#mini fic

[femdreamland]

Ilya making lunch for his kids: Healthy food cut into fun different shapes. A little sweet treat for balance. A note saying how much their dads love them 🩷

Ilya making lunch for his first daughter, Anya: Cooking her plain meat and rice and plating it in her fancy little bowl 🐶 (no canned dog food)

Ilya getting lunch for himself: Monster energy drink with one single McDonald hash brown and 3 M&Ms 🔥

[beyondknowingbeyondthestars]

Au where Shen Jiu is actually a plant baby and his parent had no idea he was ever created

Yue Qi finds little baby Shen Jiu and like no one can tell he's a plant baby it's not really something people can tell without going through cultivation techniques

So Shen Jiu's father yeah? It's Shen Yuan, a peak lord of Cang Qiong Mountian Sect, of the beast peak to be exact. Shen Yuan had absolutely no idea that he had at one point bled on a child bearing flower and made a child.

So imagine what would happen when Yue Qi gets to the sect. And he sees Shen Yuan.

Imagine Yue Qi absolutely hating him, because this is the man that abandoned his son for the wolves. But Yue Qi keeps being denied a sword and permission to leave the mountian. And he needs to get Shen Jiu out. So he goes to the beast peak and seeks out its lord.

Yue Qi finds Shen Yuan, and tells him he knows he abandoned his son once but to please, rescue his friend- To please help the son he abandoned, just once.

And Shen Yuan is so confused. Like, kiddo? I don't have a son?

But Yue Qi argues back that Shen Jiu looks just like Shen Yuan, down to every detail. And he's so sopping wet pathetic that Shen Yuan can't help but want to help this kid and his friend, so he agrees and swoops Yue Qi up in his arms onto his sword to fly off and use him as his compass.

Yue Qi is incredibly startled, being held kind of like a bewildered cat gets held by a small child, legs dangling "Can you put me down on the sword?" "And risk you falling off and your Shizun killing me? Not a chance, kiddo. Uppies."

They get to Qiu manor, and Qiu Jianluo is so incredibly fascinated by the man at his door that looks like his favorite toy. And even more so when he realizes he's a cultivator, so he brings him inside. Not because he's stupid, no. Because if this man is Xiao-Jiu's father, then he'd clearly sold him into slavery. Maybe he'd even like to see how well behaved a slave the brat became.

So Shen Jiu is brought out to serve tea, and he sees Yue Qi first, white as a sheet and terrified next to Shen Yuan. Then his gaze turns to Shen Yuan, and he drops the tray he'd been holding. Because it's like looking into a more mature reflection. He feels like his heart is going to stop.

And Qiu Jianluo makes a mistake. He decides he can punish Shen Jiu for breaking the tea set here, in front of Shen Yuan. He gets as far as getting his hand on his whip when Shen Yuan speaks.

"... I have a son.. You. Have my son. Why is my son a slave." Shen Yuan demands, his gaze turning both cold as frost, and hot with rage as he rises up and rests his hand on the hilt of his blade.

Qiu Jianluo doesn't live to see the next day. According to Shen Yuan, he was possessed and tried to kill him and his shijie's disciple. Yue Qi echos the same story if asked.

Shen Jiu is astounded- Qi-ge came back! He really came back-! He'd been giving up hope, and now he's here!

And.. His father... Is also here? He has one of those? His father just killed that monster unprovoked. His father was talking to him kindly, and offering him spare robes, and a meal, and-

"A home-? You- You want me to go to your home with you?"

"Of course I do-! I just found out I have a son, I missed enough of your life already yeah?" And it takes a bit more convincing than that but honestly Qi-ge is also at the sect so he can probably see what kind of man his father is... Though he's distrustful.

Eventually they have a kind of awkward father son thing going, and Shen Jiu goes to the official disciple selections, and is kidnapped by the Qing Jing peak lord. Shen Yuan is displeased by this, but his son seems intrigued so... Fine, fine, go go have fun.

