Stumbling onto cold stones, leaning heavily on Violet’s shoulders- tiny Violet, a foot shorter than you and half your weight, with weak still-developing muscles, forced to carry your weight as you trip over your own feet. There’s a trail of blood behind you, consistent dripping from the leaking hole in your belly that could be traced all the way back to the dorms.
“You can’t just give up on me know!” She hisses, and it’s music to your ears, even as your vision gets fuzzy around the edges and your hearing goes in and out inconsistently. Pretty Bird. Pretty Violet. Brilliant, beautiful, clever Violet. “Stop calling me that!”
“Jus’ the truth,” you slur, a crooked grin painting your cheeks as you spit a mouthful of iron onto the ground. These cobbles have seen worse.
She huffs in outrage, and adjusts her grip to support you better, which is helpful because you’re starting to lose feeling in your legs.
It takes an uncomfortably long time for you to notice the newcomers to your late-night party, and even longer to realize who Violet was bickering with. “Riorson?”
His gaze snaps to you, dark eyes taking in your hunched form. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to be so much shorter than him, and you try to straighten up, to match his height the way you usually did when you weren’t pouring buckets of your life on the ground. “Come ‘ere often?”
“What happened.” His tone is flat, no-nonsense, and he doesn’t respond to your flirty tone, even as another arm hooks itself on your other side, taking some of your weight off of pretty Violet, who’s seething like a spitting cat. Cute.
“Well,” you drawl, long and slow and strained as your vision spots out again. “I was havin’ a lovely dream ‘bout our pretty bird here.”
Your fucking accent. Gods-be-damned, you caught enough eyes on you for it when you kept it tightly under wraps, little hints of it seeping out every now and then, but now the thick drawl of an unfamiliar world is unmistakably and obviously foreign. And you might be leaking blood, but not so much that you don’t recognize the way Xaden’s eyes narrow, or the way the new arm around you tenses momentarily.
“‘N then I woke up, wet ‘n leakin’ all over the sheets.” The grin is painful and sharp and ugly as it stretches across your face, explicitly revolting and full of implication even as another cough wreaks your form, blood splattering on your front. Distantly you hear Violet calling you a “fucking idiot” but that’s neither here nor there.
Lolling your head to the side reveals Bodhi holding you up, and to the other reveals that Garrick had replaced Violet at some point and the pair had you sandwiched between them, dragging you towards the infirmary as Violet fretted and hovered with Xaden trying to pry information out of you.
“Look,” you interrupt, groaning as you stumble and aggravate your wound just a little bit further. “it ain’ so big a deal, jus’ gotta… gotta…”
You frown, furrowing your brow as the words slip away from you, and your head drops. And between one moment and the next, you go from the edge of the courtyard to the middle of a hallway, and Violet’s still spitting mad, she refuses to leave your side and abandon you to the upper years who had every reason to kill you (because of her, because she was a Sorrengail).
“Pretty bird,” you drawl, struggling on the inhale as you loll your head to the side to watch her over Bodhi’s shoulder. “Don’ do nothin’ stupid now, ain’ worth it, lovey.”
“They stabbed you in your sleep!” She hisses, and gods-be-good, you loved that voice. “It’s a violation of the Codex, you-“
“Lovey.” You cut her off, stumbling over your feet a little again as you try to get them under you. Had they been dragging you? “I’ll sort it, yeah? Don’ worry your pretty little head abou’ it.”
“As wingleader it’s my responsibility to-“ Xaden starts to explain, like you didn’t know it already from your pretty birds rambling, and you roll your eyes, huffing and glancing over at Garrick.
“You hearin’ tha’? Big man thinks he go’ any place in my bus- busin- busy- fuck.” You curse, dropping your head as the word trails away from you, darkness stealing you once more, and the next moment you’re in a different hall, closer to the infirmary.
“You’re gonna be okay.” She whispers, your pretty little Violet. Far more resilient than a flower, sturdier than any frail petal.
“Pretty bird?” You slur, mouth full of wet and iron that dribbles down your chin.
“I’m here.” She says, reaching for your hand over Bodhi’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be alright.”
