought desperately, if he pretended to be taken ill, they’d let him stay in his chambers; it was highly unlikely that anyone other than his siblings – his mother’s children, not Fëanáro, as he preferred to be called – would even notice let alone regret his absence.

“Ñolofinwë…” The bored drawl of the older brother he had just been musing about crept into the room like a venomous snake much too mighty to be wrestled into submission by a mere princeling. 

“Your mother desires to see you in blue,” Fëanáro went on as he stepped into the chamber confidently, “and I am here to fetch you. Why are you not dressed? Why is your hair not done?”

Shame flooded Indis’ son like an overwhelming, suffocating tide and he had to clench his fists to prevent himself from patting his half-undone braids helplessly.

“Come here, you fool,” the other commanded and – pulling the younger boy rather forcefully towards him by a slender wrist– he yanked a brush through the dark, silken hair that was so much like his own.

“I don’t want to go,” Ñolofinwë whined and bit down on his tongue as he heard how pathetically weak and shrill his words had sounded; no doubt, that son of his father’s, who stubbornly denied being of his kin, would now reprimand and mock him harshly.

To his utter surprise though, Fëanáro’s hands stilled immediately and he let them sink heavily onto the bony shoulders of the boy standing – tense and miserable – before him, staring still into the mirror at an awkward angle that only highlighted his sharp, handsome features into which he’d no doubt grow faster than the seasons could change.

Their eyes met and there was unlooked-for understanding in the flaming gaze of the eternal prodigy; an echo of loneliness and stubborn ambition resonated dully in the cool air of a room that was halfway between a child’s bedroom and a lord’s chamber. 

“We each have our role to fulfil,” Fëanáro hummed finally, pensive, “and we must do our father proud. Finwë has sired great sons and it is his prerogative to display them for all to see.”

“I am not great,” Ñolofinwë sighed, lifting his yet spindly arms to flap the wide sleeves of the overcoat he was shrugging into while his hair was no longer being tugged at.

“Not yet,” came the sombre, premonition-laden answer, “but – I well fear – that the day will come when the tides shall shift.”

That generous mouth which was the fountain of so much wisdom and cruel jibes tightened into a pale line of discontent and the brush returned, all the more vicious after this short reprieve.

“I shall be loyal to you,” Ñolofinwë promised under his breath, not sure if he wanted his brother to hear him, ashamed of the childish gratitude soothing his frayed nerves. The creature in the looking glass resembled a prince – thanks to his brother’s competence – and Ñolofinwë felt heartened by the sight.

“Let’s go down and be scions of a king,” Fëanor huffed in a choked voice as he wound the last silver ribbon around the end of an expertly crafted braid and righted the cloak around the other’s shoulders needlessly.

Despite his misgivings and innate jealousy, he held his brother’s slender hand encouragingly in his own as they descended the stairs and walked up to the big ballroom. 

Fëanáro – the great and mighty smith and inventor – did not know then that he had lifted a heart from misery and dejection and that it would be, for better or for worse, his forevermore.

@fellowshipofthefics we're almost done, almost...

I hope this will not get me into too much hot water lol read it as you wish...I love you all and I promise that I did not mean to force down your throat what you didn't want to read!

Lots of love

-> Masterlist

#fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #fotfics October challenge #fotfics fictober #ficlet run #1 scene per day #a different pairing every day #the silm #the silmarillion #Fëanor #Fingolfin #Fëanor & Fingolfin #Potential Fëanor/Fingolfin reading #brotherhood #family #burden #festivals #duties #and braids

[liltunaposting]

guys hhhhh i was just gonna write a little ficlit about the nozonico mcyds thing but uhhh its turning into a full length fic smh. it's written in first person which like, i havent written a whole fic in first person since literally forever. so anyway heres a sneak peak. basically if i had to give you a run down, its a day ibn the life of nico yazawa while she works at mcdonalds. so yeah, here it is,

Of course, I begin to start the day off right by taking a long shower. Yes, I wake up a whole hour before my shift to get ready, doesn't every good idol do so? I’d like to think i’m the rule of thumb for an idol which uh... Is a little bit of a high standard. I never made it the big time I suppose. Sure, the amazing Nico-Ni is famous on all of the most popular idol forums, but it was never enough for me. I tried to form my own school idol club in my freshman year, but unfortunately I kinda went down a dark path. Well, not like drugs or sex or anything! The amazing Nico-Ni would never do anything to ruin her career!

Anyway, that’s when dad died. It was around the end of my freshman year. I started to fail a few of my classes, math being the biggest downfall. So after i finished my freshman year, I dropped out of school. 

For a while, I was basically a stay-at-home mom for my three siblings. It was okay for a while, but my mother started to get down on me, saying I needed to do something with my life. She said I’d never make it without a GED or high school diploma. So I got my GED. Simple as pie of course. Then after that I was set on getting a job. 

Agh- I went on a tangent there, didn’t I? Anyway, I have a very specific shower routine so, if you want to look as good as the great Nico-Ni you might want to take some notes.

#nico yazawa #yazawa nico #love live #love live school idol festival #love live school idol project #my fanfiction #my fic #ficlet #sneak peek

[ineffablemiscreant]

New ficlet for my Festive Omens series! This time the ineffable husbands are spending the winter solstice together.

