This will be a month of summer evenings, small wonders, and lights in the dark. Think fireflies dancing over fields, wishes made at dusk, warm nights that seem endless, and magic that just appears when you look closely 🤫
Have fun writing and as always tag @monthlywritingchallenges and #fireflyjuly
Prompts
1. First firefly
2. Golden dusk
3. A wish
4. Barefoot in the grass
5. Lantern light
6. Summer thunder
7. Tiny miracles
8. Stargazing
9. "Did you see that?"
10. Catch and release
11. The longest evening
12. Secret garden
13. Warm breeze
14. A pocket full of treasures
15. Midnight picnic
16. Dancing lights
17. Summer nostalgia
18. The perfect moment
19. Sunset
20. Moonlit path
21. Glow
22. The sound of crickets
23. Hidden magic
24. Staying out too late
25. Childhood wonder
26. A sky full of stars
27. Fleeting
28. Night swimming
29. "Let's not go home yet."
30. A promise
31. Warm light
✨ Soft or magical. Realistic or fantastical. Just follow the light. ✨
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➵ Stargazing with the port mafia! Featuring: Chuuya Nakahara, Kouyou Ozaki and Ougai Mori (separately)
➵ gn!port mafia executive!reader; fluff, some light angst sprinkled in; romantic undertones but the relationship is not explicit (aka can be read as platonic); reader is a sweetheart; everyone has some flavor of avoidant attachment
You had a habit of stargazing at the end of a long work day. Strange for a mafia executive but, then again, none of the higher ups in your organization was precisely "normal", you just so happened to be particularly romantic at the quieter times. You went to a spot where Yokohama's busy night couldn't outshine the firmament and get lost in the infinity that watched over the earth.
Sometimes, one of your colleagues would join in, and you'd stand next to each other, backs against the wall, clearing your heads in silence while inhaling second hand smoke, or drowning out the grasshopper's chirping with idle chatter or the occasional birth of a new joint project.
You spend those nights observing them in their peaceful state, while the moonlight bathed their features with a grace the meeting room could never hope to. There is a magic to it, how it highlights Chuuya's freckles, prettier than any constellation in the sky, his round cheeks framed by loose ruby curls and the worries and ambitions of youth; how Kouyou's gaze turns sad and soulful, how noticing the texture of the makeup over her skin made her more tangible, as if unveiling the model behind a painting, all the pink no longer overwhelming; how Mori seems to soften, inhabiting the silence in rest, not calculation, settling his musings on the wrinkles of his face to give space to a boyish, kind nature.
You would pretend to be aloof while studying them like sculptures, ever so grateful for that brief intimacy in a place as unforgiving as the port mafia.
Sometimes, you would spot a shooting star. The string of light would make you smile, without fail, and sometimes the childhood habit of pointing it out and exclaiming "make a wish!" would slip by.
"Huh?" Chuuya tilts his head towards you, eyebrows knit together as he did his best not to come off as mocking. He hadn't heard anyone say that at the sight of a shooting star in years.
You straighten up, cringing internally at the realization that you said that out loud. "Nothing, never mind..." You chuckle nervously.
He huffs, turning to stare at the sky again, really paying attention to it now. "You can't just let that go by- Do you really still wish on stars?"
You shift your weight on your feet, a little shy now. "Well, no... Not seriously, anyways."
He smiles. "You do wish on stars, then."
"It's... It's like buying a lottery ticket. Just a little bit of hope to carry. I don't actually expect it to work."
"It's kinda cute." He shrugs.
You clear your throat. Silence stretches between you. Another comet passes by.
"If stars could actually grant you their blessing, what would you wish for?" You muse, voice quiet and careful.
He opens his mouth, then refrains from saying whatever answer he had in mind, turning his gaze away to the pile of cigarrette ends on the floor instead.
Slowly, subtly, he turns small, sorrowful- his breath a little more shallow, his shoulders a little hunched. Emotions that would usually manifest as the strength to fight take him deep into his memories this time.
