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creative-author · 2 months

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Is Mals Bike still on the isle?

I mean, in D2 she puts magic on it so she can enter the isle but she leaves with the others.

Someone probably stole it already and doesn't know they were able to leave the hole time.

Same goes with the Bikes in D3. Harry tells Jay, the crashed them, not knowing they could leave with them. (In my story, not every bike crashes but they forget about the magic in a hurry)

So, this has potential for a fanfic too! Some poor VK finds Mals Bike (or maybe repairs their own with parts of the D3 bikes) and eventually finds out, they can leave the isle.

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liviusofpella · 9 months

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Starry Night

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 3 Word count: 4000 Rating: T Warnings: emotional hurt Category: hurt/comfort Synopsis: Having reunited with most of her party, Reyna discovers the true extent of the traumatic events of the previous months. A/n: special thanks to @starlight-starfury for encouraging me to include Tyril speaking elven 🫰🏻 × Calanín - my light: elven word of affection, the elven equivalent of the Common language's "my love;" the elves believe that love is often fleeting, but the Light is constant, and the most precious resource they possess. Tag list: @starlight-starfury @cashweasel @watatsumi-island @lilyoffandoms @sophie-summer @lazypartridge @brycesgirl @agattthaa @secret-fungi @megas-choices (if anyone wishes to be added/removed pls let me know!) @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Nia, Mal, and the children had developed a routine, thanks to which the kids changed into their pyjamas, brushed their teeth, and were tucked in under thirty minutes. If one would take Nia at her word, developing the schedule took weeks, but due to eager cooperation the group managed to reduce the time from two hours to just thirty minutes, saving the guardians a considerable amount of time—time that they would spend reading, searching, and discussing the possible methods of rescuing Reyna. After ten minutes, Nia and Mal returned downstairs, having wished the kids a good night and slumped in the chairs, exhausted. Soon, the giggles and banter upstairs quietened down, and Mal breathed out a sigh of relief while Nia smiled at her friends, her features softened by the warm candlelight.

“Can I offer you anything? Water, tea? We don’t have much, but I’d love to host you properly,” the Priestess chirped, already rising from her seat, but Tyril held out his hand to stop her.

“It’s alright, thank you, Nia. Save what you have for the children.”

Nia nodded, while the elf rested his left hand on Reyna’s thigh, gently squeezing it in a poorly disguised display of affection. Her lips curved in a soft smile, and she vaguely covered his hand with her own before addressing the rogue before her.

“Lord Weasley of Riverbend, huh?”

Mal smiled sheepishly and scratched his neck, blushing faintly as if he had been caught in a lie. “I had to improvise, and Riverbend just happened to occupy my mind an awful lot lately.”

“Gotta admit, you really nailed the accent. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think you were a native,” she winked, drawing a laugh from Mal.

“What can I say? I had spent an awful lot of time with you, kit.”

Nia joined the conversation. “How is Kade? I’ve been meaning to visit him, but there was always something urgent to attend to, and…”

“He’s doing just fine, cooped up in the library or in the royal gardens with Loola and Threep. He’s made the Master Librarian his archenemy, though.”

The Priestess chuckled. As Mal rested his arm on the back of her seat, a quiet yawn escaped Reyna’s lips and her eyes watered uncontrollably. She rested her head against Tyril’s shoulder, continuing to smile at her friends. Although she did not feel the true length of her absence, she had missed them, and at that moment she felt at peace.

The idyllic atmosphere was disrupted by a quiet childish giggle coming from the top of the stairs, and the group's heads turned simultaneously in that direction. Mal sighed exhaustedly and rubbed his tired eyes before addressing the children.

“Guys, we talked about staying up past bedtime!”

The grave silence that followed his remark was soon interrupted by barefoot steps and the creaking of the old wooden floor. A frail, pale blonde girl stood next to Mal and whispered in his ear, her big eyes glued to Reyna. In response, Mal smiled at the child and nodded. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

The girl nodded her head excitedly, and he addressed his friend.

“Kit, this is Nyra, she's a big fan of yours.”

Reyna's brows furrowed. "Fan?"

“Mal and Nia often told us stories of your adventures! My favourite is the one when you ran after Duchess Xenia and fought her! I want to be as brave as you when I grow up!” the girl chattered reedily. “Can I ask you a question?”

"Ask away, Nyra," she sent the girl an encouraging smile, squeezing Tyril's hand under the table.

"Weren't you afraid?"

"I'd be crazy not to be afraid,” she smiled. “Bravery isn't about not being afraid, it's about doing the right thing despite fear."

The girl nodded, drinking the words off Reyna’s lips, staring at her heroine in awe.

“Now go to sleep, Nyra,” Mal rubbed the girl’s arm, softly pushing her towards the stairs. Before disappearing in the darkness, Nyra waved at the couple, and Reyna sighed.

“Said like a true hero,” Nia concluded while the men agreed silently.

“It’s good to see you, guys. I just wish Imtura was with us.”

“We’ll find her, don’t fret, Rey-Rey,” Mal assured. The nickname made Reyna groan.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“How about Rey of Sunshine?”