"Well, we can both agree to appreciate the solstice, yes? I’m happy the sunlight is coming back, and watching the stars on the longest night of the year can make you happy."

#good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #ficlet #winter solstice #south downs cottage #festive omens

[etheshadowlord]

The Festival of Shadows: Emergence.

[The following is a short companion piece of written fiction for the Festival Shadows Event on E_TernalShadows twitch channel. I'm just writing it because I want to and creating lore for my Avi is fun.]

Oct 19th, 2023 10:30 PM

The night was eerily still, even for the city. It left him on edge as he vividly recalled the nightmares he had been having for weeks of a man... no it was something that was no longer a man. A being that had surpassed mortal bounds and was twisted for it. Of legions of dark cackling things with glowing gold eyes.

He rubbed his temples as he stood with his partner as they continued the night watch. His partner being more animate than him. "I really don't understand what they think is going to happen." He commented making him realized how long he had been sloppily inattentive.

"I'm sorry, could you say that again?" He asked politely.

"I'm saying I don't understand what the big deal is with that relic." His partner reiterated. "Sure it's a relic from back during the mythic ages, back when Dragons and other monsters walked this earth. However, magic like the rest of those things is now extinct so what's the point?"

"I mean...yeah? But isn't it strange that all of those that used to exist just....disappeared? Like one day we had wizards, then next thing the history books are writing about how civilizations collapsed as magic just poofed."

"Like it will just suddenly reappear." His partner scoffed. "Listen to you, rookie. I know that some are talking about how you're the seventh son or something but magic is gone, it ain't coming back."

He opened his mouth to respond however he was stopped by a sound coming from nearby. Like a pulse, one that they felt more than heard.

"Did you feel that?" He asked as his partner seem to stiffen like he was given a full dose of the heebie-jeebies.

"Yeah, hold on, Rookie, I'm calling this in." His partner said as he pulled out his radio while preparing his gun just in case. "Security office, this is Officer Martin, I'm in the back entrance with the Rookie, Watchman Richards. We just heard....felt something. Is everything going on okay inside? Over."

"Officer Martin, we also felt it. It's like it's right on top of the building. We're planning on evacuating the building immediately. Standby, over." The lady in the security office ordered over the radio.

"Roger that, over." Martin responded before he moved to Richards. "Okay, Rookie, we're going to be evacuating and waiting for help. So make sure you stay calm and fol-." Martins began to say to Richards before all hell seemed to break loose. The pulse from before returned, now a erratic heartbeat of energy that consumed the building they were charged with guarding. "Fuck!" Martin cursed as he began trying to reach those still inside but only got radio silence. Not that they had much time before they were suddenly accosted.

Creatures made of shadows with eyes of gold surrounded them. And though Martin's efforts with a gun were valiant, the horde didn't seem bothered by his bullets. Richard swung at what was in reach from his club and struggled. He couldn't back down though.

He reached for a store of energy that wasn't there before and with a yell his club turned into a blade of glistening light that banished the creatures and cleared a way for them before vanishing. Though Martin was stunned, he quickly recomposed himself barking at the Rookie to hurry so they can regroup seeing that they were not in a defensible position.

As they got away from the building, Richards looked up at the building and saw how the once squat four floor reasearch center now became a towering enigma into the abyssal night.

#short fiction #ficlet #Festival of Shadows #Emergence #Soon #Airing tomrorrow

[lathalea]

Entangled

The first question I'd like to ask you today is: Do you remember a little fic called The Best Day of My Life I wrote a while back? Don't worry, me neither ;) It simmered in my head and what started off as a standalone ficlet, grew into something bigger. Back then, it was written in the first-person narrative, but as it grew into a longer story in my head, I decided to change the subsequent chapters to the third-person perspective. This story was born from an inspiration I found when researching certain medieval traditions, especially when it comes to arranged marriages in royal families, and the role women played in these arrangements. It inspired me to wonder what it would look like in Dwarven societies of Middle Earth. I hope you enjoy it! Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea). Special thanks for @legolasbadass for all your help and support 💙

Khuzdul: Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor) Uzbad ra zabdûna undu ‘Urd - King and Queen Under the Mountain

TA 2942, one year after the Reclamation of Azsâlul'abad

“Your Majesty, My Lady, brothers and sisters in stone, we have all eagerly waited for this moment,” The High Priest’s sonorous voice rang out in the festively decorated Great Hall of the Lonely Mountain. “May the Pleating Ceremony commence!”

It was happening. 

Mista swallowed. It felt as if the eyes of every single person present in the cavern were on her. As instructed earlier, Mista took off the veil that had covered her hair which was unbraided and adorned only with minuscule diamonds, and stepped stiffly towards the King. Her hands were clammy, and she tried not to stumble. The slippers and the opulent ceremonial gown she wore were incredibly uncomfortable and heavy. What a blunder it would be if she landed on the floor face down at that very moment! The court etiquette did not forbid her to wear her glasses, so at least she could see her surroundings clearly… including the crowds that gathered for the ceremony in the Great Hall. 

Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing, then something brushed against her temple. Mista flinched like a startled pony.