And then Shen Jiu makes head disciple and gets his name

[hyphenemdash]

yall make ilya the treat dogdad, but you are wrong and here is why

shane is obviously not the animal lover of this household. his parents weren’t pet people (david has allergies), and he’s always been on the road too much to even consider it. plus, there’s so much hair and dirt and slobber and mess and it just feels unnecessary

but he sees how happy anya makes ilya, and that alone is enough to make him look past all the mess

it takes him a while to bond with her though. she and ilya are basically inseparable at home, and when shane is alone with her, she mostly keeps her distance, napping on the couch and lifting her head to stare at the door every once in a while, waiting for her papa to come home

but one long weekend while ilya is visiting boston, shane takes anya on a hike. that’s something you do with dogs, right? anya seems to love it, anyway. she noses at some leaves when they pause for water, and rolls around in the grass at the top of the hill happily, but otherwise is just as focused on her run as shane is. she keeps pace with him, her leash attached to shane’s waist, and she’s like his adorable little shadow. and shane kinda loves it, having this running partner who enjoys the fresh air and quiet with him

so when they get home, he makes sure she drinks water (but not too fast, he’s read about that) and fishes some treats out of the bag at the back of the closet

and they’re okay, he thinks. kinda boring for her, maybe? they almost look like kibble, which can’t be fun and enriching for her. she’s a hunting dog by breed, or at least has a little of that in her gene pool, so she must want something more prey-like?

so in the four days ilya is gone, shane goes ham researching enriching and delicious dog treats, and ends up at one of those obnoxiously expensive pet food places in town picking out refrigerated and freeze dried things that would probably gross ilya out

and while he’s there, the sales girl opens up his world even further. what kind of human food is okay for anya to eat. doggie cookies and pup cups and a universe of treats that of course anya deserves, look at her! just sitting at shane’s feet staring up at him, not reacting to the other dogs and sounds and smells, just bopping her head against his knee

so on the way home, back of the jeep loaded with a frankly obscene amount of purchases, including a number of toys, they go through the timmy’s drive through to get a black coffee and a pup cup

and when ilya returns, anya runs up to him at the door, bouncing and jumping and getting her little paws up on his chest

and then she turns back around and joins shane on the couch, where she’s got her bum pressed against his thigh and a very expensive enriched bone in her mouth (over a blanket, of course)

[frownyalfred]

“It’s barely even bruised.”

Bruce hmmed, still leaning against Tim’s doorjamb. Alfred, behind him, was giving even less away. There was a possibility he was in trouble. That possibility was growing less and less likely with every second of silence.

“It isn’t bruised yet,” Alfred corrected over Bruce’s shoulder. “It’s swollen.”

“It’s just going to stay swollen,” Tim said defensively. “Don’t freak out, okay? I’ll figure out a way to cover it up. I’ll borrow some of Steph’s makeup or something.”

“Freak out,” Bruce repeated, monotone. That was a bad sign.

“Please,” Tim begged. “It was a solo thing. You don’t need to — intervene.”

“Intervene?” Bruce’s eyebrows lifted, breaking the mask-like expression on his face.

“You always do that. You go behind my back and you just—” Tim trailed off, exasperated. “Intervene!”

“I’m not intervening,” Bruce rebutted. He turned to look at Alfred over his shoulder. “Am I intervening?”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“Do I plan to intervene, Alfred?”

Something charged passed between the two men, unspoken. Alfred cleared his throat. “That would be ludicrous, sir.”

“See?” Bruce turned back to Tim. “I’m not intervening.”

Alfred inclined his head. “With that settled…”

Tim’s eyes narrowed, watching the butler depart down the hallway. “What was that look?”

“What look?” Bruce asked innocently.

“That look you just gave Alfred.”

“I didn’t give Alfred a look.” Bruce’s eyebrows twitched. “I barely even glanced at him.”

Tim pressed his lips together, frustrated. “So where is Alfred going?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Bruce said, shoulders rising and falling.

