#tumblr drabbles

[steddieas-shegoes]

A little thing based on this post because it wouldn’t leave my brain:

“I just don’t understand why you won’t try to read it.”

Steve had heard Dustin say this exact sentence hundreds of times at this point.

“I mean, do you know how to read?”

Mike was an asshole. Steve loved him because he was part of the group and he’d been through the same things, but he was such a dick.

“Yes, I know how to read. I just don’t.”

Dustin rolled his eyes.

“If you don’t wanna read nerd shit just say so.”

Steve threw his arms up in frustration.

Steve was a nerd at heart. As a child, he would beg the nanny to take him to the library and the science museum that had real dinosaur fossils. There was something about the peace of exiting his reality and finding a new one among fantasy and history that was indescribable, even to this day.

But as he grew into his looks, he grew out of that phase. At least around others.

And with no nanny around to take him places, he settled for just being the popular guy who hung out with his friends after practice and threw parties at his forever empty house on Saturdays.

But secretly, he still found himself enjoying books late into the night. Never school books, or his grades would’ve been good enough for college, but always incredible novels that took him to other worlds with the most impressively brave people.

And then he lived a nightmare. A few times over. With concussions at every turn.

Now, anytime he tried to read, his head started pounding, his vision got blurry, and ears would start ringing. He stopped trying altogether after Starcourt, but he’d never really let go his love of books.

He occasionally let Robin read to him, but she would get distracted by a plot or character and go on a tangent, leaving Steve confused about what the actual story was. He hated being confused.

“Stevie, you got a minute?”

Eddie had been watching from his spot at the end of the table, where he’d been cleaning up the mess of D&D. He usually made the kids do it, but he’d let them off the hook tonight when they beat the monster and escaped his trap.

Steve and Eddie were friends, definitely. Maybe not close ones, but friends.

Steve had a little crush, definitely. Or a big one. Maybe.

So when Eddie shows him attention, he somewhat shamefully receives it like he’s dying of thirst in a desert.

Robin is the only one who’s noticed so far, but if he keeps acting like a dog being called by his master anytime Eddie talks to him, someone else will comment on it.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asked as he made his way to Eddie.

The kids took this time to talk amongst themselves about the game and what they think will happen next week, and Steve couldn’t have been more grateful.

“You don’t have to tell me, but.” Eddie was tapping his fingers nervously against his leg. “Do you not know how to read?”

“Uh. No I do. I mean I graduated high school. I know it’s hard to believe.”

“Not judging if you can’t, man. I mean, I took three senior years. I’m the last person who can judge.”

“Yeah, but you’re smart. You just didn’t like school,” Steve replied with a pat to his shoulder.

Eddie glanced down at the contact, eyebrow raising and then falling back to normal quickly.

“Just seems like you’d have read something by now to get them off your ass.”

And that’s a really good point. Maybe he should’ve just suffered through a migraine so they’d leave him alone about it.

But migraines left him out for days sometimes, and he couldn’t exactly afford that right now.

“I guess it’s just not worth the migraine.”

He hadn’t meant to actually say it. He didn’t want Eddie to feel bad or for him to try to make him feel better about it or ask questions or talk about the concussion thing.

Actually, did he even know about the concussion thing? Things?

“You get migraines when you try to read?” Then realization hit Eddie hard. “Steve. Do you like reading?”

Something about the way Eddie was looking at him, like he was sad for him but not pitying him, made Steve want to cry.

“I used to, yeah.”

“Everyone out! Your parents are gonna have to come get you! No questions, no explanations, go!” Eddie yelled to the room.

Everyone stared blankly at him before they started protesting, Dustin loudest of all.

“Steve’s my ride!”

“Not anymore. Hitch a ride with Lucas.”

“But Lucas’ mom always squeezes my cheeks and tells me she hopes I never lose my baby fat.”

“She speaks for all of us. Get the hell out of here!”

Steve was actually impressed. Maybe a little turned on? God, he was a disaster.

As everyone cleared out of the room, Eddie patted the seat next to him. When Steve sat down, Eddie scooted his chair so close to him, his knees were touching Steve’s.

“Alright, so you’re gonna tell me about what books you like and what books you want to read and we’re gonna get started.”

Steve blinked at him. “Huh?”

“You have a list I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Okay, then we better get started.”

“I mean, I’ve tried. I appreciate it, but even focusing on one page makes my eyes burn and my head hurt.”

“Got that. I’m not asking you to read.”

Sometimes Steve was worried the concussions had actually knocked some screws loose. He wasn’t getting it.

“I’m gonna read to you, Stevie.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure a lot of them will be movies and I can just watch them.”

“It’s not the same. You know it’s not.”

He was right. Steve didn’t have much patience for movies. And sometimes even those gave him migraines if there were a lot of bright lights and explosions.

“Yeah. But still. You don’t have to do that. You might not even like the books.”

“Ah, this isn’t a completely free service, my liege.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t have extra money to pay you, dude.”

“Not money. I get to pick a book to read to you when we finish the first book you pick.”

“Is it The Hobbit?”

“It is,” Eddie looked so smug.

“Well, that was my first choice,” Steve stared back, equally as smug.

“So, your house is empty.”

“Yep.”

“And I’m assuming you own this book.”

“I do.”

“And it’s getting late.”

Steve looked out the window at the pitch black skies.

“It’s late.”

“So I could stay and read you to sleep.”

“Won’t I miss some of the book?”

“I’ll stop when you’re asleep.”

Steve’s heart was practically begging him to say yes. Eddie reading to him in his bed? Possibly falling asleep together? Maybe even waking up together? It couldn’t be a better proposition. Well. It could.

“Will you stay even if I fall asleep?”

Eddie smirked. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d called Steve that, but it was the first time it felt like he meant it in a non-teasing way.

“Okay.”

So they both changed into some of Steve’s comfy clothes, got into his bed, and Eddie started reading The Hobbit.

Just as he was during D&D and real life, Eddie was animated, providing different voices for different characters and often giving long pauses to let Steve soak in what the words meant.

Steve didn’t even have to ask him to do that. He just did.

Steve fell asleep somewhere between halfway and the end of chapter two, but Eddie stayed.

And they woke up the next day with Steve’s head resting on Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him to keep him as close as possible.

They finished the The Hobbit in a week, and because Eddie was now committed to making sure Steve was well-read, they started moving through his list rapidly, falling for each other in new ways every time Eddie turned a page.