“No need to be alarmed, My Lady.” A low, rumbling murmur reached her ears. It was the King’s voice; she could have recognized his calm, confident manner everywhere. “Allow me to choose a suitable lock of your hair.” “By all means, Your Majesty,” Mista mumbled, feeling how close he stood to her, his arm brushing against hers, and how his fingers slowly ran through her hair. She did not know that a male touch could be so gentle. The only people allowed to touch her hair before this day were her mother, sister, and personal maid.

“Thank you, My Lady. Would you allow me to compliment you?” the King said and, not waiting for her reply, he  added. “I do not think I have seen such exquisite hair before.”

“I… thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispered, attempting to calm herself. Did the King himself truly think her hair was exquisite? A realisation dawned upon her. Of course not; he must have referred to its uncommon length, that was all. It was the only source of Mista’s pride — perhaps the colour of her hair was plain and common, but she had always kept it long, and currently it reached almost to her knees. And now, the King’s nimble fingers ran through it, once, twice, and then began pleating her hair slowly, each of his movements deliberate. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, but even then, she did not dare to open her eyes especially when the tips of his fingers lightly brushed against her cheek, making her tremble at the sensation.

“It may help you to imagine that there is only you and me here.” His quiet voice reached her again. 

“Pardon?” Mista’s breath hitched.

“During straining official functions I tend to imagine that there are only stone statues around me, carved in amusing poses. It helps to tackle the nerves.”

Mista’s eyes fluttered open and met the King’s azure gaze. An encouraging smile danced on his lips moments before he returned to braiding.

“I did not know someone like you could feel… nervous, Your Majesty,” she heard herself say.

“My coronation felt ten times worse than facing the enemy during the Battle of the Five Armies.” His reply made Mista chuckle. His smile widened, making his handsome face even more alluring. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe, simply staring at him. 

Click.

The King clasped his bead around her new braid. Gold encrusted with onyx contrasted with the plainness of her mousy hair, but the pattern made it somehow more refined. She took the braid into her hand and admired its even, elegant weaves.

“It is beautiful, Your Majesty,” she whispered.

The King gave her a thankful nod. Mista felt his intent gaze on her. His Durin’s apple bobbed. Something was not right… Why were his features so tense?

It took her a moment to understand. With her cheeks burning, she took a step towards him. How could she have forgotten that now it was her turn?

“May I…?” Her voice failed her, but no words were necessary. The King lowered his head towards her, his hair flowing freely in front of her eyes. 

With trembling fingers, she picked a thick lock of hair on his left temple and divided it into four parts. His hair was smooth and thick, making her think of a wolf’s fur, but it smelled like sweet oils from faraway lands in the South. Mista wanted to keep on braiding it for as long as she could. She thanked Mahal that she knew her personal pattern by heart — otherwise, she would have surely entangled his hair or ended up with a bunch of knots instead of the braid. Focused on plaiting it, she forgot about everything around her — there was only the King, Thorin, the Dwarf who unknowingly captured her heart a long time ago. Now, with every weave, she was willingly bestowing her whole self upon him.

Her bead was made of bronze and tiny sapphires from the Blue Mountains. For some reason, it refused to close around the King’s braid, making Mista sigh, but then one of his large, warm hands encircled her fingers that held the bead, and pressed it harder together. 

Click.

It was done.

Mista’s heart beat faster and faster as the King Under the Mountain took her hands into his. They were facing each other in a way that allowed everyone gathered in the Great Hall to see them from the side.

“Foreheads,” the High Priest whispered, barely moving his lips, holding something in his hands that glinted in the light of hundreds of lanterns.

The King squeezed her hands gently and lowered himself towards her once more. Mista took a deep breath and stood on her tiptoes so that their foreheads could meet.

His skin was pleasantly warm against hers, his nose brushed against hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. Instinctively, she closed her eyes, but the last thing she saw were his lips, slightly parted, and so close, so very close to hers, and there was his beard too, and she wondered how it would feel if…

“What Mahal has joined over the marriage anvil, no power shall break apart until the end of days,” the High Priest exclaimed, his voice loud and clear, like the sound of a gunmetal bell, drowning all of her inappropriate thoughts. 

“Thorin, son of Thrain, Mista, daughter of Milva, you are now husband and wife. Uzbad ra zabdûna undu ‘Urd!”

Loud cheers filled the spacious cavern as the white-bearded priest bound their hands together with a thin but unbreakable mithril chain — a symbol of the eternal bond they forged a moment ago. This was one of the most revered traditions of Mahal’s Children: Dwarves married only once. Mista read a treaty once that explained the origin of this ancient tradition: one of the oldest Dwarven legends said that each of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves had one spouse, and that each couple was made from one piece of stone, destined to be always together, as one mind, body, and heart. A long time had passed since Mista was an overly romantic lass who believed that each Dwarf had their beloved Other Half somewhere in the world. Now she was over one hundred and thirty years old, and during her lifetime, she saw too many dalliances, clandestine affairs, and broken promises to believe that her people were capable of loving only once and only the right person. Dwarves were a fiery race, with molten lava running in their veins rather than cold pieces of rock. Nevertheless, their marriages were the cornerstones of society, crucially important to every family, and so a wedded couple was supposed to be like a rock: steady and unbreakable. That was Mahal’s will, as the priests said. Therefore, the dissolution of marriage was impossible. If a Dwarf broke their marital vows — which, as dishonourable as it was, happened from time to time — they would still remain married to their spouse. Even death did not end it, as her people believed that they would remain married even in the afterlife, in the Halls of Awaiting. That was why Dwarven courtship would often last many years so that the future spouses had ample time to know each other well before they made this irreversible decision.

