We Lay In The Moonlight

Perhaps…a sick fic?

Hello darling!! Just for you <3

Sevika was… horrible when she was sick. 

Meaning when the woman got sick, she simply - pretended she was not sick. She didn’t have a fever, she didn’t see two of whoever was in front of her, she wasn’t puking, she wasn’t coughing. None of it. Because, as she continues to try and convince herself over her many years of life, if you ignored it then it wasn’t there. 

“I think you’re sick, Sev,” Vi says worriedly, on the morning Sevika wakes up feeling like hell frozen over. 

Stuffy nose. Sore throat. Bleary eyes, the throbbing promise of a migraine - and her skin hurt. Clearly there was only one answer to this. 

“It’s just allergies,” Sevika says. Nevermind the fact it comes out aller-geese because of her stuffy nose. Due to the allergies. Obviously. 

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up. She reaches out to press her hand to Sevika’s forehead, and Sevika ducks away. 

“Sevika,” Vi starts, her voice chastising, falling into the familiar I’m-An-Older-Sister tone that had worked on her little sister many years ago. 

“Vi,” Sevika says, in her I’m-Silco’s-Right-Hand voice she used to this day, except more nasally. Because of the allergies. 

Vi crosses her arms over her chest, and Sevika can feel her irritated gaze as she shuffles around the room at a snails pace, getting ready for her day. She pointedly does not look at Vi. 

“You should stay home,” Vi was following her around the house as she ignores the pressure building in her temples and tries to pull things together for her day. 

“No.” Sevika grunts, then coughs a little. “S’just allergies.”

“Baby,” Vi pulls out that sweet voice that always got Sevika, and she squints, looking back at… two Violets. 

“Stop it.” She says to the one flickering in her vision, then ambles away to pull her shoes on. For some reason (the allergies), it knocks the wind right out of her. She braces a hand on the wall, panting softly, then straightens up immediately when Vi rounds the corner with an accusing glare. 

“Sevika,” Vi says, sharply, and Sevika grabs her things and walks right out the door. 

“Silco’s gonna send you right home!” Vi yells after her from the doorway. 

Sevika waves a hand. “It’s just allergies!”

***

The allergies get so much worse. 

So much so, it has Silco casting worried looks at his right hand every so often. 

“Stop it,” she tells him, with as much irritation as she had given Vi. “It’s just allergies.”

“Allergies do not usually constitute a fever, Sevika.” Silco frowns. 

“I do not have a fever.” Sevika grunts, then hacks a little into her fist. 

Silco pulls a face. “Sevika.”

Sevika ignores Silco and instead goes to find something else to do that didn’t include being lectured over allergies, of all things. She wasn’t sick. 

Unfortunately for her, Silco comes to find her a little while later, expression pinched. 

“Go home,” he tells her. 

Sevika glowers at the task she was completing, pretending not to hear him. It wasn’t really that hard, considering one of her ears was plugged. 

“Sevika, go home.”

“You sound like Vi,” she grumbles at him, petulant, feeling suddenly very whiny. “I don’t want to go home.”

Silco’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay. Well. I don’t want everyone getting sick. So you have the next two days off. Don’t come back until you’re better.”

Sevika lifts her head to glare in his… approximate direction. “I’m not sick.”

“Sure. Fine. Go home, Sevika. Take care of your… allergies. Then you can come back.”

Sevika goes back to what she was doing, pretending not to hear him. 

Silco taps his foot. “Do not make me call Violet.”

Sevika drops what she’s doing with a loud, petulant sigh, and breaks into a coughing fit. 

…Maybe she should go home.

***

When Sevika trudges in the door, she’s greeted with the smell of soup and the sound of soft music. She blinks tiredly, then bends to tug her shoes off, smacking her elbow on the wall with a whiny grunt.

“Sev? Is that you?” Vi pokes her head around the corner, then softens. “Hey, baby… you okay?”

“Silco sent me home,” Sevika was pouting.

Vi softens, amusement dancing in her eyes. She steps over, crouching to tug off her boots, one at a time. She sets them aside and stands, reaching up to check Sevika’s temp. “Hm. That bastard. Come sit, babe.”

“Bastard…” Sevika mutters in agreement, sniffing thickly and letting Vi take her hand. 

She’s led to the living room, where Vi had made up the couch into something Sevika was convinced was maybe a slice of heaven. Warm blankets, a million pillows, a box of tissues, a spot for Vi to sit and play with her hair. 

“Wow,” she breathes, eyes wide. “All this for allergies?”

Vi was fighting a laugh. “I - yes. Yes. Sit, Sev, let me get you some soup. And some medicine.”