Part 2 (Angst)  / Part 2 (Fluffy) /  Part 2 (Explicit)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tumblr drabbles #ao3fic #headcanon #secret nerd Steve Harrington

[daedalusdavinci]

24. superbat. this motherfucker JUST got to bed if any of u assholes wake him UP

24. Protecting your lover’s sleep as they doze on your lap, making sure nobody bothers them as they entrusted their peace to you. thinking about.... jlas superbat. i may not have followed this prompt to the letter but its very long so you get what you get at this point

It was just one of those days- one of those nights- one of those weeks- where one problem shifted right into the next without break, and they all found themselves running more ragged than usual. In the tower, heroes everywhere seemed sluggish and exhausted, running low on sleep and worn out from the last battle. Diana had tipped onto a couch and hadn't gotten back up again, and Wally had nearly passed out in the cafeteria, starting awake and drifting off again in the middle of a burger. After being pried away from the monitors, J'onn had gone straight to his room to sleep, and there were countless others who had followed his example.

Bruce was too stubborn. Clark was reasonably sure he'd been awake longer than anyone, but Clark could still see him typing away, doing god even knew what.

"I'll sleep when I finish," he said, before Clark had even said anything.

"I wasn't going to tell you to sleep," Clark said, taking that as his cue to approach.

"Yes, you were."

"I know better." Clark set a hand on the back of Bruce's chair, glancing briefly over the monitors. Logs, security feed, news reports- all of it a huge mess of information to sort through. Someone had to do it, but that someone didn't need to be Bruce.

Bruce looked tired. His shoulders sagged and his fingers hesitated, slow on the keys. He'd been drooping all day, attacking everything with the energy of a man on his very last leg. He'd sustained too many injuries during the fight. He'd been slow, and sloppy. He needed to sleep, but he'd never let Clark talk him into it if Clark let on that that was what he was doing.

"Can you do all this from anywhere?" Clark asked.

Bruce blinked slowly. "Not from anywhere."

"But from another computer."

"Yes. I have others."

"A laptop?"

"Yes." Bruce was eyeing him with suspicion, now, leaning back in his chair.

"Then you're doing it from there," Clark decided. "You can burn your retinas to your heart's content- I won't stop you. But I need company."

For a long moment, Bruce looked at him. Clark could practically hear the gears turning as he thought it over, taking longer to consider it than he usually would in his exhaustion. Then, finally, his gaze softened. He sighed, slumping back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. "Just don't watch one of your stupid cooking shows while I work."

"They're not stupid," Clark protested.

"Whatever." Bruce waved a hand, pushing himself up out of the chair. He hit a few more buttons, and the monitors condensed into the smallest screen, allowing Bruce to pull it off of its docking station. "Lead the way."

The tower had grown quiet and still with sleeping heroes. With his hearing, Clark could hear Booster and Ted's laughter from the cafeteria, but everywhere else had turned muffled and heavy with the air of sleep. People murmured back and forth to avoid waking up sleeping heroes in the commons, and most of the sleeping quarters were occupied. Somewhere, Wally got ready to portal home, while somewhere else, Oliver snored loudly. No one passed them on their way to Clark's room.

It was easy to get stuck on the fringes of his senses, listening to everything instead of whatever was closest. The need to keep an ear out for danger hadn't quite abided yet, and it left Clark feeling unmoored and anxious. Normally, it was a nuisance, but maybe this time it'd keep him awake long enough that Bruce would sleep first.

It was almost too easy to pile on his couch with Bruce. Normally, any attempt at getting Bruce to accept even a mediocrum of comfort resulted in a fight, but he sat without prompting, eyes never leaving his tablet. He didn't complain when Clark flopped down with a heap of blankets, even when Clark twisted to lean against the arm, swinging his legs across Bruce's lap. Somehow, they settled in like that; Bruce, on his tablet, and Clark, half-watching some nature show that was interesting enough, but not so interesting that it offended Bruce's sensibilities.

As the narrator droned on, Clark struggled to narrow in his focus. The lights from the TV flickered colors across the dark room, and it felt so quiet, surrounded by the suffocating vacuum of space. If he strained hard enough, he knew he could hear Earth, but he tried not to. He could feel each individual fiber of each blanket, and each snore in the building. The tap of Bruce's finger against the screen of his tablet felt obscenely loud. The constant shifting of his attention and the overwhelming amount of stimulus was exhausting, and he could feel himself sagging under it, so worn out that it was hard to hear the words coming from the TV. He rubbed his face, running through grounding exercises in his head to no avail. He wasn't sleeping, at least.

Bruce's hand came to rest on his knee. The pressure of it was enough to shock Clark out of his thoughts, but light, and gentle. Bruce hadn't looked up from his tablet, but his thumb tracked back and forth absently.

Slowly, Clark relaxed back into the couch again. His eyes fixed on the TV, but without really registering the pictures. He couldn't feel every fiber in the blankets, or hear every snore, but he was suddenly hyper-aware of that weight on his knee- a single point of focus that he locked on helplessly. It wasn't constant- every now and again, Bruce lifted his hand to tap the screen- but it always returned. Somehow, that caught Clark's attention more, leaving him waiting, expectant, caught on every detail of Bruce. The bracing warmth of Bruce's legs under his own, the vaguely ticklish stroke of his thumb, his breathing, steady and slow. Out of habit more than anything, he found Bruce's heartbeat, listening to the low thump of it until it felt like his own had slowed in turn. The familiarity of it was soothing, safe, protected, the reliability of the Batman unexpectedly grounding after so long.

His head slipped off his hand, and he started, eyes opening. He hadn't realized he'd closed them.

"Seems like I'm not the only one trying to stay up," Bruce commented.

"I'm not," Clark said. Although, maybe he was. He frowned through the haze of exhaustion, trying to focus on the TV.

"The life and death of a sea star are just that riveting," Bruce said, teasing under the deadpan.

"Shut up," Clark muttered, and shifted again, re-propping up his elbow on the arm of the couch.

It was difficult to understand how Bruce stayed awake. Without the cowl, the bags under his eyes were dark and deep, his expression something beyond exhausted. And yet, even now, wrapped up in blankets and secluded in the quiet comfort of Clark's room, listening to the soothing drone of a documentary, he tapped at that stupid tablet. Clark was beginning to doubt his ability to outlast him. The restless discomfort that had kept him awake earlier- his ace in the hole against Bruce's stubbornness- was fading into a sleepy warmth all too quickly.

And then, Bruce started to hum.

Clark could count on the fingers of one hand how many times he'd heard Bruce sing. Diana had once told him that Bruce had a voice so beautiful it could make a villain weep, but Clark had only ever heard it rarely, and never meant for him. It was a quiet lullaby, murmured to a baby that wouldn't stop crying as Clark searched for the mother, or a hum, pressed against Robin's hair in the aftermath of fear toxin. It had always felt like something he wasn't meant to hear. Now, through the ridiculous fog of exhaustion, Clark thought of sirens, calling soothingly to sailors from a distance.