“Big man?” You ask weakly, gaze flickering for Xaden who you couldn’t see anymore, but you don’t get a response before your vision fades again, for the final time that night.
Fair Winds and Fortune
from Scholarly Pursuits: A Queer Anthology of Cozy Academia Stories
A @duckprintspress project - Crowdfunding now!
Summary:
Bastian, a knight errant, is convalescing at the University of Vismark's Halls of Healing following a wyvern attack that severely damaged his left wing. Because wyvern claws are one source of a rare material needed to craft magic-nullifying potions and objects, the wounds they inflict leave a magical deadzone that takes months to fade. Tending to Bastian’s wounds successfully requires an extended stay as a medical ward, waiting for his wing membrane to heal. And waiting to see if his pinion feathers can be regrown once healing magic can again take effect.
But Bastian is not good at remaining idle. Losing the ability to fly, even temporarily (so he hopes), has profoundly unsettled Bastian, which exacerbates his restlessness.
Luckily for him, his assigned healer, Zara, has patience enough for two. Her skill at soothing Bastian’s stress seems as remarkable to him as the medical methods used to repair his physical ills. Zara has kept him occupied and calm during the long weeks of his recovery, allowing the two of them to grow close. Now that Bastian is well enough to venture outside, Zara introduces Bastian to her friend, Emory, intuiting that they will get along.
Emory, a mage adept, is researching and experimenting with teleportation, attempting to distill the power into reusable charms that have the same efficacy as his own natural ability. Success would open up unheard-of opportunities for travel, even to those without magic. Bastian is happy to help with testing Emory's prototypes.
In their free time, Bastian, Zara, and Emory quickly become inseparable. Underneath her professionalism, Zara has a sense of humor and mischief that complements Emory’s bold and adventurous nature. Together, they explore the ancient beauty of Vismark’s campus on foot and by boat, play games, read books, share meals, and support one another in learning. Spending time with Zara and Emory makes Bastian feel more vibrantly alive than he has in years, which leads him to confront truths he's been avoiding for just as long.
Bastian couldn't ask for better companions in this unexpected chapter of his life. As time ticks closer to the deadline that will reveal if Bastian's wing has been permanently damaged, the three of them realize that none of them wants the connection they've formed to end.
Check out the details, including teasers from the authors on Kickstarter! The campaign runs through August 12, 2025.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Eddie Thawne/Iris West, Barry Allen/Eddie Thawne/Iris West, Barry Allen/Eddie Thawne, Barry Allen/Iris West
Characters: Barry Allen, Eddie Thawne, Iris West
Additional Tags: pre-polyamory, Grand Gestures, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An alternate take on S1 Christmas gifts, Barry and Eddie bonding over how awesome Iris is, Iris loves her guys
Series: Part 10 of Flufftober 2022
Summary:
Barry has no idea what to get Eddie for Christmas, but there's something he's been wanting to gift Iris for years. And he thinks that, perhaps, he can kill two birds with one stone.
@flufftober here’s a fic for the Love Language prompt
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
better to be lost (than without you) (m) ao3
He has a goal and it’s to prove to Pete Mitchell that he’d made a colossal mistake pulling his papers. Even if he doesn't plan on speaking to the man ever again.
So feelings, real, genuine, head over heels, can’t stop thinking about you feelings - especially for a fellow pilot - are off the table.
Seeds of Change
Pairing: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin/Arthur, Pre-Merlin/Arthur/Gwen
Complete | sfw | 1,155 words
A prequel to Secret of Change from Arthur's POV
The sight of his best men entering the courtyard as they escorted Guinevere home had cheered him. They embodied the dreams he had for his reign.
In Leon, with his steadfast loyalty, he saw the best of what Camelot had always been. In his new knights, commoners all, he marked the potential of honouring merit above station. In Gwen, his beloved, he recognised the fulfillment of staying true to himself. He would not deny his own heart, as his father wished, and marrying her would reinforce his connection to the people as well. Yet for all that, something was missing.
Here, alone under the stars, he acknowledged the cause.
Read on ao3
Photos - x