Reyna glowered at him. “Mal, I’m warning you.”

“Reiny?”

“Oh, I like Rey!” Nia joined in the conversation, grinning.

“What do you think of “Reine”? I think it suits your personality,” the thief continued. “What do you think, elf boy?”

Tyril, smiling softly at the course the conversation took, looked to his left at his partner, his eyes glistening with the reflection of a nearby candlelight. “I believe my answer falls under a public display of affection.”

Nia brightened up. “Aw! It’s so nice seeing you two together again. Tyril had been so miserable without you, Reyna.”

“Tyril, my man, I’d like to remind you that we were direct neighbours at the Palace and their walls are surprisingly thin, so you really shouldn’t be em—”

Tyril cut in, blushing. “Stop talking.”

Grinning, the rogue continued teasing, pointing to Reyna with a nod of his head, while Nia and Tyril grew considerably more abashed. “I see you already had a chance to celebrate.”

Reyna touched her neck, remembering the necklace of red love bites that her lover bestowed upon her the previous night, and bit her lip, slightly embarrassed. She forgot to cover the bruises in the morning as she was in a hurry. The Priestess intervened.

“Stop teasing them, Mal. They’re young and in love, of course they celebrated their reunion.”

In love. The couple looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, but Nia continued, oblivious to their discomfort.

“I’ve been meaning to ask before—” she bit her tongue, cleared her throat, and continued. “Who said it first? Was it romantic? I bet it was! Tyril always had a way with words and—”

“Oh, Priestess, read the room!” Mal chuckled. The redhead’s smile faltered as she raised her eyebrows in question, tilting her head slightly. The rogue explained. “Look at them! Elf boy’s about to turn dark purple, they obviously haven’t said that yet.”

Nia’s lips shaped into the letter “o” as the realisation dawned on her, but before she had a chance to apologise, Reyna intervened. “Alright! It was great to see you, but we should go. It’s getting late, and we need to rest.”

“True,” Mal agreed. “No offence, but you look terrible, lordling.”

“It takes one to know one, thief.”

“You don’t like my haircut? You wound me,” with feigned offence, Mal placed a hand over his heart, making Tyril roll his eyes. Reyna smiled at the exchange, but agreed with Tyril. Mal looked exhausted, the dark spots under his eyes and slouched posture explicit evidence of that. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Hugging Reyna goodbye, Nia whispered, squeezing her eyelids tight. “Please, don’t disappear again.”

Reyna rubbed her friend’s back reassuringly before moving away from the warm embrace. “I’ll do my best.”

“Your disappearance wreaked havoc, kit,” Mal admitted quietly, patting her back. “I know it may look like we just moved on, but there wasn’t a day Nia didn’t stay up late sifting through the Temple’s scrolls in search of rescue. Whenever I got a promising lead, it turned out to be just an urban legend. We—” his voice broke. In no hurry, Mal took a deep breath and moved away, his hands resting on Reyna’s shoulders. “We really tried, kit. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

Reyna smiled comfortingly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Mal. I’m here, in one piece, am I not?”

He smiled. “I suppose.”

“Thank you for trying.”

Unpersuaded by her assurance, Mal nodded weakly, and before the couple took their leave, he patted Tyril’s arm. “Don’t let her out of your sight. See you in the morning.”

Strolling through the streets of the capital, slowly climbing towards the Whitetower castle, Tyril and Reyna grudgingly discussed the following day’s plan, in the meantime looking around for a seamstress. Despite the late hour, one of the very last vendors was still folding clothes in the town square, and being in desperate need of a more appropriate gear, Reyna left Tyril waiting outside. Patiently pacing around the ornate fountain, the elf studied a nearby florist when his gaze stopped at a bouquet of familiar flowers in the man’s hands. It took a bit of haggling and bragging about his title for Tyril to purchase the flowers imported from his homeland—black-petaled frilly sunflowers with luminescent red stamen—but he purchased them, and he could not suppress the proud smile on his face when Reyna emerged from the building with a paper package in her hands. He handed her the gift wordlessly.

“Oh! What’s the occasion?”

“There is no occasion. These flowers are native to Undermount, we call them melissë anar’insil. They were my mother’s favourite, she grew them in our garden, and…” he bit his lip, blushing slightly. “And they remind me of you.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, awestruck. “Thank you, Tyril. But you shouldn't have, they look like they have cost a fortune."

"There's a possibility that the saviour got a discount."

A hearty laugh escaped her lips upon hearing the word saviour yet another time the same day. "Admit it, you like being the hero."

Tyril bit his lip, trying to contain his smile. "I suppose the title carries some benefits."

Chuckling, she climbed on the tip of her toes and pressed her lips to his for a short, sweet kiss. She could still faintly taste the sour lime lemonade with mint on his lips, the drink he claimed his favourite, the memory bringing a smile to her face. She thought of their first, and at the same time last, date—the day they partook in festival activities, roamed the streets of Whitetower holding hands, made love in a secluded tower, and ended up intoxicating themselves at a local tavern with Riverbendian drinks. As if reading her mind, Tyril’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

“Does the name of the flower mean anything in Common?” she asked, interlacing their fingers. Resuming their lazy stroll back to the castle, the elf nodded, yet he took his time with the answer, eventually smiling sheepishly.