Bruce's humming was soft and low, just under his breath. The tune was impossible to place, but haunting, and mournful. The sound of it seemed to vibrate through Clark, blanketing his senses until all he could focus on was just Bruce. Bruce was warm. He was safe, and close, and so confusingly present, as reliable as the tide. Time seemed to turn fluid, listening to that soft song, and Clark's eyes closed without his permission, just listening.

When Clark next opened his eyes, it was dark. The TV was off, Bruce's tablet forgotten somewhere in the tangle of blankets. His neck should've ached from the arm of the couch, but his head was on the cushions, propped up by a pillow. How Bruce had pulled that off without waking him, he had no idea.

Bruce was a warm weight against his chest, breathing slow. Judging by the awkward positioning, Clark doubted he'd meant to fall asleep, knees still jammed under Clark's own and cape still on. One of his hands was tucked against Clark's side, his face hidden between his own shoulder and Clark's sternum. It was... sweet, really. To have Bruce feel comfortable enough to sleep was a unique privilege, and one rarely afforded.

Clark hadn't outlasted him, in the end. But Bruce was sleeping, and as Clark let his eyes drift shut again, he allowed himself to consider it a win.

#superbat #superman #batman #bruce wayne #clark kent #tumblr drabbles #justice league animated series #justice league unlimited #asks #ashysiashy #uno reverse card clark gets taken care of trying to take care of somebody #i think he needs it. #its good for him #anyway idk if this is a good place to end this but im sick of looking at it and i have other prompts to get to

[habizuh-studios]

TGCF in Hua Cheng's POV?!

More likely than you think. Part 1, Book 1

---------------- “Crimson Rain,” Hua Cheng hears in his spiritual communication array. He’s been so bored lately. The only semi-interesting thing that had happened was him pummeling Qi Rong to the ground in his own city, so he’s excited to hear something.“I have good news for you,” he says. He more excited than usual. “So good that you have to contact me this way?” Hua Cheng says with a smirk. “To the point of having to use that stupid password, yes,” He Xuan probably rolls his eyes. “But I’ll get straight to the point. His Highness, the Crown Prince of Xianle, has ascended to Heaven once again.” Hua Cheng’s eyes go wide hearing that. His Royal Highness… Part of him wishes he found him earlier. The rest of him, however, is quietly celebrating. He brings his hand down from when it was resting on his temple and closes it into a fist. His head hangs down a little bit and he closes his eyes. He smiles- a true, genuine smile. It may be ugly, with too sharp teeth and crooked, but it’s genuine. It took so long… “Hua Cheng, what are you doing?” He Xuan’s annoying monotone voice breaks his euphoric stupor. Fuck He Xuan. “You don’t even know where he currently is.” “... Aren’t you going to tell me?” “Yes,” He Xuan says. How Hua Cheng can hear the joy in He Xuan’s voice. It’s uncharacteristic, but he doesn’t really care at the moment. “But not for free. He has caused quite the property damage from his ascension alone. Sent a clock flying towards General Xuan Zhen, destroyed General Nan Yang’s palace… He’s in a lot of debt. Now he’s doing a mission in the mortal realm to pay it off.” Hua Cheng thinks that this is very convenient. His good luck was actually worth something! “Hua Cheng, don’t you want to know where he-” “Free food, five months. I’ll feed your bonefish for two months. Anything else for them, one. Nothing to your debt.” “Ehem, pardon?” “You heard me. Do we have a deal, He Xuan?” “DEAL. He should be near the mountain of Yu Jun, at a tea shop… Small Shop of Chance Encounters. Fitting name, isn’t it? Anyway, he’s going to solving that Ghost Groom case some people were praying about. Maybe he’ll even ride in the bridal sedan…” “6 months of free food.” Hua Cheng can hear how much smile is in He Xuan’s voice. It’s disgusting, honestly, and he honestly pities him. That does not matter right now, however. What does matter is His Highness. He will not throw away this chance no matter how much it costs him. Just to see him once is all he asks for.

#drabble #tumblr drabbles #tgcf #tian guan ci fu #heaven officials blessing #xie lian #hua cheng #crimson rain #crimson rain sought flower #he xuan #simp. you simp #setting up for actual plot is so disheartening #this is just a little something #im actually nervous about this because #i want to do his pov justice #he deserves it <3

[pastelcheckereddreams]

I just have the urge to see Porsche coaxing Pete from Vegas's side, those first few numb, liquid hours in the hospital while Vegas is stabilized. Peeling him out of his blood-soaked uniform, limbs as limp and heavy as a doll, and ushering him into a warm shower. Standing with him under the spray, washing the blood from Pete's hair, from under his fingernails. Holding him as the tears come. Dressing him in clothes Arm or Pol has brought from the compound, from the room Pete will never share with Porsche again. Returning Pete to Vegas's room where, outside the door, a pale Macau is wrapped up in, surprisingly or not, Tankhun's arms. Tankhun takes one look at Pete, and pulls him in too.

Big brothers Tankhun and Porsche looking after Pete, who has shouldered so much on his own, and Macau, who is just a child thrust so suddenly into the horrible truth of his family's world.

#nikkiwrites #tumblr drabbles #kp fic #kp fanfiction #kp episode 14 #vegas theerapanyakul #pete saengtham #vegaspete #vegas x pete #porsche kittisawasd #porsche pachara #tankhun theerapanyakul #macau theerapanyakul

[kindlingkeen]

What fic are you most excited to write and/or share?

In Asymmetrical Warfare? Rendition. Part 1 of the stunning conclusion.

I’m not actively working on writing it right now because there’s just so much ground to cover between it and where things are now … 🥲

