#fff102

A/N: a tale featuring the protags of my contemporary WIP! this is just protag no. 2 pining for the other, expect proses that features longing with a sprinkle of angst.^^

Word Count: 750

TW: romance, that’s it

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In the haze of a secluded part of a park, the sky sparkles with stars. It falls on golden lights lined up on a canopy of trees. A gentle breeze sweeps through leaves, cascading on a clear lake.

Once you see them, you can’t unsee them.

Atticus hated the line as soon as he wrote it. What cliche, generic horror bullshit was this? The only scary thing about this story was him.

Him and his own failure, eating him alive. It turned out lack of success did not mean the second book in the contract ceased to exist, as he would have guessed. But that’s what he got for ghostwriting books that should have been laid to rest with their author.

Did that make him some sort of zombie?

For @flashfictionfridayofficial

I've been wanting to write a scene/moment like this about Jason for a while and this prompt was the perfect opportunity lol.

Jason stared at the strings of colorful lights arranged above his bed, feeling like one giant, man-shaped bruise under his uniform. Sweat-damp hair clung to his face. He smelled. Every inch of him ached, a mix of bruises, fatigue, and one-too-many sleepless nights following lead after lead on a case he’d been working. Even the stitches pulling at his shoulder weren’t enough motivation to move him from the boneless sprawl he’d fallen into on his bed.

And still it wasn’t enough for sleep to claim him.

The lights were a nice distraction, though. They always seemed to be on nights like this one — stuck somewhere between too tired and too wired with the impressions of his nightmares stamped on the backs of his eyelids. The twinkling sets of soft, multicolored lights did nothing to chase away neither the darkness in his room, nor the awful dreams he’d find in the brief hours of stolen sleep he managed every other night, but they were nice to look at regardless.

Not that he’d admit he thought so. He’d die before he so much as uttered a word about them to anyone, even the fact that he’d hung them up in the first place. Doubly so because, while the first string of them — bright, Nightwing-blue that blinked on and off one after another in a simple pattern — had been a jokingly-given gift from the insufferable golden child himself.

The rest?

He huffed, gaze flicking to one of the lumpy pillows next to him and ignored the sudden flush of mortified heat on his face. Some things were better left un-thought. A secret to take to his grave, its contents kept even from himself. If anyone asked after the strings of red, yellow, green, or purple hung up there too, they’d get a nice, neat, tooth-shattering fist to the face. Even the bastard bats themselves.

Especially the bats.

Each of them needed a good kick in the ass anyway, and it’d keep them on their toes. Not that he cared. At all. Ever.

“Fuck, shut up” he groaned into his dark, empty room, fingers twitching with the urge to grab the pillow and smother himself with it.

Lucie

For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt Fairy lights. A bit of Fluffy Fraser Feels

AO3

Finally! After many miscarriages, fertility testing, timing cycles, temperature taking, scheduled love making, hormone shots and, multiple other indignities, they decide to adopt. “It is about raising a child. Not just that it is our biological child.” Jamie told her.

So they fill out a million forms, are interviewed, their friends and family interviewed, classes attended and, approved. Then they wait. And wait. But finally, the call.

“A lass, four years old, her name is Lucie.” They laugh, cry, squeal and run around like crazy. Their daughter is on the way home. They get more information when the adoption case worker come by. “Her dad was Scottish, her mam, French, thus the name. She is an orphan. Her parents killed in a auto accident. We have had her for a year while searching for relatives here and in France. She was just released for adoption.” She hands then pictures. A real beauty with dark blonde hair and huge blue eyes. Her hair is wavy like her new mam’s is.

“Oh, she is lovely.”

“Has a lovely personality too. Well named. Lucie means light in French” She replies to Jamie.

“Amazing. Claire means the same in the Gaelic.” He whispers as he continues to study their new daughter.

“Truly? Seems you were fated to be her parents.” They have a room set aside for their child. Over the next week, it is made into a room for Lucie. A twin bed is put in with pink sheets and a princess bed cover. A white dresser is filled with socks, undershirts, knickers. The closet is full of t-shirts, jeans, dresses. Another drawer holds nightgowns and tiny and sweet pajamas. There is toys, books, stuffies. All seems ready.

Claire stands and looks at it the day before she is to arrive. “We need fairy lights.”

“Fairy lights?” She looks at him and smiles. She can’t expect her big braw husband to know of fairy lights.

“They are little strings of lights we can hang above her bed. They will make an excellent night light for our little light.”