Mista’s courtship lasted one month. That was how much time Lord Tair, her father, needed to finalise negotiations with the King Under the Mountain. During that time, she never saw her future husband. That was to be expected — the Blue Mountains were almost half a world away from King Thorin II’s kingdom, Azsâlul'abad. Instead, his envoys arrived with the marriage contract signed in his own hand and a chest filled with customary gifts for his future bride: jewellery, hair combs, and a traditional courtship cloak. There was also a letter addressed to her. It contained all the obligatory niceties along with His Majesty’s apology for his absence due to the fact that his kingdom was being rebuilt and needed all of his attention at the moment. He assured his bride, however, that he was looking forward to meeting her in person and offering her as much hospitality as he had received in Tumunzahar years ago.

He remembered.

Over one hundred years had passed, and he still remembered his visit to her home city. Precisely like Mista. She never forgot how gallant and handsome he was, how his words dried her tears, and how he made her feel as if she, the ugliest girl at the feast, were the only woman in the whole world.

Perhaps that mawkish idea of Dwarves finding their Other Halves was not true, but she was certain of one thing: she still loved the same Dwarf as she did all those years ago. Her heart belonged to Thorin Oakenshield.

And now she was his wife. Her eyes were still set on the glistening links of the mithril chain that joined her hands when she heard the High Priest’s words.

“My King, My Queen.” He bowed with reverence, “It is time for your wedding feast.”

The only thing she could think of at that very moment was how good her hand felt in her lord husband’s reassuring hold.

***

The feast that celebrated their nuptials was an event like no other. Mista had never seen any revelries that were full of equal splendour. Countless guests from all seven dwarven realms were entertained by minstrels, musicians, dancers, and other performers. The food was delicious; wine and other liquors flowed endlessly, like the River Running, and everyone was merry. Mista sat on a grand chair placed on the King’s right hand. Now, both of them wore their crowns and royal insignia, and together, as the newlywed ruling couple of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, they accepted countless toasts and congratulations from the well-wishers throughout the evening. Mista tried her best to act with decorum worthy of the queen she had become hours ago, and she even managed to appear unflustered whenever the customary “May Mahal bless your union with countless heirs!” reached her ears. 

From time to time she managed to steal a glance at the King’s – her new husband’s – majestic profile, struggling to believe that this day was not a dream. But then she remembered the marriage braid hanging at her temple – and a similar braid in his hair. She truly was the great Thorin Oakenshield’s wife.

It was two bells after midnight when the weariness started to creep up on her.

“Is the feast to your liking, lady Mista?” the King turned to her, clearly noticing her attempt at stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it is! Forgive me, the celebrations took a toll on me, I’m afraid,” she explained, feeling the growing heaviness of her crown on her temples.

“It is perfectly understandable,” Princess Dis, the King’s sister, said. “It has been a long day. Perhaps it is time for you to repose.”

“May I…? Does the protocol allow it?” Mista took a hopeful look around the Great Hall where the feast was as lively as it was at its very beginning.

“May I remind you that now you are the Queen?” the King offered. “You may leave whenever you wish to do so.”

“And my brother will accompany you,” Princess Dis interjected, and then addressed the King. “Tonight you are only allowed to leave together.”

Mista caught a strange look they exchanged, and – after a noticeable pause – King Thorin said, “Very well.”

“Shall we, then?” He rose from his chair and held out his hand to Mista.

Leaving the Great Hall was not as easy a task as Mista expected. They had to endure another round of the official farewells, wedding toasts and felicitations from their numerous guests.

“Have a wonderful night!” Princess Dis exclaimed in a sing-song voice as they were stepping over the threshold.

“Aye, and a long one, too!” Dwalin, the King’s Captain, added, and they both laughed.

Their words sounded innocently enough for Mista at first, but they made the King clear his throat in visible embarrassment. 

And then it dawned on Mista. One more thing awaited her.

The wedding night.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | ... 💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

📜 Searching for more stories to read? Check out my masterlist!📜

Special taglist for people interested in the continuation: @quiall321 @exhausted-humxn-being @sassenachlou @tinfro @unknownvirgin

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@blackqueengold If you see your nickname in bold, it means that tumblr doesn't allow me to tag you any longer. Please DM me.

#thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #fanfic #tolkien #thorin x oc #richard armitage #thorin #fanfiction #thorin x fem!reader #angst #romance #love story #writers on tumblr

[neondiamond]

If you know me at all, you’ll know that two of the things I enjoy most are writing fluffy ficlets, and Christmas. This year, I decided to combine the two and create my own little Christmas ficlet party all throughout December! 8 ficlets, 4 different pairings, many different tropes—all short, fluffy and festive! Perfect for a quick reading break with a warm drink!

Here is a little sneak peek of what you can expect!