Here, have a sneak peak to tide us both over.

~~~

All of his guns are empty and he’s out of ammo. 

He’s burned through all of his throwing knives. He lost his kris and his karambit a few rooftops ago.

His grapple gun is gone too.

His helmet is cracked. Small shattered pieces trickle free whenever he makes a rapid movement. It’s raining, cold droplets trickling in and running steadily down his face. Jason hates the rain.

He’s got dozens of shallow lacerations that are bleeding steadily. The water runs red where it dips off of him. He can feel the stab wound in his thigh starting to bleed through the pressure bandage he hastily applied. 

There’s a soft thud of boots touching down, just audible above the rush of falling rainwater.

Batman stands in the road in front of him.

Jason stares.

You never give up, Jason. You don’t know how.

No reason to start now, T, Jason thinks. He raises his fists.

#keen converses #my fics #asymmetrical warfare #rendition #tumblr drabbles #i am so fucking excited about this story i can’t even #Afjkdaslfjdklasa;ksd #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batman #under the red hood #utrh au

[a-midnight-rabbit-writes]

Adagio

Platonic Malleus x GN pianist!Reader

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Reader finds a forgotten piano hidden away in the depths of NRC.  Soothing their loneliness via music, they soon gather a lone audience member who silently enjoys their playing from the shadows.

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CW: none

Word count: 1165

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This wasn’t the first time that the mysterious, dark haired student had come to listen to you play.  You’d noticed him quite a few times over the past few weeks, actually, lingering just outside the partially opened classroom door, hiding off to the side in the shadows of the corridor as your fingers danced along the piano’s keys.  He was so silent most of the time that you might not have noticed him at all, had it not been for the soft, almost imperceptible humming that you had picked up on one day, following along with your fingers upon the black and white keys as you circled around to the beginning of one particular song for the third or fourth (maybe even the fifth) time that evening.

While the memories of your home world were blurry, like the indistinct photograph of an object slipping by as your finger frantically struck the shutter button in a futile attempt to capture the present moment, your fingers seemed to have a memory all their own, one that the transfer between worlds hadn’t had the thought to snatch away.  And so, the dusty piano, only slightly out of tune and tucked away in an abandoned classroom down one of Night Raven College’s unlit stone-walled hallways had become somewhat of a safe-haven for you.  An overlooked instrument, for an overlooked, unmagical student.  The two of you left behind together to waltz to the tune of fragmented classical music from another world.

Usually students didn’t venture this far into the castle, especially not this late in the evening.  Most were preparing to head back to the dorms from club activities and other after-school engagements.  However, the person quietly lingering outside the classroom door wasn’t the average student, you’d come to notice.  You had seen him in the halls quite a few times, followed closely by two tall young men, one incredibly loud, with sharp eyes and green hair, the other one quiet, with a softer expression and light silver locks that almost fell into his eyes, the three always given a wide berth by those passing through the halls.  Though you suspect that this had less to do with Sebek and Silver, upperclassmen whose names you had come to learn in passing, and more to do with the young lord for whom they acted as bodyguards.

Malleus Draconia.  Dragon fae.  Heir apparent to Briar Valley.  The name didn’t mean much to you, not being of this world.  However, it seemed to instill a stark sense of fear and unease into each and every one of your classmates.

You had accidentally caught his gaze once, passing through the stone-walled hallways on your way to Professor Trein’s history class early one morning.  Running late, the halls had been vacant, except for you and one other student.  Out of breath from the near-running pace that you had kept throughout the halls, praying that you could slip into class just before the bell rang, you had turned a corner and looked up just in time to meet the chartreuse eyes of a much taller student, his curling black horns adding significant height to his already tall frame.  He wore the standard black NRC blazer over the bright green Diasomnia vest, a matching dorm armband encircling his upper left arm.  It was rare to see him without his bodyguards, or his vice housewarden, Lilia Vanrouge.  Yet here he was, alone, and running late to class, just as you were, though much unlike you he displayed no outward urgency in ensuring that he arrived on time.   The two of you held eye contact for but a brief moment as you rushed past him, but it was long enough for you to glimpse a very recognizable emotion in his gaze.

Loneliness.  An emotion that you had become almost intimately familiar with since arriving in Twisted Wonderland.

It wasn’t as if you weren’t close to anyone here.  You had made friends, and had at least a handful of people here who you cared about and who cared about you in return.  And yet, sometimes late at night, or during certain holidays or other special celebrations that were foreign to you, classmates and friends sharing that excitement with family and people they had known for years, you could feel that quiet ache slip into your being.  It was during those times especially that the familiar music coming from your fingertips had become a necessary comfort.

Today, strangely, you noticed that your piano was no longer out of tune.  Each key resonated at its intended pitch as you stretched your fingers, warming up each digit with a few sets of scales.  As you eased your way through your warm-up routine and into the repetitive loop of your favorite instrumental pieces, the fading daylight swept by as quickly as it usually did.  As the creeping darkness outside overcame the remaining sunlight you found yourself reaching for a small matchbook and the tarnished silver candle holder that sat atop the piano.  You paused, curiously, as your fingers brushed against the cool metal handle of the candle holder, surprised to see that the melted down stub of wax that had served to light your evenings in this dusty classroom had been replaced with a taller, fresh candle, the wick yet unblemished by soot.

You had just opened the matchbook, fingers searching for a single match within, when out of nowhere the candle suddenly came alight with a sickly green, flickering flame.  Straightening, and turning towards the doorway, you saw that your lone hallway audience member had actually stepped through the door today, and stood only a short distance from you.  His eyes reflected the firelight of the lone candle, almost glowing green in the faint lighting as he towered over you, his horns spiraling away into the shadows.

You noticed that he held an instrument case in his hands.

“You play exceptionally well, Child of Man,” the strange fae remarked.  “Might I accompany you this evening?” He inquired, unlatching the instrument case and pulling out his violin.

“I’m not sure I know anything you’d be familiar with…” You admitted to him, yet unsure whether to be flattered or intimidated by the attention of Briar Valley’s dark prince.  You hadn’t really bothered to learn many songs from this world, instead opting to play what you had memorized from home, over, and over, and over again.  A slight smile graced the dragon fae’s lips at your words.

“I believe that I have become familiar enough with what you already know, Child of Man.”  

Hesitating for just one moment more, you gave him a slight nod in acquiescence, before turning back to the black and white keys in front of you.  Your fingers swept lightly over the keys, an airy, delicate tune soothing the air and growing in intensity with the addition of a tender violin chorus intertwining itself within your melody. 

Perhaps it would be alright to share your loneliness with another person, just this once.