Seeing him that way makes you shiver. You place a hand on his shoulder. He immediately assures you "I'm fine." You retreat.
He absently tugs at his lovelock, then shakes his head. He's lost too many friends, there's no point in forming a sentence to call all of them back to this plane, to ask for just five more minutes and daydream on how to make them worth it.
"Those hypotheticals aren't for me, is all..." He glances back up at the sky, sighing as the immense blue envelops his heart.
"Hm?" Kouyou turns to you with an inquisitive smile. "A wish?"
"Ah... Yes. There was a shooting star, so..." You trail off, shy. She snickers.
"Wishing of falling stars... Do you believe in that?"
"No, it's just for fun... Sometimes I need a little something to give me hope, you know?"
Her eyes narrow warily. "I have never prayed to the stars."
You tilt your head, a grin on your lips. "Could I convince you to try tonight?"
You see it, just for a fleeting second, a crack forming on her carefully constructed mask. She digs her nails into her palm, consciously brushing off the pain from her gaze, turning to stare at the clouds running over the sky.
Would bringing hope back into her soul be too much to ask?
She closes her eyes, shrugging in that dignified way of hers. "I'm afraid not, my dear."
"Oh, miss, come on. You must have something you'd like to ask for." You pry gently.
She shakes her head, her cheeks curve with a graceful smile. "There's no point if it's impossible. And if it's possible, I'll do the work to get it."
"But that the fun part of it. Even if it's impossible, sending your desire to the universe might bring it to you. It's a nice thought."
She sighs. The back of her hand, covered by the sleeve of her kimono, brushes your cheek with rare affection.
"It is..." she almost whispers. "... a nice thought."
"A wish?" Mori gives you an amused chuckle.
"Oh God, did I say that out loud?" You frown.
His dark eyes trail fondly over your face. "Well, if there's someone I'd expect to wish on stars, it's you."
He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. You glance at his hand, bare and long, adorned with battle scars and little moles. Holding the boss' hand sounds like something impossible, and yet tonight you venture to do it.
"Indulge me, Mori," You request softly, running your thumb over his knuckles. "What would you ask a star for?"
His sharp grin softens, the creases around his eyes a little more noticeable as he thinks of home.
He imagines fresh tea and walls filled with portraits, tall bookshelves illuminated by lamps, laughter and tenderness he hasn't allowed himself in years. Little wishes he can't afford scattered like the wounds on his body, reflected on the dancing girl he adorns with lace and mauls for battle when necessary.
"Who knows..." He wraps his fingers around your hand, gentle and wary, pretending for a moment that you're not as tainted as him. "Something warm, probably." His voice is low and thoughtful despite the dismissive words.
➵ Third piece for #fireflyjuly! following @monthlywritingchallenges prompt list!
➵ This must count for if I miss a day... Right?
➵ Dividers by @strangergraphics and @lobster-graphics
Paintover by @jazaesis, concept art by Wesley Burt
It was too hot - always too hot. Loki's long sleeves and cloak did much to protect him, both psychologically and physically, the minute runes covering every inch of the fabric reinforcing the plethora of spells woven around him, but it could never keep him cool enough. His only savior was the cool drink in his hand, glamoured to look like wine.
The Æsir around him were laughing and singing, fed by good mead and the roaring fire. The hour was late, and only growing later; soon he could disappear without questioning, under the guise of returning to his rooms. Thor, surely, would be up much later, drinking and laughing and telling much-exaggerated stories. The behavior was detestable to Loki, but it served his purposes well - Thor would entertain their guests and their people late into the night, and Loki was free to wander.
And wander he would. Asgardr and Jötunheimr were growing ever closer, and it was becoming easier to travel between them along the Yggdrasil. New passageways, he believed, were opening between the two worlds; not two weeks ago he had discovered a new opening, almost too small for him to fit through, behind a shelf in Frigg's library. It had been marked with the same world tree symbol he had found upon every passage, and this one, too, had been devoid of magic. He had passed that shelf a thousand times before, and never seen the mark, just as the new one in the kitchens from a month ago. He would have to explore the entire palace before the conjunction, and record the locations of every opening he found. Tonight, however, would be dedicated to exploring the other side of the passage in the library - without his mother's watchful eye, or Thor's insistence on companionship.