“Okay,” Sevika sighs, nearly falling into the little nest that had been made for her, snuggling in with a soft groan. Her skin sings a little at the comfort of it all. She’s dozing by the time Vi returns with a cup of hearty soup. 

Vi doesn’t even bat an eye, though; she sits and props Sevika up against her, pillows supporting her back and neck. “Here, medicine first. Tastes bad, sorry babe.”

Sevika wrinkles her nose, but dutifully swallows what she’d been given. Her throat was even more sore now. The soup feels amazing on it, though, and she eats everything Vi offers her. Vi makes sure she’s comfy before she tugs the blankets up around her, fingers slipping through her hair gently. 

Sevika melts into it, closing her eyes and sniffing thickly. “Hey, Vi?” She mumbles when she’s on the verge of a doze.

“Mm?” Vi’s fingers brush over sore temples, soothing. 

“I think I’m sick.” Sevika mumbles, already slipping into sleep. 

“Oh wow,” Vi’s laughter echoes in her voice as she tries to stifle it to not wake her. “Really?”

“Yeah…” Sevika’s sigh is punctuated with a soft whine. 

“I’ll take care of you, baby. You rest.” 

“Mm’okay. Thanks…” Sevika mumbles as she finally gives in to what was, most definitely, not allergies.

I stole this idea from another blog,but I cant reber the name. Every single person who reblogs this before 10 February will recieve a baby pokemon in their inbox,after this egg harches.

Shallura request: medieval au where Knight Shiro is hurt and Good Witch Allura heals him. The are rumors that Allura "bewitched" him into servitude. (Really Shiro just likes running her errands. The smile she gives him is worth all of the gossip.)

Thank you for making me practice my Shallura writing! I hope you like it!

***

Shiro had known of the dangers he was going to face when he signed up to be a knight. Well, not so much signed up than went through all the training and quests to get the title - but you get the point. He had also especially known that the quest he was going on was a death mission, one meant to save his kingdom but not himself.

When Shiro had stared into the maw of the hulking, enraged dragon, he knew his end had come. Even with his longsword driven straight through its heart, the magnificent creature was still fighting with the last bit if energy it had left. It went down with a piercing scream and Shiro’s right arm.

The knight only lay in the dirt a few moments. But he knew that his time had come; his arm was severed and he was bleeding more severely than he had ever known any man to survive. His world went dark and he didn’t expect to live.

Looking back on it now, Shiro found that he had been quite silly to think that Allura, both his keeper and his lover, had been an angel. Those who had seen her surely thought so, and he would claim her healing powers were close enough. But Allura was simply a humble witch who practiced healing in her spare time.

She had given him his life back - quite literally - and was even working on trying to create an arm for him. He was very flattered (and also worried; the townspeople were known for riots and general misbehavior), but told her every day that he was content enough to be in her presence.

The looks the people gave him when he went on errands with her were definitely reproachful and wary. It made his stomach hurt to think that they might try to harm his lovely Allura.

***

“The people are lively today.” Shiro comments dryly, after the second person had thrown some sort of nasty comment their way. They always consisted of accusations that Shiro had been enchanted by her wicked charms and kept for her own desire.

“Don’t mind them, dearest.” Allura responds airily, tossing her silver tresses over her shoulder and giving him a fond smile.

Her smile always brought him down to the present. Shiro always found himself relaxing whenever one was shot his way. But today, anxiety and worry clouded his emotion.

“I just wish they would stop and think for a moment.” He murmurs, taking her hand in his.

The witch glances over at him, her sparkling eyes amused. “Yes, well. We can’t always get what we want, darling.”

“I know.” Shiro sighs, letting go of her hand as they approach their cozy little house. It was simple, nothing like the castle he had practically been born into, but it was definitely home to him. Allura’s presence was everywhere - in the herbs drying and hanging from the rafters, in the little stones scattered in odd places, in the many pots and vials she used for simple tonics and potions.

He found that this little hovel gave him the calm and happiness he had never known could exist, especially with another person. It was well worth all the looks and nasty comments if he could come home to this every day.

Allura slips off her shoes, closing the door behind them and casting a simple spell to ward off the hateful people of the village. “Are you hungry?”

Shiro forgoes his answer for tugging her back toward him and whirling her around. He smiles at her wide-eyed surprise, tilting her head up and pressing a kiss to her parted lips. Allura squeaks, but after his actions catch up with her, she winds her arms around his neck and returns the kiss.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She breathes once they had parted, eliciting a laugh from the former knight.

“When am I not hungry?’ He teases. The witch rolls her eyes, gently extracting herself from his grip and kissing his knuckles.

“I know,” she murmurs. “You are like a hollow pit.”

“Or maybe I just love your cooking.” He grins, watching as she walks away. He takes in her silvery hair, her beautiful curves. The dirt on her feet, the threadbare dress she wore. She would look lovely in jewels, Shiro thinks wistfully. If only he could give that to her.