🎄You Don’t Have to Be Lonely Tonight (Larry, coffeeshop AU, strangers, 2k, fic post)

Louis is stuck working the Christmas day shift at the coffee shop. Harry is the sad stranger who comes in to spend the day there.

❄️ An Annual Affair (OT5 friendship, A/B/O, 1.6k, fic post)

One Direction’s annual Christmas dinner, featuring pregnant Harry and his overprotective Alpha Louis, nervous Liam and his calm and collected mate Zayn, and clueless Niall who may or may not have a death wish.

🎅🏻 Not Quite Structurally Sound (Ziam, kid fic, 1.1k, fic post)

Zayn and Liam help their two kids build a gingerbread house.

⭐️ You’re Family (Larry, meeting the parents, asexual characters, 2k, fic post)

Louis is a little nervous about meeting Harry’s family for the first time for Christmas. Harry’s Mum shows him he has nothing to worry about.

Part of the Inner Crisis universe.

🎄A Special Bond (Narry friendship, kid fic, uncle Niall, 1.1k, fic post)

Baby Lilah goes to see the Christmas lights with her Daddy Harry and her uncle Niall.

❄️ Mistletoe Kiss (Larry, roommates, mutual pining, 1.2k, fic post)

A little bit of mistletoe is just the thing Louis needed to let his roommate Harry know he’s got quite the crush on him.

🎅🏻 Cookies and Christmas Cheer (Ziall friendship, hospital AU, 1k, fic post)

When Niall is feeling a little sad at having to work over the holidays, his fellow nurse Zayn shows him a little Christmas spirit is still possible.

⭐️ All That Counts (Larry, established relationship, 1.2k, fic post)

A soft Christmas morning in the Tomlinson-Styles household.

Merry Christmas everyone! ❤️

#officially less than a month less before christmas! #time for some christmas fics!!! 🎄 #the fun starts in just 5 days! #2023 christmas ficlet party #fics #my fics #tracksintheam #teaser post

[suzannahnatters]

Flash Fic: The Girl in the Tower

Imagine this: you are a girl, locked in a tower.

Does it matter why? Let’s say your parents made a bargain with a witch—a golden-haired daughter for a bunch of parsley. So now you are the girl in the tower. Your only company (apart from the witch, but her visits are worse than nothing) is a book.

The book is full of stories, all the same. Once upon a time, a girl was cursed by a witch to live alone, until a prince rescued her with a true love’s kiss. They lived happily ever after.

You don’t know what alone means, because you’ve never been anything else. Still, the book insists that true love is the best thing that could possibly happen to a girl.

You put your faith in the book. You make songs about love.

Sometimes, even in the heart of the forest, someone hears your song. You have a marvellous voice, as golden as your hair. The book assures you that handsome princes cannot resist the golden singing of golden girls.

Except that they do.

Some block their ears and hurry away (they think you are a wood-siren, luring them to their doom). Others stop only to tell you your hair is a vanity and so are your songs.

One wishes to behold your face, but the climb is too daunting.

Years pass. You begin to understand what alone means. Alone means that you could gnaw your own flesh if it meant that someone, anyone, would climb your tower.

At last, one day, someone does. He hears your singing, and he doesn’t block his ears. He climbs your golden hair, and says it is glorious.

He says your songs are beautiful. He says he must go, because his true love awaits him at home.

This is a possibility for which the book never prepared you, but it makes perfect sense. Only true love could give a man courage in the face of song, strength to climb a tower, heart to comfort a lonely girl.

You gnaw on your own flesh and you feel tenderly grateful to his true love, whom you have never seen.

He returns. (You never quite believed he would, because why would he, when he has a true love at home?) Alone doesn’t need to be your name, he says. How many years was it since you felt hope? Perhaps, beyond this tower, your own love is waiting for you.

Or perhaps you’ll slip, and the witch will find you out. She’ll blind the prince, cut off your hair and abandon you both in a howling wilderness.

You’ll be free, but you won’t go looking for a love of your own, not yet. You’ll look for him, because he may not be your love, but he's the nearest thing you have. You’ll never rest till you’ve healed his hurts and sent him home.

Imagine this: that after all there are more ways than one to love, and all of them are true.

-----

I wrote this flash fic for the Pilgrim Artists' Festival, a small Christian festival of art, music, and words which runs every year in Tasmania's Huon Valley. The theme for the 2023 festival was "Beauty in the Everyday." One of the most underrated, beautiful things in the world, in my opinion, is platonic friendship between men and women. Like many of us I grew up in a world that believed men and women can't be friends - they can only be sexual partners. As a thirty-something chronically single woman, my friendships with men, even married men, are meaningful and lifegiving to me on a level that I'm not even going to try to be normal about.

The Pilgrim Artists' Festival opens every year for submissions of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, art, and music from Christian, Nicene-Creed-affirming artists, including children and adults, anywhere in the world. There is a different prompt each year and a 500 word limit on literary entries. There are also dozens of prizes available - check them out and submit here.

Other Pilgrim Artists' Festival flash fic: The Gardens of Hades Strange the Living Final Transmission

#writing #ficlet #my fic #short story #flash fiction #short stories #my books #retellings #short fiction #Pilgrim Artists Festival #christian fiction #christian writers #rapunzel #fairytale retelling

[bobparkhurst]

hey :) could I possibly request David/Paddy and snowball fight?