Across the room, his mother was stepping away from the seiðkonur she had spent the last hour conversing with, a weary smile upon her face. He watched her seek out his brother, then father, who met her eyes and nodded at her, then she panned the hall, seeking him. He reached for the threads of the world and stepped forward, reappearing on the other side of the room, beside her. She turned to face him, used to his magic, and her face brightened.
"Retiring, mother?" He asked, offering her his arm. She took it with a smile, and they strode from the hall. As soon as the door closed behind them, Loki was folding the space in front of them, and the tapestry-laden walls blurred as they arrived with a few steps before his mother's door.
She released his arm, turning to face him. "Good night, Loki."
He smiled, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles. "Good night, mother." She entered her chambers, and he was alone.
The walk to the library was similarly short, lengthened only by a stop at his room, where strengthened his magical protections, repainted the few short-lived spells, and left an illusion of himself slumbering in bed. Should anything happen in his absence, the protections and alarms on his room, and illusion in his bed would buy him time to return to the Yggdrasil and then his room, unnoticed. Technically, Loki was not permitted to leave Asgardr unaccompanied, and Thor was similarly planet-bound. It was simply not safe for the princes, or any child, to wander space unattended.
Loki, however, was much more magically adept than he had revealed. If he could hide his absence, he reasoned, it was safe for him to explore; he was unlikely to meet a seiðkonur more powerful than his mother. He could typically escape detection altogether, and when he couldn't, he could escape attacks, bindings, and recognition. Failing all else, he could talk his way out of danger. He was valuable as a prince of Asgardr, and though it was shameful to be caught, it was worse to be hurt or dead.
This ability to escape detection was valuable as ever on his way to the library, as he made the door intangible and passed, silently and invisibly, past the guards on the door. It was a short walk to the shelf, and he could feel his magic, securing and hiding the gateway, as he approached. It was the work of several minutes to tease the hole open, pressing and pulling at the space as the branches of the Yggdrasil shifted on the other side. At last, though, it slid open, and he carefully stepped through.
The Yggdrasil was as it always was. The tree should terrify Loki, as it would any man or god. The branch he stood on was as wide as the largest hall in Asgardr, and then some, and stretched down into the distance. So far was the trunk that it was barely visible, if that was the trunk, and not simply another great branch, stretching up into the sky. Fog and distance consumed the bottom of the tree and much of the leaves, leaving Loki in a grey-green limbo of unending, moss-covered branches. As always, he felt only safe and stable, the great swaying and creaking of the tree calming and centering him instead of leaving him unsteady or afeared. He could feel the pull of Jötunheimr off to his left, although he could not see it yet. He anchored the doorway, lacing his seiðr through Asgardr and into the tree, and set off along the branch, away from the trunk.
\\ (2) (3)
@monthlywritingchallenges (also late, still sorry lol)
Bucky looked across the tent at Steve. The low light from the lantern danced across the golden strands of his hair and lit up crystal blue eyes. Steve was sketching, brows knit together.
These days, he drew mostly maps and tree lines. It was all strategic. Bucky missed the days of watching Steve draw landscapes and sunsets and him—easy smiles and tongue poking out in concentration.
The truth was Bucky could watch Steve draw for the rest of his life. If Hydra invaded right now and shot him, he’d die happy—with Steve being the last thing he saw.
He wondered, sometimes, if Steve knew. If he saw the way Bucky looked at him. But Steve had always been oblivious like that—dames, Bucky, other fellas—Steve noticed none of them.
Bucky would have to spell it out for him if he wanted him to know. There weren’t many things Bucky was afraid of anymore—losing Steve was still high on that list—but telling him how he felt was definitely up there.
He had to do it though. He glanced at Steve once again and pulled out a pen.
Contrary to what anyone would probably think he started.