“Of course you can.”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Bruce.”

“You asked me not to intervene. This is me — not intervening.”

“Bruce.”

[gothamite-rambler]

Damian: Father! Father!

Bruce (while typing on the Batcomputer): What is it?

Damian: Tim's baba... never hugged him... isn't that sad?

Damian pretended to sniffle as if this were true information he was saying. Tim looked around, nearly dropping his phone.

Tim (shouting): What?!

Bruce: I'm not sure what his relationship was with Jack, but I'm pretty sure he has hugged him.

Tim: Pretty sure? He has! Before he died, I hugged him.

Damian: Your hug is what killed him! I knew it!

Tim (tempted): Do you want me to throttle you until your eyes pop out of your big head?

Damian: Try it, orphan!

Tim (ready for the charges): As Duke says, say less! Say less!

Dick ran over and restrained Tim, holding him back by his waist before Tim could enact attempted murder on the young Damian. Bruce let out an exhausted dad sigh, his shoulders slumped.

He paused his work, stood up, and grabbed Damian, carrying him over to the Batcomputer.

Bruce: Stand here, watch me work, and stop insulting your brother.

Damian: But his anger is funny to me.

Bruce: I don't know what to say to that. Dick, you got anything?

Dick: I can understand that enjoyment, but Tim isn't the one right now! Tim, relax!

Tim: Let me punch him in the soft spot of his head at least!

Dick: We're not doing that. Remember your coping skills. He's a kid, they love trolling adults.

Tim: I'm about to show him what can happen when you piss of the wrong one!

[delsicle]

Everyone has their corny fic trope they will never not love, and for me it’s mafia/organized crime AUs. So, consider. 

A summer night in Manitoba. Shane fighting sleep from the driver’s seat of his patrol car, four hours left on his shift. 

Nights like this are dangerous because they allow his mind to wander back to a time when he wasn’t always a small-town cop, writing parking tickets and getting the short end of the stick with his patrol times. In another lifetime he was one of the youngest members of the RCMP, back before the lifetime blacklist and demotion down to the lowest possible rung of police work with no hope of ever rising up again. 

A car zips by, the first in hours. Barely anyone drives on this back-end, one-way road this late, not even teenagers looking for trouble. Shane ignores half the cars that pass through, but this one has a trifecta of infractions: no plates, double the speed limit, dead right tail light. 

Shane sighs and turns on the flashing lights, pulling away from his patrol spot on the shoulder. The car pulls over immediately, obediently. Shane is relieved; the last thing he wants to do at 3 in the morning is start a pursuit. 

He gets out of his car, flashlight in one hand, wanders over to the driver’s side door prepared to see a stoned teenager or a night shift construction worker woozy from lack of sleep. 

Instead, Shane freezes, his fingers going so limp he nearly drops his flashlight. 

The man sitting in the driver’s seat should not be here. He should be miles away, at his home base in Montreal, not driving a piece of shit beater in the middle of nowhere. 

And Shane should not be here with him, because as far as Ilya Rozanov knows, Shane Hollander’s body burned up in a car fire four years ago.

Ilya blinks at Shane, narrowing his eyes. It’s dark, even with the flashing light spilling behind them and the tiny light in Shane’s hand. If he gets through this quickly, maybe Ilya won’t even get a good look at his face.

“Can I help you, Officer?” Ilya asks, tapping the steering wheel once, twice, with his pointer finger. Hearing his voice sends twin lines of heat and ice down Shane’s spine. 

“Sorry, ah,” Shane clears his throat. “You have…you were going a little fast.” 

“I am not from around here.”

“Right, well, just don’t do it again,” Shane says. “Um, and get that tail light fixed. Have a good night.” 

He turns on his heel, forcing his legs to move fast despite the fact they feel wobbly. He just needs to get to his car and it’ll be fine. 

He hears the door of the other car open behind him, heavy boots settling on the ground.  