“Fucking… OW, fuck.”

David stumbles backwards, one hand clutching at his nose, the other flung out wildly, grasping at air for something to break his fall. His hand scrapes against bark and he scrabbles at it, not quite able to get his balance. He’s almost resigned himself to a very heavy fall into a grey pile of slush, when he finds himself caught, held tight and upright and staring into the furrowed expression on Paddy’s face.

“I think that snowball had a rock, in it,” David says. There’s something warm running down over his lip and when he licks at it with his tongue, he can taste metal. “Jesus, Paddy, it was a bit of-”

“I didn’t do it on fucking purpose, hold still.”

His nose is throbbing too hard to protest as Paddy steers him backwards, settling him down onto a small wall. Melting snow begins almost immediately to seep through the seat of his trousers, but he finds himself uncharacteristically silent, as Paddy’s hands cradle his face, inspecting the injury. This close, his breath is warm and rum-scented; there’s something so appropriately wintry in it that he almost laughs.

“I said hold still.”

“I’m not a fucking child.”

There’s a snort that let’s David know exactly what Paddy thinks of that, but his fingers remain gentle as they ghost over the sore area, prodding experimentally and lightly. They stop immediately when David flinches, but do not let him go.

“It’s not broken,” Paddy says. His thumb moves lightly over the skin of David’s upper lip, then briefly pauses at the edge of his mouth. David cannot quite see the expression on his face at this angle, but there’s a flicker of relief in his blue eyes that is just as comforting as the touch. “Impressive bit of blood though.”

David grimaces when he drops his hands again. For all the pain, there had been something quite appealing about how soft Paddy’s fingers had been against his jaw, his cheek. He fishes a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it beneath his nose.

“Tell me truly, Mayne,” he says, somewhat nasally, “are my good looks gone forever?”

Paddy laughs, shaking his head. “No fear of that,” he says.

#sas rogue heroes #paddy mayne #david stirling #paddy x david #bob: festive ficlets

[bylerween2023]

Happy Bylerween!

Happy spooky season, bylers. Thursday, October 26, is the first day of Byler Halloween Week (or as we like to call it, Bylerween). This is our masterpost of all of our links, mod posts and tagging system. Note: This post will be updated and added to as necessary!

Rules & Guidelines | Tagged

Daily Themes & Prompts

FAQ

Trigger Tagging System

Submissions & Posting

Bylerween Recs Info (self-promo encouraged!)

AO3 Collection | Bylerween Rec Collection Bookmarks

Answered Asks

Bylerween WIPs

Queued Posts

Bylerween Rec posts

Mod posts: Ayla | Jo | Lex | Sara | Rae

Mods: @howtobecomeadragon @lucasvenkman @foodiewithdahoodie @willelfanpage @ice-sculptures

Go to @bylerween-trick-or-treat for more info on how to participate on 10/31 (Day 6).

Theme tagging system under the cut:

Day 1

Ghosts & Hauntings Trapped in the Upside Down Haunted House

Day 2

Slashers, Gore & Body Horror Demogorgon, Demobats, & Flesh Monster Halloween Party

Day 3

Demons, Devils & Exorcisms Will’s S2 Possession Pumpkin Patch & Apple Orchard

Day 4

Psychological Horror Attacked by Vecna Sweater Weather

Day 5

Came Back Wrong Flayed!Mike/Flayed!Will Carnival Night

Day 6

Supernatural Creatures Trick or Treat, Freak (2x02) Trick or Treating

Day 7

Witches, Wizards & Necromancers D&D Renaissance Festival

Double Date Night

Fanart | Fanfic | Ficlet | Gifs | Playlist | Moodboard | Headcanon | Analysis | Edits | Fanvids | Memes | WIPs

#bylerween2023 #mod post #masterpost #stranger things #byler #themes #pinned post

[enam3l]

(hooray!!! tumblr fixed the links so everything should be in working order lmk if there’s any issues - 4th may)

TAGLIST AND REQUESTS OPEN

follow the tag #enam3ls rockstar eddie to get new update alerts! best way of using the tag is to go onto my tumblr then use the search bar and enter the tag. then it shows everything tagged from newest to oldest!

rockstar eddie munson fucking hates tommy lee (ficlet?)

the story of eddie x readers life-long beef with tommy lee

these days, rockstar eddie doesn’t give a fuck (headcanon story)

in the year 2022, eddie munson is a husband, dad and oh yeah – a rockstar but now he’s in his 50s, he really just doesn’t give a fuck what people think

rockstar eddie does Halloween (headcanon story)

from celebrating his first halloween with you to the present day, all of eddie’s annual Halloween antics

rockstar eddie does Halloween pt.2 (4k / smut)

in 1992 a certain halloween costume gets you in trouble with your boyfriend eddie

rockstar eddie’s purpose in life was becoming a dad (headcanon story)

an intro to dad rockstar eddie and his daughters for the first time ever

rockstar eddie’s friends in the industry (ficlet)

eddie hates tommy lee but he’s also got lots of friends and others he admires – how they meet metallica 

rockstar eddie munson thinks any music is good music if it makes you happy (ficlet)

