Flatfootmonster

Neither the gentle rustle of the wind, the ease of the dark, nor the ache of exhaustion is enough to lull me to sleep. Curiosity is an itch that I’m familiar with but not growing in the shadow of ignorance in regards to someone’s emotions. How someone feels has always been inconsequential. 

The half-wild creature next to me still shivers, despite the heavy robe now draped over him. But he makes no move to turn or leave, even if these are his chambers I wouldn’t put it past Na-Kyum to storm off and sleep outside. That thought pulls at a thread of amusement and I find myself grinning. He is unknowable; a fey animal dancing on the boundaries of this world and an ethereal realm. 

My fingers move on their own, reaching for him and finding soft strands of hair beneath my fingertips. The enjoyment I receive from the way he feels beneath my hands and the gratification that comes when he sighs, inching across the narrow span of space left between us is an even weight. His body is curved towards me—not away. Why am I taking so much stock in irrelevant observations?

He’s just as restless. I could demand he tells me what is bothering him but that concept is foreign; I’ve never needed to know how someone feels. It’s never mattered before. Yet, as he trembles and sniffles, the same anxiety that had its grasp around my gut when he was ill plays in the same shadows my curiosity grew. 

Has his spirit been broken? What exactly did his teacher say? That single memory coaxes a tide of murderous anger… 

“He is a fool, you realise.” There's an edge to my voice I didn't intend, sharp enough to let blood. Certainly strong enough to make him flinch yet he stays still. Contrary creature. Withdrawing my hand, I resist the urge to pet him—not least because comforting isn't something I often feel compelled to do. Or ever for that matter. That aside, given his unpredictable nature, it's a toss up whether he’d sob or bite me. 

Tilting his head up, he gazes at me wide-eyed. The innocence in his soul cannot be sullied—even by me. A long moment of consideration passes before he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” Eyes once more are cast down, and that subservience grates me—it shouldn't be there, not for In-Hun.

“It does,” my reply is as firm as the finger I place beneath his chin, tilting his face back up, eyes meeting mine again. “It may be foolish to love without a thought for yourself but the bigger fool is the one who would snub a love so pure. And not only refuse it but to shame it.” My thumb rubs gently along his chin without being told to do so. His lips slacken, the pink tip of his tongue darts out to wet them. Somehow I can feel his tension being eased. The shivering subsides. 

“He said I— that I’m a p-prostitute.” 

The tide of anger swells again, it's so easily provoked in this matter. The arguments that froth at the surface all relate to me. Implying that I would sleep with a prostitute, or pay for intimacy, would be a misstep that I'd answer with a blade rather than dignify with words. But I cannot give worth to another borrowing from my own standards. 

The stern expression I know I've donned, that Na-Kyum now sees, sparks fear in his eyes. Yet he doesn't pull away. "And what do you think?" 

The hesitation is enough to alleviate my fury. He at least has the confidence and freedom of thought to question his mentor—or past-mentor. "You keep me here to paint, the agreement was for nothing more," he comes to a premature halt, holding back the speculation I took more than I asked for. He wouldn't be wrong. "I'm not being paid for w-what we do." 

A rare and discomforting pang of guilt thrums through my veins. Despite what he says, up until tonight he never had autonomy in our affairs. Choice is a difference between himself and a prostitute. That matter wouldn't normally trifle me, let alone induce guilt, but there it is. 

But he came to me now, asked me to take him. Was he simply submitting to his lofty teacher's assessment? Is that what brought this on? As I study him, confusion welling like tears, I see something other than that. Perhaps I want to see it, but it's a point he's been shamed over by In-Hun and used by myself as a probe to tease. 

"Enjoying it makes you feel conflicted?" In his naivety, perhaps he assumes the only people that enjoy sex submissively are prostitutes, and that's why they do it. Slaves to desire and nothing more. 

His mouth moves wordlessly, unable to even admit the pleasure. But his gaze doesn't deviate from my own. His spirit isn't broken, I'm sure of it. "Not it," he stammers. "It's not what we do, it's that it's you that does it." 

My brows knit together as I try to pick apart his words. "What I do makes you feel conflicted?" But the meaning unfurls as I speak. Pushing myself up on one elbow, I look down at him, my hand resting on his neck. His heart is running as wild as his emotions. 

"The way I feel—my dreams—" his words stop and start. Impatience is a barely restrained force as I wait for his thoughts to be articulated. "I yearn for you," he whispers finally. 