“Officer,” Ilya calls behind him. 

He keeps walking, but the feet behind him are walking, too, faster. 

Shane makes it to the squad car, grabs the door handle like a lifeline, but before he can get it open, a heavy body is pinning him down.

“Too slow,” Ilya says behind him, pulling his hand away from the door handle so he could hold Shane’s arms behind his back.

“Sir,” Shane whispers. Tears prick at his eyes, the animal fear rising in his body. “Please just…go back to your car.”

“But I wanted to tell you something, Officer,” Ilya says. “It’s very funny. Do you want to hear it?” 

Shane hears Ilya unclip something from his belt, feels cool metal press into his side. Ilya leans in so close he can feel his breath along the shell of his ear. 

 “You look just like my dead husband.” 

Shane’s body goes limp, the memories rushing back to him at once. 

He used to be very, very good at his job. So good he was once entrusted to lead an undercover sting of one of the country’s most deeply rooted bratva families. He was meant to find all he could on the family’s young and newly minted pakhan, find a weakness in the newly shaken power structure. He had succeeded more than anyone could imagine, including himself. 

But he was not meant to get attached. And in that aspect he had failed horribly.

Ilya’s lips press to his neck, over his jumping pulse point. 

“Did you think I would not find you, Зайчик?” 

Shane has not heard that name in four years, and it undoes him. 

“Ilya,” he whispers, the less scrap of self preservation leaving his body. “Please.” 

He doesn’t know what he’s even asking for. To not die? To die quickly and painlessly? 

Ilya tugs on his arm. It’s pathetic, really, the way Shane peels away easily from the car and collapses into Ilya’s waiting body. The barrel of the gun is still stuck between his ribs, but he knows he would move even without it.

“Come on,” Ilya says, nodding towards the beater. Shane can see now how obvious this whole thing was, a series of petty traffic infractions laid out of him like he’s a rat in a trap. A bunny hopping blindly to the wolves. 

“At least tell me where you’re taking me,” Shane says. He doesn’t know where he finds the strength to say it, to make any request at all. Ilya looks at him like Shane has asked the color of the sky. 

“You do not know?” he asks. “I am taking you home.”

…or something like that, you know?

[nyx-of-the-dusk]

Mini Fic: Silver Tongue

Game: Kingdom of Marionettes Relationship: Jestyn x Reader Word Count: 1.1k A/N: Pipi answered an ask about Jestyn's tongue, and I could not resist writing something goofy. Warning: That tongue is long. Summary: Jestyn and you have gotten romantic, but he has refused more than simple kisses for... whatever reason. But you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat.

You have maintained the job you expected to be “slightly freaky and underwhelming” for about a month now. Well, you have learned that the job you possessed was very freaky, but hey! You have a new… relationship? Friendship? Partner? Honestly, you had no idea what to call Jestyn. It’s not like you could introduce him to your folks or take him out on a proper date. The theater has rules that must be followed. No one knows that better than your court jester.

You were sure at least a few of them revolved around his intimacy with you. You knew he broke some of those rules; after all, kissing and fawning over the reigning noble tended to be against the status quo, but he followed some of those rules to a fault. For example, he never allowed a kiss to go too deep. You couldn’t find a way to snake your tongue into his mouth for a passionate make-out session, nor has he ever tried doing that with you. You’ve protested before, and all he had to say was “we would get too carried away, my Liege.” The problem is, you wanted to get carried away. He knew it. You knew it. All the puppets in the damn theater knew it. But, alas, no making out. Certainly nothing further. Think about the scandals! The gossip the maids would tell would be legendary.

You think Jestyn’s words about getting “too carried away” are a crock of shit. He stares at you like a lion stares at antelope when he thinks you’re not looking. You’ve even caught him drooling once or twice. You may have desires, sure. But Jestyn has something else entirely. Your leading theory is that he is self conscious about his tongue. He has stuck it out only a handful of times when he lands an especially good prank. The last time he did it was when the two of you replaced one of Knighter’s books with erotica. Jestyn stuck his tongue out at Knighter during the latter’s tirade about how disturbing the first few pages were to him and how no one should indulge such "filth". 