~~~~~~~~~
For @monthlywritingchallenges Firefly July day 5: Lantern Light
I think for once I accomplished something not sad?
This started as a drabble to fill a prompt and turned into a double that serves as a prequel to an existing series.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Vörjeans (Band), Humorgruppen KAJ (Band)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Jean Filip "Määnin" Mannerheim/Tommy Tall
Characters: Tommy Tall (Vörjeans), Jean Filip "Määnin" Mannerheim
Additional Tags: Romantic Fluff, Fluff, Male Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay Male Character, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Established Relationship, Drunken Shenanigans
Summary:
Tommy and Määnin share a little but all the more important moment on a beautiful summer day.
Ron was a San Francisco kid who thought seventy-five degrees was warm and couldn't stand the dry desert heat.
But he was also fascinated by the nighttime stars, frequently taking up night watches so he could look at them. One early night, Sam saw his face under the golden dusk and couldn't help but smile at the awe in his eyes.
Ron was devastated at the loss they saw regularly. Sam wasn't unaffected, but he'd lived through a lot, including Katrina. Ron was barely old enough to remember the earthquake of ‘89.
Ronald Riley pushed Sam out of the way.
~~~~~~~
For @monthlywritingchallenges Firefly July day 2: Golden Dusk
Dazai's first year in the mafia was an interesting one. Adjusting to everything, or rather, not adjusting, kept him occupied. It took him longer to settle into the monotony of his rank than it took him to move up into the next one, and that cycle kept him busy. It wasn't even intentional, that's just how he worked.
Yumeno was another thing that kept him busy. The child was a calamity from the moment their power awakened, and Dazai loved them for it. As close to love as Dazai could get. He saw the little child, and he recognized their loneliness, the weapon Mori could so easily turn them into, the danger their very existence posed for everyone. It was tragic. It was thrilling.
They'd walk hand in hand through the mafia's building, the kid's bright appearance a stark contrast to the black Dazai veiled himself behind. Idle, childish chatter filled the halls, sometimes replaced by the care and severity of a lesson or a scolding.
Dazai wasn't the worst guardian, or the best. But he was trying, he really was.
They rarely went out together. Osamu didn't frequent the city's child-safe spaces often. So that summer night they visited the park together, it felt truly special.
Dazai's ears rang with the absence of gunfire. There were no screams, no music, no string of letters to appease his restless brain. He closed his eyes, the smell of blood was nowhere to be found. There was only grass and earth, the faint, safe metal of the playground, and Yumeno's sickly sweet scent as the child tugged him about, demanding to be pushed on the swing.
Dazai sighed, opening his eyes again, but every plan he had to feign reluctance vanished when he saw a faint light among the bushes that surrounded the park.
He tapped Kyusaku on the shoulder, tilting his head when he focused his eyes in on the small yellow illuminating the plants.
"Q, have you ever seen a firefly?" He smiled faintly.
The kid tapped their chin with their finger, humming as they tried to match the word to a tangible concept in their mind. "No," they finally answered, turning their head to better look at their guardian. "What is that? A fire... fly." The innocent imitation of his theatrics made Osamu's chest ache.
He pointed towards one of the plants. "Over there," he grinned, letting go of Yumeno, who followed behind him as he went to grab the bug.
He cupped the small animal in his hands, flickers of light shinning through the gaps of his fingers.
"Don't get scared if it flies away, 'kay?"
The kid nodded, and Osamu lifted one of his hands. The tiny, oblong insect walked in circles on his palm. Its yellow light twinkled. On, off, on, off.
"Like the stars..." Yumeno muttered, mouth agape with wonder. They held tightly onto their scarf, a matching amber to their mismatched eyes, to the golden of the firefly, to the childish wonder of their smile.
The insect flew away, soon followed by a dozen other tiny stars illumating the cold park in Yokohama.
➵ Here is my first piece for #fireflyjuly! following @monthlywritingchallenges' prompt list!
➵ I've never seen a firefly in real life. It's one of my dreams, actually. As in, it's written on my bucket list. I love those critters so much.