I hear the now that's missing. His adoration lay at someone else's feet, undeserving as they were. But now his allegiance has changed. Something stronger than anger expands in my chest, I can barely breathe for the possessive instinct that overwhelms me. He is mine—body and heart. A battle was won that I had no idea I was fighting. 

My fingers curl around his pale and fragile neck, as my thumb runs over his Adam's-apple to the crest of his chin. His head tilts with every minute direction of my hand, apprehension in his eyes, waiting for whatever comes. 

He used to feel like a small bird trapped in my fist, I could anticipate the beat of his frail wings before I'd loosen my hold, and mirth would rise as I'd imagine the ways he might try to escape. Now, as he lays beneath me, if I closed my fingers on that bird until bones crunched, the only fight would be its heart against a delicate cage made of ribs. Yet if I hold my palm flat, the bird will perch on my finger.

His spirit isn't broken but he is enamoured in the foolish way he loves, forgetting himself. "You are the fool it seems," I admonish gently, but there's no heat in it. If he is a fool then I must be one, too. Of course I’m aware of the exceptions I make for him.

And he reads between the lines, for once seeing me as transparently as I see him. "Then I am your fool, My Lord." They are the first firm words he's uttered. 

Will he now defend my honour, the way he did his teacher’s? Has he done so already? I'm drowning in curiosity over matters that should be insignificant. No—his loyalty is not insignificant; small perhaps but persistent, like the grain of sand that becomes a pearl. I won't probe. Proof of his nature is already abundant, in my memories and before my eyes.

"My fool." The repeated sentiment falls softly from my lips; a coveted caress. Past that, I find it difficult to move from this moment. The stillness draws out as I simply hold his throat in my palm, enjoying the racing pulse that radiates from his surrendered heart. That revelation calls for motion, my hand answers as it slips down to his heaving chest, fingers splayed across vulnerable flesh. He’s blissfully warm where the beat is strongest. 

The tip of his tongue darts forth again as a tentative hand drifts up to my arm. Gentle fingers test my bare skin. "You're cold," he murmurs, "let me." The offer is made as his hand falls to the robe, opening it from around himself and proffering one side. 

A heavy breath rushes from my lungs as I nod, unravelling muscles that had tensed at some point. Arm laid flat, I settle beside him, allowing the material to be draped over my torso. He fusses over it, focussing on his work as our makeshift covers are smoothed around my shoulders. There’s a furrow between his brows as he does so and I can’t help the way my lips pull at the corners. 

“Are you going to mother me now?” I can’t blame him when my jest falls flat. When has he ever heard me joke to know how my tongue paints humour? But that doesn't stop the whiplash of regret that’s inflicted when he recoils, looking down in self-deprecation. I already know his cheeks are red despite the dark withholding solid facts. 

He may be quick but so am I, I grasp his hand before it disappears in the folds of fabric. And with his hand I catch his attention, both brought to my mouth as I push a firm kiss to his wrist and then place his palm flat against my chest. 

"Don't." It's a one word warning, I'm not sure how to tell him not to pull away from me again without ordering him or begging. After all his candour I should be softer, I just have little practise. "I like your body heat." 

I listen to him breathe in the quiet, three haggard exhales before he moves closer. His hand stays where I placed it, warm and soft, and that sensation spreads as his body presses to mine. He tucks his head beneath my chin, and the air that leaves his body caresses my skin. "Is this… OK?" 

There's little to be done against the will of my fingertips, my hand runs the length of his back before resting at his nape, holding him tight against me. I hum a yes and it sounds like a contented purr. But there are matters to straighten before I let my senses dull. I already slackened by allowing us to lay here—we should be in my own bed. "Tomorrow you will eat every meal in my presence." He nods quickly, hair tickling my neck. 

"I will, My Lord." 

"I do not want to see you get sick again." The hardness in my tone resurfaces, but by the way he clings tighter to me he reads it in the context intended: worry rather than impatience. Perhaps he has started to know me, or my hands give me away. They have a mind of their own as they sweep over his smooth skin. "Do you need to eat now?" 

"No." 

My finger drifts to his chin, tilting his face up so I can peer down at him. "Are you lying?" He shakes his head, a singular and minimal motion, eyes locked to mine and lids heavy. With sleep, or perhaps... 

"I want to stay here—this way," he murmurs, emphasizing his meaning by pressing closer. 