In your… lapse of judgement… you stared at his tongue for a bit too long. You knew it was black and inhumane, that comes with the territory. What did it feel like? Does he taste food the same way you do? Does his saliva taste like anything? When he caught you staring, he blushed brighter than average from embarrassment and hasn’t stuck it out since. It was quite a shame, too. You were really curious about how it worked. 

For your one month anniversary at the theater, Jestyn decided to celebrate with a magic show: no monarchy duties required. It was all in good fun as you two bantered and hid flirtations in your jests. The last trick of the show was a fairly simple trick: the “coin behind the ear” trick. He bounced a silver coin from one hand to the other, letting it vanish then reappear in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, he lost the coin. Jestyn checked his clothing and pockets to find… nothing.

“Did you take my coin somehow, your Majesty,” he cooed as he made his way to your throne.

You, in a fit of theatrics, also checked your pockets, “no coins here, my friend. Maybe it slipped beneath the-”

Your face got flush when his got close to yours. You could feel his breath on your ear. Jestyn was way too close if he wanted to pull the coin out from behind your ear like a normal trick. 

“I don’t see it behind your ear, my Liege. I wonder where it’s gone,” he purred with words that smelled of wine.

Jestyn placed his arm on your shoulder as he circled your throne. Once he made his way back to you, he dramatically sat on your lap, sighing in defeat. After his dramatics, Jestyn moved to face you.

“Guess I’ll have to rummage the throne,” he smirked while placing his hands behind you, embracing your waist.

The two of you got caught up in a staring contest, silently wondering where this would lead. He smirked before looking down. His puppet hand then started to move to investigate one of your pant pockets, revealing an empty hand when he found nothing. He slowly moved from pocket to pocket, noting every time one came up empty before his hand got close to your neck. 

“I doubt I can hide any coins in my collar, Jestyn,” you laugh.

He shrugged before tugging at your collar, pulling you forward. Your lips intertwined with his as his grip on your waist tightened, ensuring you didn’t fall. He let his other hand play with your hair. This kiss seemed longer than what you were used to, but today was special. Who cares?

That’s when he bit your lip. You yelped in disbelief, granting him the opportunity to finally break one of his “sacred rules.” Your mouth was engulfed by his tongue. It wriggled and writhed in so many ways, claiming your mouth as its next meal. You tried keeping up, you really did. It’s just that his tongue was massive, and you were not used to it. That, and he had impeccable control over it. Whatever was happening, it was passionate and glorious. You never wanted it to end, but your lungs were playing a losing game. If things were to continue for much longer, you would likely faint. You reached for his hat and gave the bells a playful hit, alerting him that you needed to let go soon. As the kiss wound down, you tasted a hint of metal. Did he cut you in the process? You didn’t feel like you were bleeding. He chuckled darkly as he let the kiss end. 

He looked right at you as he unfurled the massive tongue that just attacked your mouth. It was longer than the sides of his hat, and you wanted to ask how he even fit that thing in your mouth when he revealed a smaller version of the coin. His mouth curled into a devious grin when you got a good look at it all, only to make an innocent face as he laughed, dropping the coin to the ground.

“Oh! It appears it was in your mouth, my Liege. I’m glad we could get things sorted.”

You chuckled as you stood up from the throne, lightly smacking his hat again. 

“Glad you could find it, Jestyn,” you hold both of his hands and smile that big ol’ smile that melts his wooden heart. “Thank you for tonight. This has been one of the best months I’ve had in a while.”

He squeezed back, a bit tighter than anticipated. “And here’s to the many months to come, my Liege.”

You let each other go and exit stage left while he stands silently on the stage thinking about all the ways he could test your limits going forward. If he can break that “rule,” what’s stopping him from breaking them all?