eddie loves taking you to see your fave gigs and festivals then later your kids too

the big one: how rockstar eddie met his wife (y/n) (11.7k / fluffy love)

in an interview in november 1999, eddie and wife y/n tell a journalist how you met by pure coincidence on February 11th 1989

rockstar eddie’s lipstick stained shirt  (2.6k / smut)

in July 1993 corroded coffin are performing in vegas and a surprise from eddie results in you struggling to keep it in your pants

rockstar eddie has a new member for the band (headcanon story)

as you’re pregnant with your first baby Sloane, you worry how being a dad rockstar will work and how other musicians will react

rockstar eddie munson is gonna get the girl and god help anyone who stops him (9.6k / angst / fluff / slight smut)

direct follow up to how you and eddie met for the first time. after spending all your time together, in august 1989 you take your first holiday together and trouble ensues

the munson kids and their friendships with other rockstar’s kids (blurb) 

rockstar eddie munson and his wife are still hopelessly in love (ficlet / fluff)

your youngest daughter maeve notices not everyone is as in love as you and eddie

steve harrington's happy ending (4.7k / fluff)

our boy steve gets the ending he's always deserved! we meet corey and the other nuggets mom for the first time

half the world away (4k / fluff / smut 18+ / slight angst)

following their first holiday together, eddie goes on corroded coffin's first nationwide tour and you're apart for the first time since meeting

like a rainbow (4k / pure fluff)

you might be heavily pregnant with your first baby but hell will freeze over before you miss an award show that eddie is nominated at

96' awards show bonus: kiss from a rose (ficlet / fluff)

an extra scene to 'like a rainbow'. yours and your baby's favourite song is being performed live and eddie is just... eddie

rockstar eddie learns about the kardashians (ficlet / fluff)

the munsons get a wedding invite - but eddie is wondering who the hell the kardashians are?

the wish (ficlet / fluff)

you want to make sure eddie’s first birthday with you by his side is special so you ask the whole gang for help

driving mrs munson (ficlet / fluff)

now you’ve left the city for hawkins, eddie thinks you might need a new ride

sunday morning (ficlet / fluff / allusion to smut)

a day in the life of you and your boyfriend eddie as you enjoy a cute sunday together

one embarrassing dad to rule them all (ficlet / fun / fluff)

maeve can’t resist capturing her dad eddie’s antics for tiktok

there’s something about marnie (ficlet / fluff / smut)

your daughters have eddie wrapped around their fingers but they just can’t seem to get him to buy a dog

he had it coming (ficlet / fluff / smut / light violence)

not long after having your first baby together, the media is buzzing with pamela anderson and tommy lee drama and eddie is sick of the paparazzi

munson family values (ficlet / fluff / mention of smut)

what’s not to love about being on holiday with your rockstar husband eddie and your three daughters?

this maeve-chine slays dragons (ficlet / fluff / angst)

eddie loves being a dad more than anything but is scared his youngest daughter maeve doesn’t like him

an eddie munson christmas (ficlet / festive fluff)

readers choice! your first ever christmas with eddie is your first real christmas ever

three fucking weeks (3.6k / filthy smut)

it's been three long gruelling weeks without eddie whilst he's been away recording and now you're finally reunited. cliffhanger ending!

the big question (4.6k words / pure fluff) NEW

continuing straight after 'three fucking weeks' eddie is finally prepared to ask you the big question.

little notes and answered questions 

eddie’s queer daughter Sloane (1) (2)

eddie’s middle daughter iris (1)

eddie deals with season 4 (1)

eddie’s industry pals and views (1) (2) (3)

aftermath of season four (1)

#enam3l x eddie #enam3l asks #enam3ls rockstar eddie #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x yn #Eddie munson angst

[tteokdoroki]

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — be better, rookie + katsuki bakugou.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — fluff + sfw, gn!reader, pro hero!bakugou, he’s all scarred up so…manga spoilers? reader looks up to and has a huge crush on bakugou, small age gap sort of implied !! wrote this in an hour so sorry for any typos !! not beta read <3

happy new year everyone!! first little ficlet of 2023!! thank you all for sticking by me this last year, i hope this next one is full of positive vibes for you all 🫶🏾☁️

aside from christmas, the new year has always been a time where crime was at its peak – whether it be pitpockets sneaking through crowds at Japan’s famed festivals or cruel individuals breaking into quaint little family homes while the occupants are out for the fireworks; crime always rears it ugly head during the dawn of a new year. for pro-heroes, working the patrol on new years eve is almost as bad as it gets, no one wanting to stick around for long hours amongst rowdy groups of fans, pranksters, and evil-doers amongst other archetypes of the general public. getting stuck with the new years patrol was prfobably the closet thing to bad luck, but this time around, you didn’t mind.