“Aye let’s go find some.” They do. Pink ones. Jamie hangs the curtain of them above their daughters bed. “Aye, you were right. Now it is ready.”

Lucie Faith arrives clinging to the hand of the worker. They both bend down to her level. “Hi Lucie.” Claire softly says.

“Hi. Mrs. Graham says you are my new mam and papa.”

“We are.” Jamie replies. “Would you like to see your room?” She nods and allows them to take her hands. She squeals when she sees it.

“So pretty. Oh, the lights.” She touches them with reverence.

“Your mam’s idea. Fairy lights for you, our light.”

“I love them.” She shyly hugs them.

(Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial​‘s prompt FFF102: Fairy Lights. Set in the Avis Coda, ft. Heron and k3s, not that you need to be familiar to understand the piece. Enjoy!)

 “By the way, lady,” the illusionist looked up at her, little bright colours swirling around her eyes. “Nice name. Where’d you get it?”

             If the illusionist were fae, she would laugh at their glamours. The fire is too brightly coloured to resemble true fire, the edges too sharp where they should be blended out properly. The blue swirl on the temple is too matte to properly pretend at true pattern lines, and it’s laughably simplistic. There aren’t even any patterns within the green, just a round shape along their cheek.

             Heron places her hands in her pockets, lounges against the edge of the shadow as if it were a wall.

             Her smile is just this side of human.

             “Find out if you dare.”

           The illusionist shrugs, turning back to the keyboard beneath his hands.

 “No fuss.” He turns to look at Heron. “I did meet Doc but the once.”

“Oh?”

They laugh. “Doc scolded me for trying to create real fire to supplement my illusions. Said someone could get hurt.”

“And did someone?” Behind her sunglasses, her eyes glint a little. Another fae would have called it a smile.

Another combination fill for  today’s  @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt:  #FFF 102 Fairy Lights  and my @tonystarkbingo  May Flash Bingo -  Peter Quill square. 

MCU/Marvel Fandom -- General Rating -- Tony Stark & Peter Quill  - 422 words NOTE: This may become part of a future chapter of  my long-languishing StarkLord WIP  Carry On, Wayward Sons,  but can stand on its own, more or less. 

Tony was sitting out on the party deck of the Tower  with Peter, Rocket and Groot.  It was a clear night, and the few stars not washed out by the city lights were shining brightly above.  

“I don’t suppose there’s ever lightning bugs around here,” Peter commented wistfully. 

“There might be fireflies in Central Park,” Tony mused,  “but I don’t know if it’s worth the trip.” 

“Quill, you never said Earth had bugs that could spark lightning, or flies that could shoot fire.”  Rocket’s eyes lit up at the thought. 

“Sorry, my fuzzy friend,”  Tony replied,   “the names are only metaphorical and describe the same basic insect.  Their butts light up when they’re looking for a mate. It’s called bioluminescence and it’s pretty cool.” 

Rocket snorted.  “You wanna see cool?  Hey Groot - do the sparkly lights thing.”  He gestured encouragingly, waving his paws around as if he were directing an orchestra. 

“I am Groot?”   the entling replied with what seemed to be a puzzled look.   

“You know, like you did when we were...oh.”  Rocket swallowed hard, dropping his paws into his lap. 

Peter patted his shoulder comfortingly.   “It’s easy to forget that he’s not the same guy we used to know, isn’t it?”  They sat in silence together for a moment, leaving Tony to wonder what past misadventure they referred to. 

“FRIDAY?” he asked in an effort to change the mood, “could you bring up some videos of fireflies?”    A moment later, a projection of a meadow , dotted with blinking lights appeared.  Groot’s eyes went wide as he scrambled to his feet, reaching out towards the projection. 

“It’s just a movie, pal.  Not real.”  Rocket explained dispiritedly. 

Groot frowned, then cocked his head as he stretched out his arms.  “I am Groot.”  Maybe Tony was starting to get the hang of communicating with the tree-being, as he recognized the curiosity and determination in that single sentence, as if he were saying ‘I think I can do this’. 

To Tony’s  surprise, Groot started to sprout small, leafy twigs from his arms and shoulders.  On the tips of those twigs, small, glowing flower petals slowly unfurled. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it, kid!”  Rocket encouraged,  “Just don’t overdo it, okay?” 

“I am Groot.”  Tony chuckled at the ‘yeah, yeah’ tone of the entling’s reply.  The petals floated up into the air, surrounding them with their gentle light.