“It translates to ‘the lovers’ sunflower.’ These sunflowers are considered the flower of royalty in Undermount as due to their rarity only the wealthiest can afford them, and they symbolise devotion, loyalty, and adoration.”

Nodding, Reyna brought the bouquet closer to her face and took a deep breath. The smell was sweet but not overpowering, reminding her of the first days of summer, and the exact smell of Tyril’s bedchamber in Undermount. She remembered walking out to the balcony when he fell asleep and seeing the luminescent stamen in the darkness, thinking how otherworldly they made the garden look.

“I can see why these were your mother’s favourites.”

“Their appearance is but a fraction of the reason for her admiration. Mother adored them because father asked for her hand in marriage with half a dozen bouquets of these flowers and had showered her with grandiose bouquets ever since on the most important occasions. She always said it’s a perfect addition to any confessions and talked very fondly of the day Adrina was born as father had the Manor’s ballroom filled with flowers,” Tyril reminisced, his gaze distant but a smile was playing on his lips.

“I’d love to hear more about your mom, she sounds like a very kind soul.”

Tyril nodded. “She was. However, that is a story for another day. We should hurry, it will rain soon.”

The moment Tyril locked their chamber's door, the toller announced the clock struck eleven and Reyna plopped down on the mattress exhausted.

"You don't have to buy me flowers if you want to propose, I'm a simple girl, Tyril," she teased, yawning. The elf flushed purple, realising how inauspiciously he crafted his words back in the town square, and smiled at her. "Duly noted."

"And if you want to fool around, just stay the word," she winked, unlacing the corset of her dress. "Not today, though, I'm dead on my feet."

"Ever the romantic," he smiled. As he helped her out of her clothes and into a loose nightgown, Tyril made sure she was tightly tucked in, and soon joined her, stroking her back until she fell asleep.

People have a saying, one that Tyril overheard while patrolling the streets of Port Parnassus, just minutes before he first bumped into Reyna. They say that what does not kill will make you stronger, and during the year she was gone he prayed it was true. He hoped all this suffering was not in vain.

Yet now she was here with him and he felt everything but stronger. He felt weak, broken, undeserving. He couldn't protect her. It should've happened to him.

He hadn't slept the night before—after he lulled his beloved to sleep, he stayed guard in case of the worst. It gave him plenty of time to look at her, admire the features that he had prayed to see again, to assess the damage she had suffered at the hands of… Of who exactly? She didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't push her. Overwhelming her was the very last thing he wanted to make her feel so soon after returning; alas, because of that choice, his imagination was running wild. His mind was painting the pictures of Reyna running through the obsidian desert, fighting the remaining Shadow soldiers, battered, aghast, and disappointed she had to save herself because the people closest to her had failed.

Studying the fresh horizontal scar on her inner arm, Tyril ventured into a dangerous territory of fear-fueled theories as to what lay ahead. The Shadow Realm was an unexplored area, where unlike Morella they were on a hiding to nothing. Tyril did not doubt the loyalty and capability of their group, but they managed to win the fight against the Dreadlord by a stroke of fortune—had it not been for the Priestess’ sacrifice, the party would have lost at least two members, himself included. If the new enemy was indeed a competition to the Shadow Court, they needed allies.

Tyril noticed that upon her return, Reyna not only possessed new wounds and scars, but also lacked that mesmerising glint in her eye, her movements were slower, and body weaker, not to any sudden or loud noises paralysed her with fear. Reyna came back different. Tyril would even risk saying that it was not Reyna who came back. Not the one he knew. It was someone new entirely.

The woman next to him took in a shuddering breath, her fingers gripping the duvet tightly. Restless even in her sleep, Reyna was indisputably facing the consequences of living through numerous traumatic events within a short time period without respite. Reaching forward, Tyril smoothed out the worried crease between her brows with his thumb, deluding himself that with this simple gesture he was able to transfer all her worries onto himself.

Take the utmost care of her and relay that Father and I rejoice at the news of Reyna’s return!

Against his will, Tyril’s mind replayed the moment of reading Adrina's letter. Could he truly protect Reyna? Without demur, he would give his life trying to ensure her safety, albeit such sacrifice seemed pointless from his current standpoint. If he was gone, who would protect her?

“I suppose sleep is not my ally tonight,” she sighed to herself, having woken up from a nightmare-filled sleep. Wrapped in their sheets, Reyna observed Tyril, carefully studying his back, the hair that cascaded over his muscles, the way the moonlight reflected on his skin and how utterly ethereal he looked against the starry night sky. He was sitting on his legs on the balcony, facing the city, unnaturally still. As concern gripped her heart, Reyna cautiously walked over and touched his shoulder.

"Tyril, are you alright?"

The elf looked up, snapped out of his reverie, and his hand covered hers mechanically. "I was meditating. I'm alright."

As it dawned on her, she covered her lips with a hand, doused with a wave of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's— that makes much more sense than what I feared," she blubbered. She did not intend to reveal the exact reason of her concern, he did not need to hear that her initial thought was that he had been petrified the same way Kaya was. "I won't bother you any longer, I'll just—"

Tyril slowly rose to his feet and rubbed her arm. "It's alright, Reyna, I was supposed to finish a long time ago anyway. Let's get you back to bed."

As his hand rested on the small of her back, he noticed the dampness of her skin.

"Do you do that often? Meditate?"

He nodded. "It's supposed to be only thirty minutes a day, but…" he sighed. "Once the feasible solutions were depleted, I started praying for a miracle. There was nothing more that I could do but pray, so I prayed for hours on end."

Reyna bit her bit as an impulsive thought emerged in her mind. "Would you pray with me?"

As the look of surprise flowered on his face, his brows furrowed, but his expression changed into a kind, encouraging smile within seconds.

"Absolutely. Is there anything in particular you'd wish to pray for?"

Her answer was affirmative. "Do you mind telling me a bit more about your prayers first? I'm not exactly religious, and I don't know much about your gods, but I feel like it's the right thing to do."

"Anyone is welcome to seek comfort and guidance from the gods, you needn't be religious for that," he reassured. "We do not have many prayers per se as we'd rather engage in a silent conversation with the gods during meditation, but should one need a prayer there is a universal formula. I can't know for certain, but I believe the gods would look kindly on prayers for blessing or good fortune," he explained, gently rubbing her back as he guided her inside. As they made themselves comfortable on the silk carpet, assuming the exact position Reyna found him in, the elf interlaced their fingers and rested their hands on his lap. "I suppose one could also pray to nature, as do orcs, although I haven't heard of my kind practising that."

"I'd like to pray for Kaya, to put in a good word for her, so she can rest easily," she breathed out quickly, almost cutting him short. When his expression fell, she rapidly added: "Unless that's not how it works, then—"

"No, it's just— it's very thoughtful of you," he smiled, and Reyna breathed a sigh of relief. "If you wish, you may repeat after me, but it’s not necessary since you may find it challenging to pronounce certain words.”

“I’ll try,” she nodded and took a deep breath. As soon as Tyril noticed her shoulders relax, he began reciting the prayer, slowly, pronouncing the words clearly, giving her time to repeat.

“Alcarvalda nostar, varyando o in nór nosyë, iqulmë lissë an vilissë o Kaya Duskraven. Cé pataro imbi eleni, nínion ‘nin gwannad lîn. Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath.”

As he finished, the elf stroked her knuckles softly, observing her carefully. Reyna was on edge, that was clear, although he could not figure out the exact reason—however, as tears spilled from her tightly shut eyes, he intervened, closing her in an embrace.

"Do you think she rests in peace? That Xenia's deed hadn't influenced her eternal rest?"

"I believe our Gods are omniscient and just, and as they welcomed Kaya, they saw her for the wonderful person she was before her life was stolen from her."

She hummed in response. They stayed like this for several minutes until Reyna’s breath evened out, and a yawn slipped past her lips. Tyril helped her climb onto the mattress and lulled her to sleep, just the night before, telling her a story of Undermount society’s attempts to open the city to the world. "Thank you," she whispered. “I— The prayer did bring me some comfort.”

Two hours. It took only two hours for Reyna to wake up again. She sat up straight, her skin blanketed with sweat. Tyril stroked her back through the damp gown as she took deep breaths to compose herself.

"It's alright," he comforted repeatedly, allowing her to rest on his chest and cry out all the emotions bothering her at that moment.

But it wasn't alright. At that moment, Reyna could not remember the nightmare that caused her to wake up drenched in sweat and with a plea on her lips, but she felt utterly devastated and powerless, and no amount of consolation was able to calm her down. Her heart would not stop pounding against her ribcage as tears would not stop flowing down her cheeks, and the terror she awakened to deftly transfigured into suffocating panic that immediately alerted the elf.

Fixing their position so that they were sitting facing each other, Tyril's palms cradled her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Reyna, focus on me, alright? Breathe with me, take as long and deep breaths as you can, and hold it in for five seconds," he instructed, feeling his equilibrium wane as the woman before him struggled to settle her nerves. The calming spell was ready to roll from the tip of his tongue when at last Reyna took a deep, shaky breath.

He counted down the seconds out loud for her, time after time, until her muscles relaxed, and the body became heavy in his hands. The back of his hand wiped the drops of sweat off her forehead as he laid her down, back to the same position she woke up in, and kissed her cold temple, pressing his lips for several long seconds.

She hadn't slept well the night before, and that night would probably be no different. Rubbing her back up and down, he proposed to tell her another story, in a poor attempt to help her fall asleep.

"Just hold me, please,” she pleaded. And as a devout worshipper, Tyril held her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, although his heart ached seeing his partner in pain.

"Are you asleep?"

Startled, Tyril blinked repeatedly to rid his eyes of the remainder of sleep. "No."

“I want to cut my hair.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion, his gaze focusing on the pendulum clock on the far side of the room. “Now? It’s three in the morning.”

“I need a change, and my hair reminds me of what—” she held her tongue. “Will you help me or not?”

Rubbing off the blur in his eyes, Tyril rolled off the bed and approached the mirror she was sitting in front of.

"Are you certain?"

"Just do it."

Visibly unstrung and beaded with sweat, Reyna sat facing the vanity mirror, holding back tears. Unconvinced, he took his own sword from her hand and gripped the hilt tightly. Several seconds and one skilful swish of the sword later, inches of her dark locks hit the floor silently. Holding her blurry gaze in the reflection, Tyril inquired further.

“Calanín, what’s troubling you?”

Reyna dismissed his worry with a shake of her head and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. “Sorry for waking you up,” she added before disappearing into the dimly lit room. The last sound he had heard before drifting off to a turbulent sleep was that of Reyna climbing into the ornate bath.

As the full moon gave way to the sun, coolness to sparkling dew and thin fog, the couple set out to meet their friends, shyly setting out on a new adventure, leaving the turbulent night but a memory.

#tyril starfury #tyril x mc #blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow 2 #choices blades #choices bolas #blades 2 #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices tyril #nia ellarious #mal volari #choices nia #choices mal #cfwc #cfwc fics of the week #choices book club #choices fic writers creations

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yabakuboi · 4 months

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rating: G tags: established relationship, fluff, smooching prompt: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time. @steddielovemonth

Eddie wakes up to a heavy weight flopping gently down on top of him. He comes to with a hum and a stretch that pops down his spine even as Steve wraps himself around Eddie, his face pressed into Eddie's neck.

Steve is already dressed for the day, green vest and jeans, his hair a little crunchy with spray, his deodorant fresh and bright compared to the warm smell of sleep. Eddie has to wiggle a bit to get his arms from under the blanket to wrap around Steve's shoulders in return.

"Mmm, you're a jerk, waking me up so early," he whispers, even as he shifts them until he can hook a leg around Steve's hip, blanket and all.

"It's eleven, lazy bones," Steve whispers back. He lets Eddie move them more, until they're all tangled up again. Steve will have to fix his hair, but Eddie doesn't care. He should have thought of that before waking Eddie up.

Not that Eddie minds—would probably call Family Video as soon as the door closed behind Steve to make sure he wasn't mad at Eddie.

Eddie starts kissing a path from the top of Steve's forehead down to his lips, tasting toothpaste and mouthwash, and wondering if Steve's ever grossed out by Eddie's morning breath.

He must not be, because he returns Eddie's lazy kisses with a happy sigh, holding Eddie a little tighter. It drags on like that, and to Eddie it's timeless, too short and an eternity, bliss in just being able to kiss Steve like this, the smell of Steve in his sheets and his toothbrush in the bathroom, and his millions of hair supplies in a basket under the sink. Wayne's no doubt asleep in the front of the trailer, and Steve would have been as quiet as a mouse getting ready before he snuck back into Eddie's arms to say bye before leaving for work.

Eddie loves this. Says as much into Steve's mouth, swallowing it up when Steve says it back, whispers lost between them and the morning sun.

"Gonna be late for work," Eddie sighs, even though he doesn't move except to run a hand down Steve's back.

"Robin shift," Steve murmurs, moving in to kiss Eddie again, like he can't get enough of him, the same way Eddie can't get enough of Steve.

Laughing, Eddie kisses him more, addicted to the warmth, the wet slide of their lips, the heat of Steve's breath. "Gonna get fired one of these days," he says when Steve has to come up for air. Laughs again, when Steve just dips back in to start it all up again. "Steeeve."

"Don't wanna go," he whines.

"I know," Eddie says. This time, he shoves Steve onto his back to he can press him into the mattress, peppering his cheeks and nose with kisses. It's gotta be going on 11:30 by now, and Steve will be a whole hour late at this rate. "Just for now, baby, and I'll come visit you later."

"Promise?" Steve does this thing that he must have picked up from a girlfriend, where he looks up at Eddie with big eyes and pouts his lips and bats his lashes at him, and it shouldn't work. But it does. Every time.

"Promise," Eddie breathes, smiling, and leans down for another kiss. And another. And another, another. And Steve doesn't get to work until well past noon. When Eddie comes to visit around five, Robin chews him out too.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddielovemonth #this prompt made me weep #fun fact this lil drabble lives in my lil day dream where steve and eddie are waiting for the rest of corroded coffin to graduate HS #and they start driving city to city making it big and steve's like their lil roadie/group/merch stand man #and they're all besties but they're SICK of how in love E&S are but also would kill and hide the bodies of anyone that threatened them #and then one day they almost make it big but the producer takes one look at steve and tells them to lose the clinger and theyre like #actually fuck you steve's a part of the band #and the producer is like ?? how??? he doesn't play #and they gotta be like 'dude eddie couldn't write a song for the rest of his life unless it's somehow about steve #literally a vital member'#if i ever wrote this fic it would be slice of life fluff happiness sweaty boys sleeping in the back of vans and not showering for 2 weeks #damn now i kinda wanna write it #shush mal #my fic #dribble drabble #my steddies

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a-cloud-for-dreams · 9 months

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Bloodbound II, Blades, and Perfect Match might just be the top three books Choices has ever put out... in different universes, I'm the first vampire bloodkeeper, a realm walker, and a hero who stopped an evil corporation company from taking over the world. If that's not iconic idk what is

#they're so well-written i love them sm <3 #also add Nightbound MC because even tho it was a stand-alone NB MC had so much potential ugh they would have been so powerful #also completely random but i finished my mal x mc fic i'll post it soon lolol #mir's musings 💬#bloodbound 2 #bloodbound #perfect match #blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow II #playchoices

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nonuwhore · 4 months

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você que fez o pedido do johnny no evento: espero que você goste de ler, porque eu perdi o controle da quantidade de palavras desse negócio. vai ficar grande.

#📓#eu reclamo de fics grande mas na hora de escrever esqueço completamente disso #foi mal #tem quase 2 mil palavras e eu ainda nem cheguei naquela parte

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jomiddlemarch · 2 years

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most precious to you

“Sasha, you’ve been in a black mood all day. What’s wrong?” Alina asked. He’d been curt throughout the morning, skipped luncheon, sequestered himself in the War Room until dinner and she’d had him in check in three moves in their regular evening shatranj match. Now, he stood at the window that overlooked the back gardens, though there wasn’t much to see on a moonless night except his own reflection.

“It’s nothing,” he said in a tone that was intended to be foreboding, forestalling any further question. She snorted and set down the book she’d been leafing through, unable to lose herself in it when he was so clearly bothered.

“Like Djel it is,” she said.

“Now you curse in Fjerdan?” he replied.

“If that’s what it takes to get you to talk. I’ll speak in tongues if I have to,” she said. “A trouble shared is a trouble halved, you know the old saying.”

“I created that saying,” he said. “They don’t all catch on, but that one did.”

“So, you believed it once,” she said. She waited. He could need that, a significant pause to demonstrate she would not leave, nor nag, patient when he challenged her, not goading him nor demeaning him for any expression of distress.

“I had a vision or a dream, I don’t know,” he said. “It doesn’t signify—"

“It upset you,” she said. “It matters.”

“We were together and apart, you wore a blue kefta,” he said, as if he were remembering it. As if he saw it again in the pane of glass before him. “Blue and not black. You were angry—”

He broke off, made some small gesture with his hand, though no shadows shifted in the room.

“Is that all there was?” she said.

“You and the boy,” he said.

“What boy?” She spent time with the younglings, but she had no favorite among them, and though she had hopes for the future, they had not spoken of children lately.

“The tracker, the one from your home,” Aleksander said.

“Mal?” she said, taken aback.

“Yes, him. You and he, there was a moment, I’d seen your face before like that, but not so far away,” he said, making the barest sense.

“A moment? You mean something happened between us, between Mal and me and that’s what upset you,” Alina said.

“You kissed him and he held you,” he said, as bleak as if it had happened. “You didn’t pull away—”

“Sashenka, it wasn’t real,” she said. “Whether it was a vision or a dream, a bloody nightmare, it wasn’t real. I didn’t kiss him and I wouldn’t. I mean, I suppose I might give him a peck on the cheek if I were saying goodbye but nothing more. I don’t feel that way about him—”

“You did,” he said. “There was truth in it, what I saw. A logic. Inescapable.”

“Well, now you’re positively talking nonsense. Who ever heard of love following logic?” she said. It was time to halve the trouble, to cut through it with a knife, a blade so sharp one blow would suffice.

“Milaya, you are being kind,” he said.

“You are being foolish,” she said. “I saw Mal as my best friend when we were children. I was infatuated with him when he joined the First Army, like so many girls are infatuated with a soldier. When he came to the Little Palace, I saw him for what he was to me, the brother of my childhood, a fellow survivor of the orphanage. Which was never home. It was only where we slept at night. What you saw has never happened, will never happen. Not every vision is a foretelling and not every dream is a memory recalled. Sometimes, we see what we’re afraid of and that’s all that it is, a fear that will never come true.”

“You don’t—you sound so sure,” he said and praise to Sankta Maradi, she could hear in his voice that he had listened to her. Believed her.

“Because I am,” she said. “Think about it—would Genya ever let me wear a blue kefta? She’s quite fierce about how little it suits me and how much finer the gold looks with my complexion.”

“Now you’re teasing me,” he said, but he walked back over to the bed and sat beside her.

“Maybe a little,” she said. “The blue is pretty, but it isn’t my color. And I feel a certain fondness for Mal, but that’s all. It’s nothing to how much I care for you and I’ll happily tell you that until you’re tired of hearing it.”

“Now you are being foolish,” he said, taking her hand in his and letting her feel the resonance of their power, the warmth of his palm against hers. “To think I could ever tire of that.”

#darklina #shadow and bone #season 2 preview #alina x aleksander #canon au #inspired by the recent trailer #anti-malina #without being too harsh on mal #for anyone who's feeling a little protective of aleksander morozova at the moment #soft!thedarkling #preemptive fix-it fic

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thebluestbluewords · 2 years

Text

Gremlin rights tbh

Carlos & Mal, ~1200 words, TW for food issues in this one. (unspecified food issues because I'm not sure how to further tag this)

“What's for dinner?” Mal demands, walking into the sunroom of the fucking gorgeous mansion that they live in now, because life is weirdly good sometimes, and people like to pay Evie for her work nowadays, which means that she can do things like buy an entire house just because she wants one, and not have to worry about spending the summer at Auradon Prep again like they did last year.

Carlos, who is lying on the couch with his feet tucked up and under the blanket draped over the back, looks up from his game at the dramatic entrance.

Mal looks back at him, somewhat expectantly. She absolutely reeks of magic, the sort of burning woodsmoke smell that always happens when she does experiments with her powers. It doesn’t happen when she’s using familiar spells, which Carlos thinks privately, in the space of his own brain where Mal will never hear him, means that the woodsmoke smell is actually just the smell of Mal’s brain cells dying as she flash-cooks them with the effort it takes for her to learn new things.

“Hey,” Carlos says, in greeting. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you see someone you care about and also live with. “My day was fine, thanks for asking.”

Mal snorts. “Yeah, okay, mine was too. Don’t be a princess about it.” she pauses, and walks more fully into the sunroom, which is mostly an early-evening shade room at the moment. “S’there dinner?” she adds hopefully, like somehow saying it again will make food appear somewhere in the immediate area.

They’ve had this fight before. Carlos takes a moment to assess the color of Mal’s eyes, and then promptly decides that it’s going to be a fine night to have it again.

“Chips.” he says, gesturing at the bag he’s got balanced on his chest.

It’s been–

Well.

It’s been a long day.

Mal stares at the bag like it’s done her some sort of personal injury. “That’s not dinner,” she says, sounding almost horrified with herself. Or possibly she’s horrified about the chips. Carlos truly cannot be fucked to figure out why Mal’s upset about eating junk food for dinner. “Dinner is something better than that.”

Chips are delicious, and anyone who thinks otherwise does not deserve a place on Carlos’s couch. He sticks out a foot, just in case Mal gets any bright ideas about sitting down. “It’s what I’m having for dinner tonight. What’re you having?”

Mal sighs. “I was gonna eat whatever you’re having,” she says slowly, kicking the corner of the couch. “But if you’re not making anything….”

It’s mean. And rude, and wholly unnecessary. But sometimes they all must give in to their baser villainous impulses, and Carlos is no exception. He reaches slowly into the bag on his chest, and pulls out a single, unbroken chip to hold out to Mal. “Chip?” he offers brightly.

Mal growls. “I’m getting takeout,” she grumbles, kicking the couch again, with more force this time. “And I’m not going to share it with you, dumbass.”

Carlos sticks his tongue out at her, because it seems like the thing to do. Not sharing is fine by him. There’s a reason why he’s not eating real food for dinner tonight, and it’s not just the lazy summer energy that seems to have spread through the house like an invisible fog. Sometimes, the very thought of eating actual food is too much, and the idea of anything more substantial than salt and air makes his stomach churn and ache like it used to back home when things were really bad. Not starvation-bad, when he’d eat anything that didn’t look like it was growing its own set of teeth to eat him back, but the kind of bad where everything felt sharp and bright and awful, and mother was more lucid and able to keep track of the supplies in the house, and sneaking anything more than what she’d determined was his fair share meant a punishment that would leave him wishing it was the other kind of bad times.

At least when they all starved on the isle there was a sense of camaraderie about it. The barges would stop, and everyone would ration as best they could until the boats picked back up again. A lot of people on the isle understood that sort of hunger, but not a lot of people understand the sort that comes from being hungry, and having food in the house, and knowing that if you take any, it’ll be worse than if you haven’t.

The feeling now isn’t quite the same as it was back home, but the result is the same. Evie’s house, Evie’s rules, Evie’s money that pays for the groceries, so even if Carlos did want to cook dinner tonight, which he doesn’t, there’s no way of knowing how much he’s supposed to have without Evie here to lead, so the uneasy almost-queasy feeling wins out and dinner remains a thing to do when there’s other people around. And sure, Mal is here now, but she’s more of a horrible creature than a human anyway, and once the feeling of persistent unease has started, it’s easier to keep riding the wave of it and ignoring food than it is to force himself to get up and make something to force down.

The whole messy business of it all seems too impossibly complicated to explain to Mal. “Have fun trying to get delivery out here!” Carlos calls instead, as she’s stomping out of the room to find the drawer full of takeout menus that Evie likes to keep around for when she’s feeling especially rich and luxurious.

Mal waves a middle finger back. “Fuck you!”

Five minutes later, give or take, Mal comes stomping back into the sunroom with a paper menu in her hand and murder in her eyes.

Right.

“Where’s a phone.” Mal growls, and it’s not a question.