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Thanks for reading!!

#twst #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #nrc #diasomnia #twst fanfic #fanfiction #tumblr drabbles #twst malleus

[argyleheir]

Drabble - Dearie

For the "sorry dearie" drabble fest. Last one, I promise <3

[Fandom: The Charioteer | Pairing: Ralph/Laurie]

Laurie – one Corporal Laurence Patrick Odell, twenty-three, lately of Oxford, later of a beach in France but by now laid out on the deck of a ship, mid-trip – is dying. This sunshine will be the last to reach him. These sounds the final ones he hears: guns and explosions and screams, more orders shouted than can be followed, Reg Barker moaning low nearby—and Laurie's voice too.

He's dying, and the angel come to claim him looks an awful lot like the man of his dreams.

"Sorry dearie," he says, rather enjoying just one act of defiance, "some other time."

#my fic #tumblr drabbles #the charioteer #sorry dearie drabble fest

[beyond-the-kitchen]

Lyrics flow from miles’ fingers like they always do. Hes never had a problem with writing, words come easy, muisc even easier. He is an emotional person and his outlet just so happens to be something that helps pay the bills, quite well if he does say so himself.

There is a downside to this emotional truthfullness, a side that makes the writing painful. Sometimes he thinks hes too poignant for his own good. The lyrics are sometimes not thinly veiled metaphors, hints at half-truths, somtimes they are a genuine retelling of his life. places and people, the memories and perceptions that certain events and periods hold. He himself is a holder, every person he has met he cradles close to his heart, those he goes on to befriend, or on the rare chance romance, he locks inside and keeps warm. Helps them weather every storm they encounter, every curveball or extreme high he helps them manage. He has his favourites of course, everyone does - his mum, his friends from home, Alex.

Alex is of course the crux of his current emotional turmoil. As he so often is, Miles is not oblivious, not blindsided by his affection for the man. He knows Alex is difficult to pin down, hard to get a read on and often wears a different face every day of the week to protect himself from his harsh realities. Miles is accutely aware of all these qualities, and yet Alex is still the sweetest man he knows, still the most endearing. The source of his current heartbreak, yes, but undoubtedly the love of his life. And so the lyrics flow, freely and entirely heartfelt. 100% how Miles feels about Alex and his recent absence.

You're walking around, your head in the clouds You're acting as if you're Mr. Johnny know-it-all Mister come and watch me fall

You're feeling alive, a Jekyll and Hyde You're riding the tides and everybody's just doing fine Leading that double life

I'll be right here, I'll see ya when I see ya I'll wait right here, I'll see ya when I see ya

I hope to see you soon I hope to see you soon Ah, come on

You're dancing with death in a bulletproof vest There's no other way to say it, brother Better watch your step Before all goes west

The king and the queen, the milk in your tea The partner in crime you only ever found once in life Don't let it pass you by

I'll be right here, I'll see ya when I see ya I'll be right here, I'll see ya when I see ya I'll see ya when I see ya

I put myself on mute before I spill the beans Oh, not again 'Cause when you're dancing to your own beat You can be anything that you want Yes, I'm an executive that you can trust

I'll wait right here, I'll see ya when I see ya I'll be right here, I'll see ya when I see ya

I'll wait right here, I'll see ya when I see ya I'll be right here, I'll see ya when I see ya I'll see ya when I see ya

I wouldn't wanna be ya I'll see ya when I see ya

#hehheheh idk where tf this came from but… #thoses into the void and sprints away #this is my first milex fic #but its really just my love letter to see ya when i see ya #BECAUSE COME ON THAT SONG IS A MASTERPIECE #anyways feedback is needed and greatly appreciated #milex #milex fic #milex fanfiction #tumblr drabbles #im gonna go write my top gun shit now byeeee

[maisonbelligavi]

Them being domestic and cute

Okay, how about them taking a hot bath together? It feels nice and relaxing after their respective grueling schedules. Gavi is leaning back against Jude's chest as the older boy occasionally kisses his neck, his ear, and one side of his face.

There's nowhere else Gavi would rather be than in the arms that were holding him so close. There's a feeling of safety and comfort and it's completely new. Gavi welcomes it all the same.

After their bath, Jude rummages in his closet, looking for clothes that Gavi could wear.

"You know, I brought my own clothes right?" Gavi says this with a smile, backing Jude up against the open closet and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend's waist.

"You always look better in mine," Jude says, kissing the tip of his nose, "don't bother trying to deny it."

"Just give me a hoodie already." Gavi rolls his eyes, brat that he is.

Once Gavi has put on the hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, he clings to Jude as they vacate the bedroom. He continues to be clingy even when they make it to the couch. He throws one leg over Jude's lap and rests his head on the older boy's shoulder.

"You're aware we can't play FIFA with you clinging to me like this?" Jude poses the question, but then he goes ahead and pulls Gavi even closer to his body.

Something sweet unfolds within Gavi and he doesn't bother with a verbal response. He simply climbs into Jude's lap and starts kissing him. For several minutes, they trade lazy kisses just like that, an unhurried make-out session that isn't a prelude to anything else.

Gavi pulls back after a while, grinning at him. "Isn't this better than FIFI, hmm?"

"Hundred percent, yes, I'd have to agree," Jude replies, nodding, a beautiful smile adorning his face.

When their take-out arrives, Gavi is forced to get off Jude's lap. He isn't particularly happy about it. But Jude makes sure he doesn't sulk too much by keeping him close to his body.

There's a movie playing on Netflix but they barely pay the TV any mind. They dig into their food, groaning at how delicious it is, and occasionally feeding each other.

Once they are done eating, they settle back on the couch, this time with Jude's head resting on Gavi's lap. Gavi's fingers kept running through the short hair, scratching at his scalp; his actions elicited these soft sighs from Jude.

"So no FIFI then, I take it?" Gavi prods, tone teasing, knowing his boyfriend would be hard-pressed to move from his current position.

"Let's just watch the bloody rom-com, Gavira," Jude said.

"Deal," Gavi says with an airy laugh, right before he drops a kiss on Jude's forehead.

#jude bellingham #pablo gavi #belligavi #jude x gavi #football fics #fluff #ask box fic #tumblr drabbles

[steddieas-shegoes]

Wayne first saw Steve Harrington when he was on a class field trip to the plant. He couldn’t have been older than 9. Eddie hadn’t come to live with him yet.

He only saw him for a minute, but it only took a minute to see that the boy had dark circles under his eyes that rivaled his own.

It took him a while to forget about the exhausted child in front of him and how much he reminded him of his nephew.

*****

He attended one of the Hawkins High basketball games during Eddie’s first senior year, took the night off for it, even. Eddie was never one for sports, so the fact he agreed to play with his band during their halftime was something Wayne couldn’t pass up watching. It had to have meant something to his boy for him to even mention it, so he played the part of proud parent and sat through the first half of the game.

But when he saw Steve Harrington out there, he couldn’t help but check for those dark circles or the same exhausted slump he saw in a child much too young to show physical signs of exhaustion.

He appeared to be fine, though Wayne couldn’t help but notice how he kept searching the stands for something or someone during every pause in the game.

Wayne had a gut feeling he knew who he was searching for, and an even stronger one that he wouldn’t find them.