I draw a line down his torso, finger coming to stop at his naval. "If I hear any complaints from here," I poke at his slender stomach to emphasize my meaning, "then I will feed you myself." The soft beneath my touch pulls taut. He’s tense. Did he expect hurt? It would be a fair assumption given the marks my hands have already made on him. The taste of that realisation is sour but short lived when I hear the soft huff expelled from his lips. Before I’m certain of the reaction that I just witnessed, my fingers run along the seams of his muscles, to the soft spot above his hip. The tensing becomes a full flex as his body curves protectively and something happens that I hadn't expected or considered. 

The huff becomes a gentle gurgle. He’s laughing. He’s laughing and I have never wanted to capture something as futile with my fingers before now. I’ve never heard him laugh, and if he’s smiled I can’t recall it. The night and it’s secrets be damned, I can’t see the expression this new development brings to his face. I want to see how his eyes wrinkle, the shape his lips take, the warmth flood his features, whether his cheeks dimple. And now I have stared too long so he grows still. Does he think I disapprove of laughter?

“It’s ticklish,” he murmurs as way of explanation, as if it’s needed and I’m too dull in my senses to draw that conclusion on my own. 

“I realise.” And even I can hear the pleasure on my tongue. There’s a pause, he’s hesitating, I imagine he intended to apologise for such a natural and wonderful reaction. It’s down to me to make some things clear, I’m not one for many words, especially when it comes to assurances. “I like your laugh. You will do it more often.” It sounds as ridiculous as I intended the demand be, and he hears it. I grin when my efforts win another soft snort. 

Skin

Every notion I hold that brings some imagined form of embarrassment he bypasses. Even in this, in our skin. He’s seen me bare, ran a cloth over every part of me without having any effect on his stoic exterior. Strong arms held me, calm words soothed—and I let them. Mostly I’m unfazed by our bareness if I don’t dwell on it. 

My feet have grown complacent with the foundation that we’re discovering. breathing easily as we lay here—sheets, towels, and skin. It’s quiet for once. Seconds and minutes seem to sparkle like dust in the evening light. We could be anywhere, as long as we are like this there’s peace and contentment. 

It’s just us. 

I’m getting used to this and I know that’s dangerous, but my grip seems to have loosed on control. I stopped fighting the tide. 

Rolling onto my side, facing him, I close my eyes. I want to capture this moment and the white of the sheets that seem to be a surrender. His gaze rests on me, warm like the long fingers of sunlight as they reach across the floorboards. There’s a gentle huff of laughter before the book he was reading is placed on the floor, his glasses clink as they follow suit. Then he shifts. I know without looking that he’s mirroring me and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. 

“Are you tired?” 

“No, just resting.” 

He hums, deliberating. “Do you want me to go?” 

“No.” My response is Instant. It wasn’t really a question that needed to be asked. Surely?

There’s a long pause, like he’s hesitating over which direction to take. Before words arrive, his fingertips brush gently across my forehead, before tracing along my temple and sweeping behind my ear—pushing hair from my face. My breath deepens, an uncontrollable reaction to the touch. 

“I thought sometimes that I’d made it up,” he says quietly. His hand drops to the sheets but not before fingertips skim along my jaw so lightly that it could have been an accident. 

I don’t know what’s different. He’s already undressed, bathed and towel-dried me and his hands are always gentle. Yet there was no intent behind his touch except care. In that barest touch I can feel something different. Perhaps I’m projecting but it almost feels like need; touching me for his own sake as well as mine.

Mouth dry, I don't want to open my eyes—let alone speak—in case this spell winks out. I could have it all wrong. “Made what up?” My voice is rougher than before and for no good reason. 

“How everything feels with you.” I do look now, but his gaze searches me as his fingers had. “I could never work out what it was. Whether you were this angel that had no urges,” he grins, amused at his own humour, “or whether whatever it was you felt with me, it was enough—intimate enough—that you didn’t need more. Even if maybe you wanted more. But whatever it was being with you has always been different from anything else.” 

I’m not sure if he wants me to specify who I am, or how I feel, but the heat rushing up my chest and into my cheeks is probably enough to answer. “I just wanted to keep you safe.” That’s my roundabout way of answering appearing once more. But it’s true. 

“So, a sexless angel it is?” He teases.

I snort, rolling my eyes before holding his gaze. “No. I jerk off like everyone else,” I state in defense, jaw firming stubbornly as he laughs. 