“what? got no plans for the new year, rookie?’

from your place crouched on a roof above the warm glow of the festivals below, you spare a glance up at your patrol partner for the evening and wet the swell of your lower lip, as if to warm it up from the onslaught of cold air drifting over it. “uh, n-no, not this year dynamight,” you stammer out, unsure as to why – is it because you’re cold? or because you’re spending the last day of the year working with a living legend? “all my friends are busy – not that i have many, and um…i kinda need the extra wages? so i volunteered for the patrol this year…”

his sturdy and intimidating presence looming over you while you hug your knees to your chest only serves to make you ramble on about the finer details you’re sure the older, more explosive hero could careless about. it all just…flies out of you, admitting your truth to someone you’ve admired for so long. katsuki bakugou was just shy of twenty-three when he started his own agency, shooting through the ranks for not only his zero casualties, zero failures work in the hero field but because of his brash, take-no-shit approach to life and obviously soul-damaging goodlooks. the first time you’d met the great and powerful dynamight, you were just a little ways away from completing your final year in the hero course at U.A, he’d come in for one of those alumni talks along with a few of his other succeszsful classmates from the iconic class 1-A. you remember nothing else from that day aside from bakugou’s words. 

‘havin’ a flashy quirk ain’t worth shit if yer not willin’ to push yourself past what you already know,’ he’d said, commanding your attention as you listened on with baited breath. ‘believe in what you can do, but don’t ever get comfortable, knowin’ that you can always be somethin’ more.’

now, seven, about to be eight years on – you still hold his words close to your heart, using it as motivation to strive to become a better hero…even if you are just a sidekick for now. you’re pulled from your thoughts when bakugou lets out a grunt while he flops down to sit next you, hot-blood red and silver-moon grey eyes focused on the buzzing celebrations below, his nose tucked into the collar of his winter-costume to keep warm. “got no partner t’kiss when the clock strikes twelve, hah?”  there’s not an ounce of care for how scandalous his question might be hidden in the blonde’s voice, in fact, he smirks from under his collar ( you can tell by the way his eyes crinkle ) when you squeak in response.

“n-no! nothing like that,” your voice shakes and rises in pitch as you vehemently deny katsuki’s claims – only making him laugh a little more, the timbre sound bristling right through you like the chill of an icy winter’s breeze. “i’m not dating anyone. i don’t really have the time to, i’ve just been focusing on becoming a good pro-hero…being the best i can be.”

bakugou knows those words like the back of his scarred hands, he knows the loneliness that comes with them too. they’re what’s gotten him this far, what got his face fucked up and his life hanging in the balance on multiple occasions. he knows them well, he wonders if you’re the same too.

“s-so…uh, dynamight–”

‘bakugou…bakugou’s fine,”

“bakugou,” you correct yourself quickly, daring to look at the man, your idol. “d-do you have any plans for new years eve tonight?”

your nervous squeals remind the aging blonde of someone he used to know, someone he’ll never dmit that he’s fond of, and bakugou decides then and there, that he likes you. this meek little rookie. he shakes his head. “don’ really care for this time’a year,” he explains simply. “but a couple of my old…friends are expecting me at a party by midnight.”

there’s a beat of silence, pocketed by your brief and meek sigh. “i-it’s almost midnight, sir.”

katsuki bakugou’s had a hard time accepting a lot of his feelings, not knowing when or why he should care…but tonight, he finds that he does. if he leaves now, with almost a few minutes to spare before the dawn of a new age, this rooke, the one that he hardly knows and only just met…will be alone. “s’bakugou to you, rookie.” and for some reason, his aching and turbulent soul just can’t handle that. “and i know, didn’t say i was goin’ to the stupid party, did i?”

the countdown below beings, with only a minute to go before another gruellling year will be upon you– your heartbeat is louder than the simmering excitement beneath you, the echoes of blood rushing through your ears deafening the anticipating crowd below. you want this next year to count, you want all of your hard work to mean something, you want the man that lead you here to know how much you owe him – so your body moves without thinking, racing ahead of the sixty-second timer that the whole world is running on as jumbled words tumble from your lips and you latch onto the dynamight’s right arm, desperatly, tearily.

“t-thank you!” you blurt out quickly, before you can even stop yourself. forty-five seconds left on the clock. “for everything, for being my hero, for going on when others can’t. for being the reason that i want to do better next year, b-be better!” you expect katsuki to recoil, to shove you off and when he doesn’t, you keep going. “even when the years would hurt you, you’ve never stopped. s-so thank you dynamight, f-for everything.”

the pro hero hates the way he almost gets choked up, nearly hates the way you remind him so much of the person who drives him to become better too. he blinks back the water lining his mismatched eyes, coughing to cover up the emotion in his voice. “did that idiot–” less than thirty seconds now. better, kacchan, be better. “did deku put you up to this?’ 

bakugou’s heart seizes in his chest when he realises – you’re just good, a little like deku, but good in your own way, in your own time. it makes sense why the number one had chosen you to be his sidekick. ten seconds. “no,” you whisper so sweetly, almost too quiet to be heard underneath the shouts of ‘five, four three two–!’ “that was all me. t-thank you, bakugou.”

one.

the smile you give him is bright, further illuminated by the pops of colour from fireworks in the sky.

you’re pretty, both inside and out, showing katsuki an appreciation he’s only ever felt once, before. 

speaking again, you give his arm a squeeze. “happy new year, bakugou.” 

“happy new year,” katsuki parrots, constarstingly soft to his rough, bumped and bruised exterior. here’s to being better, rookie.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou drabbles #bakugou imagines #bakugou fic #bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou fanfic #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted