The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time.
It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.
The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”
Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—
(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)
Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.
It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)
Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”
Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.
She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid.
It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips.
She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.
How do you draw such beautiful Hanzo tiddies??? What is your secret cause Hanzo is looking like a shnack 👌🏼😫 👅💦!
/hardcore preening/ thank you anon :^) I have studied many a tit and it helps to ref musculature, especially how the pec connects to the upper arm! My other best piece of advice are the little horizontal stretch lines and folds where the skin pulls tight over or around the muscle:
I hope this was informative and that u have a lovely day
Anon: Could you do a Voltron where Keith’s all sick and emotional because his fevers really high, and Lance irritated because he got the job of taking care of him. Keith ends up blabbing in his feverish state telling him that he doesn’t have to take care of him if he doesn’t want to and that he’ll be fine on his own, that it’s not the first time. Basically giving away that he hasn’t ever really had anyone to take care of him and Lance feels guilty for being a jerk about it fussing over him.
A/N: What’s that? Two fics in one day? It’s a miracle I get anything done at college.
“You don’t have to do this…”
Lance stopped and frowned. He was in the middle of dabbing Keith’s forehead with a cold cloth, careful not to let any of the icy water drip down the Red Paladin’s cheeks. This was exactly why he didn’t want to be assigned this job. Keith was already stubborn as hell when he was feeling okay, but this?
The music was blaring loudly from the large speakers in the gym, lights flickering back and forth between different colors of the spectrum, the smell of punch lingered in the air mixed with alcohol that some students had managed to sneak in.
(Y/N) sat on the bleachers with her head down, looking at her short and shiny black heels that were beginning to make her feet ache. Reaching down, she took them off and wiggled her toes for a moment before sighed and leaning back against the bleacher behind her.
Most of the bunker was still standing when the storm finally passed. Rogue Squadron picked themselves up, groaning and cursing and generally despairing of finding their ships, and took stock of the situation. They still had the stolen list of Black Sun’s contacts, and they still had the informant, so that was alright.
Wedge pried open the door and took a deep breath of rain-cleansed air. The clouds had passed, the sun was shining, and….there was a super star destroyer hovering over the city. Wedge grimaced and turned back to the Squadron.
“Luke, your dad’s here,” he sighed.
“Is it too late to feign death until he goes away?” Wes asked.
Luke squinted, then nodded. “Yep. Sorry, guys. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.”
OMG id love to see a continuation of the elisabeth AU if you're up for it at any time <3
i can’t do much, sorry 😂😂😂 @kazliin wanted to see a version of Ich Gehör Nur Mir, so let’s see how this goes!
When Viktor is twenty he is falling instead of flying, the ice coming up to meet him with hard, blooming roses of painful intensity.
Everyone sends the flowers and gifts they should have thrown onto the ice to his hospital room instead, accompanied by well-wishes for a speedy recovery. But their warm words of encouragement and kindness fall away from his ears like autumn leaves from tree branches, landing in piles of useless husks at his feet.
What’s the point?
What’s the point if the doctors keep wondering if he’ll be able to skate again?
The ice had never betrayed him like this before. Viktor closes his eyes as he lies in the bed, measuring the time through nurse visitations and not much else. How many more of those until he is healed? Until he can walk, he can leave the room, he can return to his skating? Yakov made him take the rest of the season off, but Viktor at this point views the ice as an extension of himself. To keep him from the ice would be almost akin to chopping off a limb.
What will happen to him if he can’t skate again?
He might not be able to skate, but maybe he should find something else to define himself with. Maybe writing, or art, or music – there’s so much out there, so many talented artists thinking the worst of themselves.
When Viktor is twenty, he breaks. Within weeks, he collect the pieces of himself back up once again. Within months, his knees wobble and his hands shake, but he is back amongst the walking.
And then, finally, the skating.
“Who do you skate for?” people ask. The sky is blue and the rink is busy, and Viktor is watching from the sidelines as other people skate in circles around the ice that had once loved and betrayed him.
I skate for myself, Viktor thinks, at first. And then he remembers, and corrects himself.
“Russia,” he replies. That word feels like a lie somehow.
This takes place before the Marilith attack. Baby Noct wants attention and he hates it when the council stole his dad away. So he sneaks into the council hall and casually climbs onto dad's lap and just doze off. Regis smiles lovingly at his son's antics while everyone went speechless like "do we continue this meeting?"
Omg. Dadfic? Regis? Tiny babby Noctis being petulant? (Regis x Clarus if you really really squint). Yes please. I’m just sorry I can’t expand on all these wonderful asks from my lovely anons. You guys have the best and the cutest ideas.
The tiny prince tottered up the hall, the eyes of all the
council on him. Everyone was too surprised by his sudden and unchaperoned appearance
to stop him.
The toddler reached his father and stood resolutely at the
king’s feet, and glowered up at the astonished faces around the table. “Stole daddy,”
he snarled at them with the ferocity of a small alley cat. With his messy black
hair and angry expression, he might as well have been.
Regis chuckled, and Clarus hid a snort behind an
artfully-timed cough as the king scooped his child up and sat him on his knee. “Eager
to run the kingdom already, eh?” he chortled.
Noct was asleep in three seconds flat.
“Then again, perhaps not,” the king added. “Shall we
continue?” he asked, picking up his pen absolutely as though there weren’t a
small child plastered his chest, drooling innocently onto his finery.
no offense but imagine keith and allura spending //so much time together// and everyone is just like [shifty eyes] but in reality allura is just learning/accepting she’s gay and keith is helping her along since he’s been out way longer and in general they’re just having a good ol’ time Gay Bonding™
and when lance finally is like “what’s going on with u two… are u like… u know” keith and allura are just like “uh no actually we’re both gay”
and bi!lance’s inner dialogue is just like ~u win some u lose some~