“You do? I find that hard to imagine.”

“Then don’t.”

He pauses, chewing his lip. I know he’s about to push imagined boundaries in the way his nature dictates. “Now I’m curious. What do you get off to?” 

I want to make a joke about what curiosity did to the cat but there’s always been transparency between us. As hard as it would be to talk about this anywhere else, I can do it here with him. “Just porn—regular porn. Blow jobs, orgasms; nothing special.”

“Nothing special,” he murmurs, half in thought and half amused. Before he continues his thought his hand is at my face again, this time stroking over one eyebrow and then the other. It sends goosebumps over my body. I barely manage to keep from shuddering. “But when you close your eyes—no porn—and it’s just you and your hand, what do you think about?” 

This is a little more personal than porn. My own private thoughts, the fantasies that involve me. His finger is drawing a pattern down my arm. The flush in my face has done the opposite of fade. The urge to deflect is almost as strong as my desire to talk—to him about anything, everything...

“It’ll sound dumb.”

“No, it won’t.”

I sigh. It will, no matter what he says. “Mostly it’s not anything sexual: touch, nearness, safety, acceptance, love.” All things relatively easy and yet things I’ve been without all my adult life. The slight lift of his eyebrows prompts me on, unbelieving that that’s all there is to it. “Of course it’ll be in a scenario where something is happening but it’s more about what they say, how they feel—about me,” I stutter out. 

His hand pauses, lips parted. What I said shocked him perhaps, in the very least it gave him pause. What had he expected me to say? “So you gave me what you wanted for yourself?” And now I have to take a moment to digest. I hadn’t thought of it like that. “Nearness, safety, acceptance, love…” he trails off, leaving the list unfinished. Perhaps touch isn’t something he wants to acknowledge, although he’s never flinched when I’ve held him. Maybe he’s nervous about stating that part, as unlikely as it seems for the Ash I know and for the way he freely reaches for me. Perhaps dancing around that point is for my benefit.

“I guess we all love in the way we want to be loved.” 

The smile that spreads on his lips is warm, soft, it makes my body tingle. His hand lands on mine, a gentle grip secures it and brings it to his mouth. One soft kiss is pressed to my knuckles. The battle is easily lost; a shiver runs through me. It’s the first time he’s kissed me, disregarding necessity in another age. It should feel strange or new but intimacy has always been a fine line between us; blurred boundaries that were never firmly in place. 

Is this how he wants to be loved? With kisses and touches? 

I’m not brave enough to ask, but my body is willing enough to respond—embarrassingly so. I roll onto my front, burying my face in a pillow. Maybe he won’t notice—I hope he doesn’t because I don’t want to pollute a candid moment with something carnal. All he does is shift closer, my hand is against the cotton once more but his fingers are threaded through mine. 

“What about you?” I mumble into the pillow, attempting to shift the spotlight from me. 

He snorts a short laugh, breath teases the bare skin of my shoulder. “Do I jerk off?” I hum a yes, opening one eye to peer at him. That half-smile he’s wearing says that this conversation is as amusing as it is left-field. “Yeah. It’s a thing that needs doing every now and again—like stretching, I guess.” 

It’s my turn to laugh. “Like a mechanical process?”

He shrugs but everything about him says he’s at ease sharing. I never doubted that we both felt free with each other, but reassurance never hurts. “I guess. I dropped the shame a while back. But it’s still a blank screen—behind my eyes. It’s difficult to explain.” 

“I think I get it.” Relief pours into me knowing the shame is gone. I’m grateful once again for the safety net he found. I won’t pry at the ground covered, not in any detail, but the progress can’t have been easy. There’s not much to be done for the regret that it could have been me that helped, despite knowing that’s ego talking once more. Sometimes we aren’t the person to help. Accepting that is hard but he’s here, still the same Ash that I loved but evolved. Free. He could fly after all. 

There’s a lull, but he’s still pondering. Whatever it is brings a half smile to his face and piques my curiosity. “What?” Ash’s focus adjusts, it’s back to me and now he’s humming a questioning sound like he’s trying to pass off my question. “What are you thinking?” 

“If I told you it might embarrass you.”

I don’t know if I could be embarrassed anymore than I currently am, given that my hard-on hasn’t budged. And I’m pretty sure he knows what’s going on—why I turned to press my hips against the mattress. I was always transparent to him, yet it hasn’t disturbed him. He hasn’t pulled away. “It won’t.” 

