#fluff 1

Solomon x MC (featuring Simeon)

1. "You smile like an idiot when you are talking to them."

2. "You're jealous aren't you?" "I'm not jealous."

MC stands in front of Solomon talking happily about a new project. In all seriousness, Solomon hasn't heard a word. He is just staring at how MC's face contorts looking more and more attractive with every new word.

"So is that a yes?" Their voice finally cuts through his thoughts as their mouth stops moving and thie eyes focus solely on him.

"Yeah, of course..." He looked at them, and smiled confidently. Completely unaware of what he signed up for.

"Wonderful! Oh Asmo! Wait up! See you, Solomon!" MC runs off and he watches as they run up to Asmo in the courtyard.

Simeon comes up behind him and nudges his shoulder, "You smile like an idiot when you are talking to them." His smirk is evident on his face.

Solomon shoves him back, "Sure I do." He stares back at the pair. Asmo tightly wraps his arms around MC as they start to laugh hysterically.

Simeon sees a scowl begin to cross Solomon's face and laughs, "You're jealous aren't you?" His smirk is now even more teasing then the last one.

Solomon huffs, "I'm not jealous."

Simeon continues smirking as he taunts the sorcerer, "Oh really? Then why don't you ask them out already?"

Solomon's face begins to burn as a surge of confidence washes over him, "Maybe I will."

Quickly Solomon marches over to MC and Asmo before stopping in front of the pair that is now staring at him.

"Oh hi Solo-" MC begins to speak, but he cuts them off, "MC will you go out with me?"

MC blushes and starts to giggle before leaving Asmo's embrace to stand in front of Solomon, "Solomon... that is what I asked you earlier..."

His face fills with crimson as they continue to giggle and kiss him on the cheek... he really needs to start listening to them...

It’s here, you get the feeling that you aren’t alone. You get chills running up and down your spine and a sense that something is wrong, that you need to run, hide, get away, but your feet are rooted to the floor and you can’t seem to move. You’re frozen in place by fear, and your heart’s beating so hard in your chest you think you can hear it thumping in the silence of the room.

“…Eridan?” you whisper, and force yourself to turn around.

Of course, of course, he’s behind you, rising from the smooth surface of the floor like a nightmare given shape, form bleeding together from shadow, and his very appearance makes you tremble. He’s black as pitch and pale as the sun, not a trace of color on him except the pale lavender where his irises should be, hardly standing out in the sea of white.

Emerging from his back and splattered with violet are two heavy, broad wings, the exact size and shape of the angels’.

“What have you done?”

Fanfic Rec: “The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not,” by Newtavore.

Fluff: +

Angst: ++++

Smut: ++

Overall Subjective Rating: ++++

Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2399816

But the truth of the matter is Steve spent most of it awake.

He could remember the crash, the plane hitting the snow and ice hard enough to knock him out of the pilot's seat. He remembered hitting his head and blacking out for what could have been a second or a minute or longer, and when he shook himself back to awareness the world around him was white.

Fanfic rec: “Snowfall,” by Katsuko.

Fluff: +

Angst: ++++

Smut: +

Overall Subjective Rating: +++

Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/451459

TT: I’m sorry. TT: It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. TT: He wasn’t supposed to turn into fucking Hal 9000 with a Hunter Zolomon complex. TT: He’s me. TT: I’m not supposed to cut my friends’ legs out from under them with some bullshit guise of making them better and stronger. TT: I know I’ve pulled some extreme tests of will before but, TT: Jesus christ.

In which the AR decides to take things into his own digital hands.

Fluff: +

Angst: +++++

Smut: +

Overall Rating: +++

For a span of seconds, the man hovering over you is drawn in a disorienting double-image. He’s hyper-real, familiar to a point that is almost grotesque in its intimacy—yet, at the same time, he is completely a stranger. It’s as though you’re looking at something mundane from an unexpected angle; the ordinary made alien.

“Are you hurt?” the mans says, and then immediately, “No, of course you’re hurt, that was a hell of a drop. Okay… okay. You’re standing, so… legs… seem fine…”

There are hands smoothing over your limbs and torso, pressing firm but shaking, and it feels like something long coveted. At first you want to shiver under his touch and it feels like its root is in pleasure, but then there is a deep repulsion working its way out. It drags nebulous concepts with it, an abstract ideal, something about repercussions and moral lapses and forbidden, dangerous things.

The man frowns and hesitantly cups one hand around the back of your neck, and you remember suddenly that it’s Daniel.

In which concussions cause changes and dubious relationships.

Fluff: +

Angst: ++++

Smut: +++

Overall Rating: ++++

Fluff

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