As he’s considering all the possible ways to give her some precious jewels (legally, mind you), Allura looks over at him with a smile. “Well?” She asks. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

“Yes, dear.” Shiro coos, crossing the threshold to help his beloved.

Sure, being a knight had been his life’s dream. But being the local witch’s lover? Now that was something he hadn’t ever seen coming. Nor would he give it up for the world.

Requests are still open!

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

support fic writers! 

I SEE ALL OF YOU LMAO

Hello all! I’m participating in Klancetober, a klance-centric October prompt list. I’ll be posting at least one installment a day, but please have patience If I fall behind.

*

Day One: A Walk in the Park

It was finally cold enough to bundle up in warm clothes and drink warm pumpkin spice lattes and watch the leaves fall from the trees. It was finally, finally time to indulge in all the holiday feelings and the warm atmospheres. Even if that meant suffering through the Christmas section in every single store. Even if it was the first day of October.

Keith enjoyed the cooler weather. It was definitely better than the Arizona heat. He lived for the weather where all he needed was a light sweatshirt and jeans and beat up old sneakers. The heat was something he could permanently live without. But the cold? He would gladly live in the mountains, given the chance.

Lance, on the other hand… he had grown up in sunny, tropical Cuba. He hated the cold and took extra measures to keep himself bundled up and away from any semblance of chill. He bundled himself in scarves and fluffy coats and heavy boots and mittens. He looked like a colorful marshmallow in the winter, and Keith loved him for it.

Today, the first day with an overcast sky and the first day where it was ethically acceptable to put out orange fairy lights and spooky decorations in the front yard. Keith had watched fondly as Lance had wrapped himself in a hand-stitched scarf (courtesy of his mother; Keith had a matching one that Lance had pilfered for his own use) and a fluffy sweater.

“We’re only going to the park, you know.” Keith teases from his spot at the kitchen table, finishing off his cooling coffee.

Lance huffs, tying the scarf off into some sort of fashionable loop. “It’s cold! I don’t know how you’re only in jeans and a t-shirt.”

“I like it.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Are you ready? You’re the one who wanted to go.”

“I know, I know.” The Cuban grumbles, sliding on his winter boots. “I’m ready. Let’s go see the leaves and stuff. Even if it is twenty below.”

“It’s sixty degrees, love.” Keith grins, getting up and sliding into his own shoes. “You won’t die of hypothermia just yet.”

“I’m gonna die,” Lance groans, reaching over and taking his boyfriend’s hand.

“You won’t.” Keith presses a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go.”

The two walk out of the house, taking in the crisp, cold air and the sound of dried leaves scraping against the pavement as the breeze whisked them away. Keith swings their hands between them, smiling to himself.

If there was any sort of heaven to be had here on this earth, Keith was sure this was it. With a boyfriend bundled up in more layers than was necessary, holding his hand and listening to him chatter about the new fall related flavors his favorite cafe was introducing this week.

That, added with the serene calm of the autumn air, the clear path of the park by their house, and the leaves rustling in the breeze - this was heaven. Keith was sure of it.

“What’re you thinking about?” Lance asks, snapping him out of his reverie.

The Korean looks over at him with a smile, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Just about how much I love you.”

His boyfriend flushes, smiling and tipping his head to the side. “Aww, babe. That’s gay.”

“I am so gay,” Keith laughs, tugging on his hand and kissing him.

“I love you.” Lance murmurs against his lips.

With a smile and a hand on his hip, he pulls back and looks up at his lovely boyfriend. “I love you, too.”

Renegade_Reaper ☺️ I have all of my drabbles saved in docs, too, so I plan on posting those there soon.

PSA

Because of the new Tumblr policy, I’m deleting my nsfw stuff. I have an AO3 account if you would still like to read it! Sorry guys.

I'd like to know!

What are some charities you like to support?

Hey guys!

So I’ve taken up doing this thing at least once a month where I take a percentage of my income and give it to charities I want to support. My only thing is - all of the ones I’ve seen that I like or want to research on Tumblr are buried in my profile.

So what’re some charities that you like or would like to promote? Reblog or send them in!

Okay I lied, I wrote something and hella projected. 

*

The day was cold and drizzly, much like most of England’s autumn weather always was. The sky was grey, the streets were grey, the general mood about the usually bright and lively depths of Soho was grey, grey, grey. Monochrome and bland.

At least it looked that way to Aziraphale. 

He hadn’t opened the bookshop today. That wasn’t generally unusual, especially on the days that he particularly wanted to discourage people coming in and rifling through his books like untame, wild animals. (Honestly, the audacity of some of these people — picking through his beloved books as though they were things to be thrown away instead of appreciated like the treasures they are.) But today it wasn’t for those specific sorts of reasons. Today things were different. 