The words are considered before they’re spoken. “I’m learning something new.” His gaze is inquisitive once more, as are those long fingers—the index runs a path down the bridge of my nose. “I always loved your honesty, the truth in your expressions.” He pauses and touch drifts to my shoulder, skating slow patterns over my pebbled skin. Heat is effortlessly coaxed to the surface. “And now I’m learning how you react to the way I touch you. It’s so honest—pure. You don’t hide and you’d never ask for more. Yet just this,” his hand drifts to my spine, running half way down my back and pushing the sheets lower before it retraces it’s steps and lingers at my nape, “just my hand or my words, and you feel so warm and fluid. I don’t have to try and it does something, and that does something to me.” There’s a pause but I stay silent. He adds softly, like it means nothing at all when it’s probably the most profound thing anyone has ever said to me, “It’s beautiful.” 

I try to swallow but it’s impossible. I have no idea what to say. I want to find some reproach in his assertion that he doesn’t have to try to turn me on, but the admission takes precedence. He finds me—us—beautiful, like this? Flushed and receptive? 

“Something?” I ask. It’s about the only thing I can find to say, to specify exactly what that means for him. 

His grin says he understands, one of those glimpses of rare childishness shines through—I adore it when it shows. His hand stops it’s coaxing to push against my shoulder playfully. “You know what I mean.” Then another soft kiss is pushed to my knuckles. “And there’s nothing wrong with asking—FYI,” he adds before he flops onto his back. His gaze stays locked to mine—waiting for my reaction. 

He’s always inspired bravery in me—by presence or memory alone. 

We love how we want to be loved; his fingers and lips have both caressed me. And he beckons me to ask. I know what he wants me to ask and I want to ask it. 

His chest is open and inviting, and after that weighty confession, it’s my turn to move my feet. Shifting on to my elbows, I inch across the short distance between us, his fingers dance up my back, idly toying with the hair at my nape again. There is enjoyment and pride dancing in his eyes, they’re wider now though with that something: anticipation and the want that lay beneath his fingertips. 

How long have we been waiting for this moment? Now I just have to find the words to ask. For once my obtuse instincts are absent. “Can I kiss you?” I whisper. 

If Ash was a cat, I'm pretty sure he'd be purring. His answer doesn’t come in words. Turning on his side, towards me, suddenly we are nose to nose—bridging an impasse that I want to both last an eternity and end immediately. The tip of his nose nudges against mine playfully, then his head tilts. Every inch of me trembles and a low sound escapes my lips before our mouths find each other—a soft, fleeting press. 

Hey!

OMG, i think it would be awesome! As it’s the last one, it would be great to do something special?

I’ve done some initial research, and I think we could do them for like £14-£17 ea. depending on whether the hoodies are personalised or not? (I’m looking at dual tone ones, so they’d be great quality, with dual side print!)

It would be paid for before and collected at the con?

 To everyone who loves a good, real life love story and wants to be a part of one!