After the game and the show, Wayne helped Eddie pack his guitar and amp into the back of the van.

“Hey, you ever talk to that Harrington boy?”

Eddie’s face was answer enough.

*****

To know Eddie was alive wasn’t enough for Wayne, he needed to watch him breathing, watch his fingers twitch while he slept. He needed to know that Eddie was real, was safe, was right in front of him.

But apparently Steve Harrington needed the same reassurances.

Steve had been by Eddie’s side since they let visitors into the room. As far as Wayne knew, he’d only left once for an hour to visit that Max girl’s room.

He was hesitant to say anything beyond kind greetings and goodbyes when he had to head to work. Steve looked one second away from breaking down.

He held Eddie’s hand like it was a lifeline, and maybe it was for him. Whatever they’d been through was serious, proof of that being the injuries they both were dealing with and the fact that Eddie hadn’t opened his eyes yet.

As much as Wayne wanted explanations, he wanted Steve to find comfort in being with Eddie more.

The dark circles under his eyes remained.

Wayne watched the way Steve would stare at Eddie, wordlessly begging him to open his eyes, and wondered what had changed between them. Was it just the trauma of the situation or something else?

He’d known Eddie liked boys for years; hard to hide when you get caught sneaking out of the house to go to a “special” bar in Indianapolis on a school night. He hugged him, told him he loved him no matter what, and offered to drive him out there himself the next weekend he had off if he promised to not go alone on a school night.

But Steve didn’t seem the type. Wayne had learned how to spot them, mostly so he could protect Eddie, and Steve had never seemed like he’d strayed or even thought about straying from girls.

He shouldn’t assume, though.

He knew how Richard Harrington was.

So he sat silently, guarding the two boys who needed it most.

On the sixth day, Wayne asked a nurse if Steve had left the hospital at all.

“No. Poor boy’s been glued to his side. The doctor had to stitch him up in the room because he wouldn’t leave.”

“Stitch him up?”

“Oh, yes! He had a large wound on his side and his chest had a few areas that needed stitches. He wouldn’t let anyone bandage his neck, but they prescribed him penicillin to try to prevent infection.”

Wayne shook his head. So Steve was a self-sacrificing idiot. Time to address that.

“Thanks, Janet. I owe ya a coffee for takin’ such good care of Eddie.”

Janet blushed. “Stop it! I’m just doing my job.”

Wayne smiled at her before making his way into Eddie’s room.

As usual, Steve was in a chair by his bed, hand in hand with Eddie.

The unusual part was that Steve was fast asleep, head nestled against Eddie’s leg.

It couldn’t be comfortable, but going off of how Steve had looked the day before, he was probably too tired to care about comfort.

Wayne looked at the scene in front of him.

Something else was different, too.

Eddie’d moved.

Only someone who’s been in this room for hours on end every day would have noticed it. Eddie’s head was turned towards Steve, and his other hand had found it’s way to Steve’s hair.

Oh.

So it was like that.

Wayne let out a shaky breath, too many emotions trying to escape at once. His boy had woken up, and had found comfort in someone who hadn’t left his side for almost a week. He couldn’t ask for more.

He slowly made his way out of the room, catching Janet just as she was passing to check on another patient.

“Did Eddie wake up?”

Janet’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, Steve hasn’t come to get us. Why? Is everything alright?”

Wayne nodded. “Everything’s fine.”

She smiled at him and continued on her way.

Wayne smiled to himself as he made his way down to the cafeteria to get Steve some food.

It looked like Steve Harrington was finally getting some rest.

Supportive Uncle Wayne Series Part 2

#steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #steddie #idk I just think Wayne Munson would have adopted Steve the second he could #headcanon #tumblr drabbles

[daedalusdavinci]

7 w/ solkat?

7. Unflinchingly settling your head into your lover’s lap while they watch television/are reading a book/doing their favorite hobby. Then asking your lover to explain what’s going on/what they’re doing. i wrote this stream of consciousness and i dont feel like editing it so you get what you get

The nice thing about Karkat is that he's always good for background noise. Whenever you need something else to drown out the voices, he's always there, ranting and raving about some inane bullshit you couldn't care less about, but enjoy hearing regardless. It's an odd day when you can't hear him puttering around the house and mumbling under his breath, cursing out a chair you didn't push in that he tripped over or the food that isn't cooking fast enough. The cat Dave convinced you (convinced Karkat, just by virtue of forcing Karkat to hold it for more than five minutes until all the ice around Karkat's heart melted) to take in is just as loud as he is, and at all hours of the day, you can hear them talking to each other, Karkat's grumble interspersed with the cat's loud meows.

He's quiet today, though. Rose left him with a new book the other day, and apparently today is the day he has the attention span to devour it. You're treated to an uncharacteristic silence as you work, and for a while, it's sort of nice. Until it isn't.

You give up on coding when it feels like there are bugs crawling under your skin, irritation at a boiling point. The code isn't making sense, you can't concentrate, and the screams of the imminently doomed are no longer background, piercing howls destroying any coherent thought you might have left. Your wrists are sore, your neck hurts, your head is throbbing, you're stiff and your eyes are dry and you can't remember the last time you ate. You're done.

Sparks jump from your fingertips as you shove your chair back and ditch your computer. There's a buzzing in your ears that's probably you, but you're too irritable to care as you stalk down the hall to the kitchen. Nothing sounds good, but you know you need to eat if you want to push through this, so you tug open cupboards and force yourself to consider the food anyway.

The cat (Dave wanted to name it Carcinisation; you wanted to name it Hexadecimal. In the end, you compromised on Hexbug, because Karkat said there was no way Dave was naming it after him, Rose liked the nickname Hex, and Dave liked the callback to a human toy you've never heard of) starts meowing at you immediately, trailing a few paces behind you like a starving stray, when you're 100% sure Karkat has been feeding him all his little heart desires. He's as obnoxious and needy as the human who brought him here, and you ignore him, because he's being dramatic and you're so charged up you think you'd shock him if you even tried to pet him. (You do drop him a few treats, because you feel bad.)

In the end, you heat up leftovers. The smell of warm orange chicken makes your stomach perk up a little, and as you eat a few pieces on the way to the couch, you feel a little less like blowing your apartment off the map.

Karkat, predictably, has tucked himself into his favorite corner of the couch with a blanket and the new book. Hex runs past you to jump up on the arm of the couch and complain about your abuse, and without looking up, Karkat lifts a hand to scratch Hex's little, whining head. Because you are the superior lifeform, you flop down on Karkat's other side and bravely resist the urge to complain about Hex framing you.

Karkat looks up for you, though. He blinks the way he does when he's been reading too long, like his eyes are refocusing like a camera lens, and he can't quite see what's in front of him right away. "You look like shit," is the first thing he says.

"Wow, thanks." Despite yourself, you feel your grouchiness crack a little. It probably helps that you're eating now, but there's just something about Karkat, too.

His fingers brush through your hair, like swiping away the static. "You're sparking."

"You don't say."

"Sometimes you don't notice." He's right. He stretches his legs out, unfurling, and his knee pushes into yours. "How's your head?"

"Hurting."