There’s an aesthetically pleasing midnight blue rotary phone on the wall in the hallway that nobody ever bothered to hook up. There’s also another one, creamy white faded with years of use and poor upkeep to a brownish-yellow, in the little closet upstairs that they’ve all been calling the phone closet and refusing to use for anything more practical than the phone and the much-worn armchair shoved inside it. If Carlos is being entirely honest, there’s also a cell phone in his hand, although that one is currently playing a game that he’s not exactly willing to pause in order for her royal purpleness to make a phone call.

There’s also a glossy purple cell phone on the counter in the kitchen, which has been sitting there for the better part of a week, uncharged.

“Your phone’s dead,” Carlos says, trying not to sound too snotty about it. “Mine’s occupied.”

Mal growls.

Carlos shakes the bag of chips at her. “Dinner,” he sing-songs, shaking the bag enticingly in her general direction, eyes still on his phone. “I’m not cooking tonight.”

“I’m feeding myself.”

Mal is categorically hopeless at everything except for baking.

“Great, go for it,” Carlos says, eyes still glued to the game. His armies aren’t doing well in the eternal fight against the forces of space. It’s a little frustrating. “Have fun, don’t burn the house down.”

#my fic #descendants #descendants fic #mal bertha #carlos de vil #it's set loosely postcanon in a world where I guess D3 either doesn't happen or hasn't happened yet #the timeline is vague just like the resolution of this #I think maybe how it ends is with them both agreeing to compromise and eat pb brownie batter directly out of the bowl???#or possibly they talk about their trauma and why they are the way that they are while Mal succeeds at making one of her two (2) meals #my personal hc here is that she can bake but boy!! she truly can't cook #her two meals are scrambled eggs (because they involve breaking things and minor violence)#and mac and cheese from a box #because she's still enjoying the novelty of eating things from a box and food that comes with instructions is usually attainable for Mal #seriously though:#food issues tw

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yabakuboi · 1 year

Text

Chapter 14: a fleeting beating of hearts

He sits with Tormund’s ghost everyday, waits for his final breath and wishes he could ask Tormund to hold him just one last time.

Read it here!

#jonmund #jon x tormund #tormund giantsbane #jon snow #got fanfic #my fic #shush mal #it's been 84 years (actually 2 lol)

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ashspren-writes · 1 year

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shadow and bone season 2 be like “and there was ONLY ONE BED”

#netflix shadow and bone #shadow and bone #alina starkov #mal oretsev #fic #tropes #shadow and bone season 2

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daughterofhecata · 1 year

Note

1, 2, 4 & 10? 💕

[ask game for when you are stuck]

1.what is the dumbest possible version of the next sentence you need to write?

"Mark kam auf Cotta zu." Mark hat noch keinen Nachnamen und sollte sinnvollerweise bei seinem ersten Auftreten auch irgendwie beschrieben werden, und außerdem weiß ich auch noch nicht genau, ob es Sinn ergibt, wenn sich die beiden vor dem Gebäude treffen, oder ob sie lieber drinnen irgendwo ein Gespräch anfangen sollten und ob Cotta nicht eher der sein müsste, von dem es ausgeht. Aaaaah.

2. what is the dumbest possible description of the scene you are trying to work on?

"Verdeckter Ermittler trifft Verdächtigen." Jetzt habe ich schon den Einstieg des Plots verraten, aber ja, Cotta ist undercover und ich muss ihn jetzt irgendwie dazu bringen, mit Mark ein Gespräch anzufangen...

4. name five things that COULD happen next, logically

Cotta könnte ihn vermutlich nach irgendwelchen Geschäften fragen

Irgendjemand anders könnte sie einander vorstellen

Cotta könnte schon einen ganz kurzen Blick auf Victor erhaschen, ohne ihn zu erkennen

Vermutlich könnte Cotta ihn auch einfach anrempeln/ihm ein Getränk über das Hemd schütten, aber idk ob die Unterhaltung dann mit dem richtigen Grundton beginnt xD

Cotta könnte vermutlich auch an einem kleinen Lautsprecher herumfummeln, aber ich bin mir ziemlich sicher, dass ich nicht will, dass er verkabelt ist.

10. what do they currently need?

Cotta braucht einen Vorwand, um mit Mark ins Gespräch zu kommen. Mark braucht vermutlich gar nichts, weil er ein hochzufriedener kleiner Verbrecher ist, und ich schätze, Victor braucht jemand anderen, mit dem er Snooker spielen kann, weil Mark ihn gerade unhöflicherweise warten lässt xD

#thank you <3 #snooker thing #i think i'll go with 2 or 4 honestly 🤔#guter weg die bekanntschaft zu beginnen ohne dass tatsächlich schon gemeinsame anknüpfungspunkte bestehen müssen #hmmm have to think about it some more #okay so new dumbest next sentence is probably more along the lines of 'der verdächtige erschien in cottas blickfeld'#wir ignorieren für das funktionieren dieser fic auch einfach mal ganz gepflegt #dass cotta wegen diverser fragezeichen-abenteuer garantiert schon häufiger in den medien war #last but not least pressekonferenz captain skull #womit er eigentlich für undercover arbeit verbrannt ist #aber eh. this is about snooker and handsome men in suits not about realism.#ask #crazy-walls

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