  Do you like love stories? I for one live for them. There is nothing I enjoy more than reading stories, and writing them myself gives me even more joy.  I’m a sucker for happy endings, both in fic and in real life. And recently, I have had the great fortune of stumbling right into the middle of a real life love story so sweet and cheesy, it might as well be a phenomenal work of fiction. And that is why you’re reading this. Because I intend to give this story a happy twist, and I need your help to do it. So here goes. About a year ago, I met a sweet girl named Erin* from Germany online, and we instantly bonded over our mutual love for the Norwegian TV show SKAM and for writing fanfiction. She’s a fantastic author and an even better human being, who gives so much love to everyone around her. We became close when Erin followed one of my ongoing projects and I became a very avid fan of a series she writes, and also because we somehow just … get each other.  Then earlier this year, I had the honour of getting to know another jewel of a human being, from British Columbia, Canada. His name is Aaron*, and he’s a writer too. We became friends while beta-ing each other’s works and talking about our everyday struggles as well as just supporting each other in everything we were both going through. Aaron is the kind of person who has so much love in his heart you can feel it all the way across Canada and the Atlantic, it’s a wonderful thing! Aaron then told me that he’s going to go to Berlin for a month to study German. Since I am a travel agent, I offered to book his ticket for him, which he accepted. Since it was slightly cheaper that way, I booked his return ticket out of Zurich and suggested he spend his last week with me in Berne. So on July 17th 2018, Aaron landed in Berlin and began his studies there. Erin, who lives in Germany as well, went to see him for Berlin Pride which they attended together. The two of them have been talking for longer than Aaron and me, and guess what … Erin has had a crush on Aaron for quite some time … Aaron had no idea. The two of them spent a great Pride weekend together and afterwards decided to meet up again a week later. Aaron went to visit Erin in her hometown for a festival, and after another fantastic day, Erin finally dared reveal to Aaron how she feels about him. So ever since that day, Erin and Aaron have been together. They met several times during the month Aaron was in Germany, and when Aaron came to see me in Berne, Erin came as well. The three of us spent an amazing week together: I had to work, but Erin and Aaron made it up to me by cooking for me every evening. I didn’t sleep much that week because I spent every possible minute with my two lovebirds, talking, laughing and just having a wonderful time. And although I already loved them both before, by the time they had to leave again, Erin and Aaron took two pieces of my heart with them. I jokingly call them my adopted kids, that’s how close I feel to them, and I really need to see them again soon. But whereas it may be a little hard for me to bear not having them close, Erin and Aaron have it way worse: With Aaron living in Canada and Erin in Germany, being in a relationship is not exactly easy, particularly because both of these cuties are still studying. Now, Aaron and Erin have both never been to Oslo before. They really want to go through, and since they met because of SKAM, it would mean a lot to them if they could go together. I’m going to be there for the SKAM Convention at the beginning of December, so of course I would LOVE LOVE LOVE it if they could join me there! I have cleared it with them that they’re able to come on those dates and they allowed me to do ‘everything I can’ to make it happen. So I am daring to ask you guys to chip in so I can book plane tickets and an Airbnb. You can give as much or little as you want and can, and I promise to publish the receipts of the tickets etc. I expect costs of about EUR1600.00 (USD1900.00) for flights and an Airbnb in Oslo, so it’s not even that much. Of course I will chip in as well, and if I don’t need all the money donated, the rest will go to Skeiv Verden, a charity who helps LGBTQ people in Norway. Feel free to ask any questions you want and I will answer them. Once I have booked the tickets, I will ask Aaron and Erin if I can document their trip so you can see how it turns out. I’m pretty sure they will agree. If by any chance you know those two lovebirds, please don’t tell them about this idea. I want it to be a surprise and I don’t want them to get their hopes up in case it doesn’t happen. If you want, send me a little message for Aaron and Erin, I will make a little book for them with the notes from you guys. I can’t wait to see what happens with this and am already grateful for everyone who is willing to support this dreamy cause. Every cent counts! Hugs and love 

We have officially cracked the 100EUR threshold! Thanks to a very dear friend of mine who contributed last night, we are now very close to covering the costs of at least one of the flights! Please spread the word some more, and remember: EVERY CENT COUNTS! <3

now, let’s play a game. it goes like this: it’s called “isak and even: minute by minute”. it, um, it’s about that the only thing we need to worry about is the next minute. you’re up for it?

Time to celebrate some amazing Skam wips! Here are the fanfic wips I am following at the moment, at least the ones that aren’t on hiatus. These fics are great and I can recommend them all:

Sommarlov by Amethystus/ @aimitis, Treehouse/ @modestytreehouse

vents by vesperthine / ventiler by vesperthine / @vesperthine

Bassline by riyku

Inside Out(cast) by evakuality/ @evakuality

Peace Train by Amethystus/ @aimitis , Artemis2121/  @artemis2121

I Know A Name by Flatfootmonster/ @becsfannibal

Et spørsmål om karakter by Artemis2121/ @artemis2121

If the wind breathes by unsungyellowraincoat

Mysterious Ways by nessauepa/ @nessauepa

Lost to the Sea by Flatfootmonster/ @becsfannibal

a risk worth taking by panshambles

Not the End by nofeartina/ @nofeartina

a taste of you and me by skamz/ @skamz

cut off my fingers to touch your smile by bbyfruit/  @lesbovilde

wait for me to come home by allyasavedtheday/  @littlespooneven

flowers bloom with no regret by colazitron/ @fille-lioncelle

Vivo (estas) Nun by Bewa 

The One That Got Away by cami_soul

What a Long, Strange Trip It’s Been by XioNin/ @xionin 

Now I hope I haven’t forgotten too many lovely fics. I read quite a lot, and that makes me forgetful at times. But this is what I remembered right now!