Today, Aziraphale had woken up with a sort of heaviness that came around once every so often, when he let his guard down and let things get a little too… good. His shoulders ached where his wings would’ve been if he let them. It took him more than two hours to drag himself from his bed to put the kettle on (Crowley had convinced him to sleep every once in awhile, in that sneaky tone he used when he talked Aziraphale into a late night snack or some adventure they were definitely Not Supposed to Do; “Come on, angel, it’ll be fun. Good on the back.”). 

He had protested adamantly at first, but then given in when Crowley had gotten that puppyish, determined look on his face.  (Aziraphale was weak to the wiles of his snake).

When he had settled in with a cup of tea, in his old armchair that had long since deserved to be put out of its misery, the angel noticed things felt… off. 

Simply put, he felt… disconnected from reality. That’s a silly thing to say, Aziraphale had thought to himself, after his tea had grown cold in his hand and the rain had picked up outside. But he couldn’t help but think it was true. After all, it had been hours since he’d made his tea, and it felt like only a matter of moments. Funny how time flew by.

Aziraphale had a list of things to do today — all of which had been forgotten up until the concept of time had been remembered — that absolutely were not going to get done. He had a distant, disjointed feeling of panic about this, but it didn’t pierce through the grey, grey fog that seemed to cling to the angel with a dull sort of determination.

In fact, nothing seemed to get through that fog until a familiar voice filtered up from the bottom of the stairs leading to his flat. 

“Angel?” Crowley calls, poking his head into the apartment and looking around. He seemed to be panicked, Aziraphale noticed with a slight twinge. Had they made plans? Had he forgotten? He couldn’t seem to muster the strength to remember.

“In here, love.” He calls, his voice soft and a little rough from the silence he’d sat in. 

Crowley’s gaze snaps to the armchair, and some of the tension melts from his angular shoulders. “There you are. I waited downstairs for a half hour, I’ll have you know. And you’re always fussing at me about being on time.” 

Logically, Aziraphale knew he was only teasing. Crowley always teased, and he had a reasonable excuse to be miffed at the angel. But somehow, that seemed to cut through the shroud of melancholy that had clung to him from the beginning of the day. A sick, sharp sort of feeling stabbed into him, flashing through his entire body and making him feel sick to his stomach. Tears spring to his eyes and he pushes himself to his feet, suddenly overcome with the need to make this better, make this right again. 

Some nasty voice in his head whispered to him, ugly words that had always lived in him, but had been pressed down and held at bay for many years. 

See what you’ve done? they whispered, adding anxiety to the spike of sickness. He’s angry, now. You’ve made him angry, and he’s going to leave, and you’re never going to see him again. He’ll find a better person to be around, someone more agreeable, someone who doesn’t needle and prod and criticize. 

And just this once, Aziraphale believed them.

He began to rush about, realizing he was still in his sleep clothes and realizing all he wanted to do was curl up and sob and sob and sob until this feeling went away. “I’m sorry, the time got away from me- I’ll clean up, give me five minutes and I-I’ll…”

“Woah,” Crowley steps forward, catching him by the arm. “Angel, hey. I’m not upset, I was only teasing. Calm down, we can reschedule.”

“I’m sorry,” the angel hiccups, ducking his head, suddenly afraid to look Crowley in the eyes and see his own disgust reflected back at him. He wrings his hands, full of anxious energy as all his emotions began to catch up with him again. “I don’t know what happened, I…”

“Hey,” the demon tilts his chin up, and instead of disgust, Aziraphale finds soft concern. 

It breaks him, and a sob manages to choke him before he realizes it was even coming.

“Oh, angel…” Crowley croons, pulling him against his chest and cupping the back of his head, cradling his face against his neck. 

Aziraphale cries, holding onto his jacket as all the tension and emotion and grey bled out of him along with his tears. The demons holds his angel through it all, making shushing noises and nuzzling his hair, swaying from side to side in a soothing motion that slowly begins to calm him down. 

“We can go to dinner another time,” Crowley murmurs against his hair, rubbing his back. “We have all the time in the world, Aziraphale. Just you and I.”

Warmth blooms in the angels chest. He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a shaky breath and allowing himself to relax. “Okay,” He whispers. 

“Why don’t we go put on the kettle and start a fire in that old fireplace, mm? Come on. Cozy night in, just you and I.”

As Aziraphale is led away, his hand in the demon’s, he starts to feel the fog slip away from his mind, replaced with warm company and distraction. Crowley had him smiling again, and the knots in his chest easing. Things were getting better already.

Outside, the sun shines through the clouds.