He hums. You don't give him much to work with, and he watches you for a while, thinking. His fingers fiddle absently with the hair at the nape of your neck, arm propped against the back of the couch. His presence makes you feel a little bit more grounded, and so you eat and try to focus on that. Eventually, his eyes drift back to his book.

By the time you finish eating, it stops feeling like enough. You feel less shaky and irritable, but your head is pounding with the force of screams, and you need something else. You push your empty bowl back on the coffee table and twist, dropping sideways across the couch with your head in Karkat's lap. He has to lift his book to accommodate you, but he doesn't protest for a second, seemingly expecting it. His nails drag soothingly along your scalp, and your eyes shut instantly, a wave of relief rolling over you. This is what you needed. Definitely.

Hexbug weaves between you like an asshole, determined to fit himself in the middle of the action. He plops down in the middle of your chest like a big, furry sack of shit, squirming into you to get comfortable until you start petting him. He goes loose instantly, purring quietly at first, and then loudly, the vibration of it rattling your very bones. It feels like it shakes the pain out of you, some inexplicable healing power stored in the rumble of your adorabeast. "He's louder than you," you tell Karkat.

"Tell me something new," Karkat mutters, absentminded.

"What are you reading?"

"Are you asking because you care, or because you want to rag on my taste?"

"Legally, I'm obligated to say the latter, but you know it's both."

Karkat sighs. And then, he talks. And he keeps talking. And the voices fade a little further into the back of your mind, and you relax.

#im developing a rash from the word lover #fortunately the only prompt i have left is a dialogue prompt so i never have to look at it again #solkat #sollux captor #karkat vantas #tumblr drabbles #homestuck fanfiction #i feel like im dogshit at writing solkat and always have been idk this is not my best work #asks

[newbieineverything]

Platonic Soulmates AU

Next

Ace's eighteenth birthday was his only birthday that he looked forward to.

The day when your soulmates mark appear on your body. Proof of their love and the life long connection between you.

The day when the proof of his bond with his brothers will forever adorn him.

Before Ace left Dawn island, He & Luffy decided that they wanted the symbol that Sabo chose to mark his freedom to be his mark for them, to have the freedom they treasured that was stolen from their brother be his symbol was the least they could do.

And now finally eighteen, Ace will have Luffy's mark on him too.

Would it be an L? His name? His future Jolly Roger?

He doesn't know, but he's sure it'll be something Luffy.

And looking at the mirror, seeing the yellow grinning face under his tattoo, that looks exactly like the faces on his hat Ace smiles because of course the mark choose to be something Luffy chose for him.

Catching sight of Sabo's mark though, wipes the smile from his face.

Because Sabo's mark is blue.

#platonic soulmates au #one piece #op #tumblr drabbles #asl brothers #portgas d ace #my wiritng

[kindlingkeen]

Loyalty

A deleted scene from The People We Choose, part 1 my Choices ‘verse, a Jason-centric Lost Days AU. Warnings for references to temporary character death and canon typical violence.

Takes place circa chapter 1. I took this scene out fairly early on while drafting, so the characterization and continuity are a bit off. In other words, don’t take it as canon for TPWC. I may clean it up at some point and post it on ao3, but for now it’s going to live here.

“You’re just a pathetic gutter rat. Loyal to nothing and no one.”

One of the League’s pet assassins spits the words in Jason’s face, and they manage to hit with more than just saliva. Jason is holding the woman at knifepoint, so clearly the assassin is a biased source. But, still. 

Loyal to nothing and no one.

Is he? Is there no one he’s loyal to, nothing he believes in, Jason wonders. But, really, why should he be loyal to anyone in the first place when no one has ever been loyal to him.

It was the story of Jason’s miserable life (ugh, lives) - he’s never mattered enough. Not when it counted, not when it meant something. Willis chose an easy life of crime. Catherine chose the oblivion of drugs. Sheila chose her greed. 

And Bruce, Bruce chose the fucking mission. And he would keep choosing it.

And then there was Alfred. Jason had mattered to Alfred. Jason was sure of it. Alfred had loved him independently of the suit he wore, the criminals he did or did not hit, the person he was or the person he was trying to be.

For that, Jason thinks that he will probably always love Alfred. 

But, for Alfred, Bruce always came first.

Bruce chose to take Robin away. Bruce chose not to avenge Jason. Bruce chose to keep putting kids in the suit that Jason died in. 

And Alfred chose to stand by Bruce and allow it.

So, Jason thinks that he will probably always love Alfred. In a way. But it’s not enough.

Loyal to nothing and no one.

Jason remembers suddenly, something Talia said to him early on in his training at Tadrib Almawt as he lay nearly unconscious, bleeding heavily from a poisoned knife wound.

You made your own magic, Jason.

Jason used to think that being Robin gave him magic. What he could never really put a voice to, could barely admit to himself, was that it was that Bruce wanted him, that he thought Jason was special—that was where the magic came from.

When Robin was beaten and broken in a warehouse and Jason lay alone watching a timer count its way down to zero - he knew, he knew Bruce was coming. He wrapped that knowledge around himself like a fire blanket for his soul and held onto it with all his heart when the moment came - when he knew that no one was going to make it in time.

When Jason woke up in his coffin, he woke up crying out for Batman. When he dug his way out of his grave, he crawled out screaming for Bruce. Alone in a hospital, lost and confused, as his mind splintered apart, he pleaded for his dad. 

But when Jason woke up again, this time for good, drowning in green and pain and rage, he found himself in a world where his murderer was still bathing the city he called home with blood, while a black-haired, blue-eyed boy in Jason’s colors chased after him, a dark shadow following close behind. 

After that, when Jason woke up screaming from nightmares of dying, of choking to death as the world burned around him, he woke up with wordless shouts caught in his throat and cold, hard truth beating in his ears.

He never really had magic at all.

Delirious from blood loss and rambling with fever dreams, he’d blurted out the whole pathetic mess to Talia. He remembers with perfect clarity how she stood silently near the head of his cot watching one of Tadrib Almawt’s medics stitch him up, her face as hard as granite.

At first she’d said nothing at all, lips tight and grim, until the medic finished the bandages and bustled out of the room.

Then she sat abruptly on the side of his cot and looked him in the eye, her firm hand on his chin anchoring his head in place. 

“Jason, it’s unclear to me how exactly this could have escaped your notice,” she said, her tone drier than the desert around them, “but you were dead, and now you are not. You are magic.” 

Her hand reached down and wrapped briefly around his. When she spoke again, the Arabic words came out soft and liquid, like a dream. 

"لقد صنعت سحرك الخاص يا جيسون."

Talia was out the door and gone before he’d even realized she’d moved. Her words echoed around Jason as he shifted restlessly, trying to find sleep. 

You made your own magic, Jason.

Jason focuses again on the assassin dangling limply in his grip, the memory fading away.

I’m loyal to what matters, Jason thinks, his hand reaching out to wrap around the assassin’s sword. 

“I’m loyal to myself,” Jason whispers in the assassin’s ear, as he runs the sword through their gut.

#my fics #deleted scenes #tumblr drabbles #the people we choose #choices verse #jason todd #talia al ghul #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfam #lost days au

[a-midnight-rabbit-writes]

➽────────────────────────────❥

Rook Hunt x Male!Reader

