#mqfic

Authors are revealed, so now I can post all my contributions!

Weighing in at 17 fics and 15,614 words, it was a productive event for me.

Given that length, I'll keep the fics themselves under the cut.

Ending Unplanned

Bolaire is not a person, he is a thing. But they made him with a pen in his metaphorical hand to write out the ending they could not. Except Bolaire's story didn't end there. Really, it's where Bolaire's story begins.

Sister, Dearest

21 collapse 40 pet

Emotions are different without a physical, biological response.

There is no fluttery, racing heartbeat to heighten Occtis's anxiety as he sits his watch, the rest of the (mortal) group collapsed in the fitful sleep of exhaustion while Vaelus has her own meditative rest. No quick breathing that he must endeavor to keep quiet lest he wake his companions. No twitchiness from a body straining in alertness.

After all, Occtis has no heart. He does not need to breathe. Every bit of motion in his body corpse is a choice.

And yet all that lack of reactionary physicality doesn't make the action of petting Pin any less soothing.

Occtis knows his family must be stopped. Even if it means killing them, which he does not want because they are his family, despite the abandonment. But they are doing terrible things that cannot be allowed to continue. He was killed directly by them for their plots.

...So were others of his House.

Tertia will never again get to pet Saharkis as Occtis pets Pin now.

And not just because Sir Julien killed the giant scorpion.

After all, Tertia is dead too. Another sacrifice for House Tachonis's ambitions.

Occtis doesn't know if it's better or worse if Tertia was knowingly willing, unlike him.

All he knows is that it has to stop.

The Tachonis are meant to be guides to the dead, not the killers making more work.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" And small arms wrap around his waist.

It's the first time he's ever been hugged.

...Well, as much as a mask using someone else's body can be hugged.

Not that this child knows what he is. No, to them he's just another soldier in the war. The one who saved their parents.

If the child did know, they might not have done it.

Certainly none of the soldiers he's known over the last sixty years has been willing to hug a body under his control. No, they've waited until he was asleep once more (probably) or worn by someone else.

The little arms squeeze tighter, demanding.

He pats the child on the back, as he has seen others do when hugged. His reward is one last squeeze before the child disengages, dashing back to their parents for more hugs. The parents give him grateful looks over the child's head.

It's... nice. To be treated like a person, not a weapon.

Fearne loves getting down and dirty with Chetney's wild side. Such a good time.

The only problem is that a wolf snout isn't so great for make-out kisses.

Fearne can't seal her mouth over that long length. And while dog wolf tongue is great for tasting around inside her mouth, returning the favor is pretty awkward.

But Fearne can still pepper Chetney's fuzzy head in kisses. The top of his head between his ears is her favorite spot to place them.

After all, he's such a good boy.

There's a soft rustling in their self-imposed silence. Sharp against their ears with the migraine raging through their head.

The soft, wet smack of a kiss echoes next, but Ashton doesn't feel it.

"What're you doing?" he moans, not removing his face from the pillows.

"Kissing you better," Fearne seriously replies, the soft smack of another kiss coming from near his ear.

It's stupid, and childish, and sweet, and so very Fearne.

Another wet impact of another kiss.

They laugh, and it hurts, but the warmth of being cared for is worth it.

Thanks for doing this kind of asks!

"Hello, Love."

"Kingsley!" Yasha exclaims, opening the door to her friend. "You're early."

"Yes, well, I've a special delivery and didn't want it finally dying in my not-so-green hands," he says with a grin, bringing a potted flower out from behind his back with a flourish.

"Oh, they're beautiful," Yasha gushes, accepting the gift.

And they are. Royal purple and brilliant turquoise blooms entangled together so tightly that Yasha doesn't think she could separate them if she wanted to. It's a wonder that they're flourishing and not choking each other out.

"When I saw them, they reminded me something fierce of your eyes. And since I knew I was headed your way, figured I'd pot them up for you," Kingsley explains with a shrug.

"I love them. Thank you, Kingsley," Yasha says earnestly. And she shifts the pot to rest in the crook of one arm so she can use the other to pull her dear friend into a tight hug and plant a kiss on his forehead.

"You're always welcome, Love."