A lover of all things beautiful, Rook Hunt wouldn’t dream of shying away from the chance to watch you practice your newest figure-skating routine, sans invite, of course.

CW:  brief mention of past character death 

Word Count: 1171

A/N:  This drabble is brought to you by the yearly reawakening of my Yuri On Ice obsession

(Still patiently waiting for Ice Adolescence cuz I'm delulu)

➽────────────────────────────❥

The spinning of the empty arena around you halted as your skates made contact with the ice again, gliding forward on its smooth, frozen surface as you prepared yourself for your next jump.  You could clearly see your breath in front of you, panting in the frigid air, as you realized that you were a bit more out of practice than you had previously thought.

An avid figure skater in your old world, though perhaps nothing overly extraordinary, you were no Olympian, it had been several months past your arrival at NRC when you had finally learned that Sage Island had a small ice skating rink of its own.  Skating around one of the school’s frozen ponds with your classmates on a rather nice day set in the deepest part of Winter you had mentioned in passing to the other freshmen that back in your world you had several years of experience on the ice, and had lamented the loss of your ability to continue with your regularly scheduled practice routine.  (Though surely your body was grateful for the temporary hiatus.)  Cue Epel dragging you down to the city center the following day, right up to the doors of the Sage Island Ice Rink.

It didn’t take you very long to become familiar with the owner of the rink, a kindly older woman who had been quite the figure skater herself in her youth, trophies and plaques displayed next to black and white photographs behind the skate rental counter, and who eventually gave you permission to come by the rink after closing whenever your homework load let up enough that you had the spare time to re-immerse yourself in your sport.

And so here you were, just you, the ice, your music playlist, and a lurking Rook Hunt who was not even trying to hide the fact that he was watching you skate.  Drifting backwards past the section where he was seated, a prime spot right in the front, you raised your eyebrows slightly at him in curiosity, receiving his signature cheery smile in return.  Shaking your head teasingly, you turned your attention back to the set you were currently working on.

You had been attempting to choreograph this one back home, to one of your favorite pieces of music, a lively piano and violin piece that you no longer had access to here in a whole different world.  Back then, you had been struggling with just how to fit together the last few pieces of your performance, somehow every time failing to compose it in a way that felt just right.  Yet right here you were twirling through the air and sliding across the ice in a perfectly seamless transition from one step to another, to a whole new musical composition, one you could have never heard until landing yourself in Twisted Wonderland.  As if it were some strange destiny that you bring your artistic vision to fruition only after having woken up in this peculiar, dangerous, beautiful land.  

Ever so graceful off of the ice, the last thing that you could remember before falling out of that magical coffin and into Night Raven College’s first year ceremony was tripping over your own feet in the arena locker room after a competition, the world abruptly going black as your head made harsh contact with the very edge of the changing room bench.  You would never admit this aloud to anyone though.  You knew that Ace would never let you live it down if he got word that you went out in such a way.

As the music slowly came to a finish, you found yourself sliding to a gentle stop at the edge of the arena, your skates stilling right in front of where your upperclassman was perched, no longer in his seat but instead leaning over the wall, chin resting in his hand, his intense emerald gaze fixed upon your figure.

“What a simply marvelous performance, Prince de la Glace.”  Rook exclaimed, as you braced your hands on your knees, letting your upper body droop as you caught your breath after such intense exercise.  “Such passion in your performance!  C’est trop bien!  Your confidence upon the ice has re-emerged like a bright spring flower blossoming through fallen snow.”

Anybody else wouldn’t have been able to tell if you were flushed from embarrassment, or from the stinging chill of the ice rink, but you were certain that Rook knew, with those uncanny green eyes that seemed to stare right past the surface every time the two of you happened to make eye contact.  (Which happened more frequently than you cared to admit.)  You supposed it could be unnerving, everyone else seemed to be in agreement that the Pomefiore vice housewarden was peculiar, to say the least.  Most tried to avoid him.  However, you were doubtful that there was ever a quarry that could elude the evasive hunter.  You must have been a bit odd yourself, not minding that you had caught his attention.

“You only ever visit the rink to watch me skate,” you remarked, standing yourself upright again, and meeting the hunter’s sharp eyes.  “Maybe you’d like to try it out for yourself for once?” 

You gestured to the small expanse of ice behind you.

Fetching a pair of ice skates in Rook's size, the other student allowed you to tie his laces for him before you led him out onto the ice. Skating in a group with friends had always been enjoyable, but this was something quite different. 

There was always something so much more intimate about sharing the ice with just one other person.  There was also the excitement at the thought that you might get to watch the normally graceful hunter fall flat on his ass.  Truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

You tried not to smile at the thought, prepared to aid your classmate should he end up sprawled on the ice.  Yet it turned out that the self-proclaimed Chasseur D’Amour was more sure on his feet than you had previously anticipated, remaining perfectly poised and balanced only a few steps behind you, leaving you to wonder if this was truly his first time on the ice as he had led you to believe.

Instead, it was you, the veteran figure skater, who lost your balance first, a surprised gasp stealing the air from your lungs as your feet slipped out from under you, sending you tumbling backwards.  In that split-second, you had prepared yourself for the jolting pain that usually came with such harsh contact with the frozen surface beneath you, however that moment never came to pass.  Instead of the frozen ice of the rink, you felt a warm pair of well muscled arms wrap around you, your back bumping against Rook’s chest as he caught you.

“Quelle tragédie!”  Rook exclaimed, his arms snug around your waist.  “It would appear that you have fallen for me, my dear Prince de la Glace!”

This time there would be no blaming your reddened cheeks on the ice.

➽────────────────────────────❥

Thank you for reading! Likes/comments/reblogs always appreciated!!

🐇♥️🐇

#tumblr drabbles #twst drabbles #rook hunt #twst rook #rook hunt x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #nrc #yuu #pomefiore #figure skating fic

[argyleheir]

Drabble - Toy

[Fandom: IWTV, Pairing: Daniel/Armand | For @bratpidd! and the prompt Devil's Minion + Furby]

"How many children did you have to kill to get ahold of one of these things?" Daniel asks, watching Armand turn the rectangular, neon-hued package in his hands. To wit: there's still a little blood caked beneath his lover's nails.

"Hush," says Armand, opening it. And the look on his face as he frees the fuzzy little freak from its plasticy confines is nothing short of kid-at-Christmas, so maybe it's all worth it.

The Furby churrs to life. "Hello!"

Unbelievably, Armand's eyes get wider.

"Darling," he says, as affably as if he were asking for the salt, "the Vitamix, please."

#my fic #tumblr drabbles #daniel x armand #devil's minion #interview with the vampire

[feelingprettypsyched]

Hey Losers! I’m looking to get back into the Reddie headspace: please send me drabble prompts!

Looking for one word prompts to inspire all the Reddie feels 🌈

Reddie drabble collection:

#reddie #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #tumblr drabbles