Cirrocumulus
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A Witch's Guide to Forget-Me-Nots by Cirrocumulus
Fandoms: とんがり帽子のアトリエ | Tongari Boushi no Atelier | Witch Hat Atelier (Manga)
21 Jun 2026
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Summary
He comes when storms brew, and never stays until closing time. Fetches herbs, and soil, and seeds. There is a garden in his eye, and all the blue of clear skies. Yet he remains uprooted, forevermore.
No flower could ever make him bloom in earnest.
It is worth a try, regardless.
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I shall be Blood (if You will be Bone) by Cirrocumulus
Fandoms: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
29 Sep 2024
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He wants her awake at night and sleepless, staring out into the abyss until the sun stares back. The pride that he wraps around himself dictates she should shed hers and be bare until the morning comes. It is why he wanders and wonders and walks one step forward and further away from himself.
~*~
Solas seeks pain the way stray wolf packs would follow the smell of blood. Often, it leads him to the person he covets most in the safety of the Fade. Lately, that desperation turns into a wish to strip her down to the bone.
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If no one was made for him, then at least he might be made for the stage instead.
If he is not, then he can rearrange his organs and bones and be made anew, a puppeteer with new strings, none of them red.
He would cut them himself.
~*~
In a perfect world, Soushirou would have a person made only for him.
Sometimes, he imagines the concept.
Often, it eats him up from the inside out.
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He watches, his thoughts a jumbled mess of malice and mirth, as the poor vendor sweats and stammers.
Every needle and thread he ever owned he did unspeakable acts for, just to keep the clothes on his back from fraying, from flaying the way his skin so often did.
He sees as his companion lowballs the merchant and yet the trade is made, and the fine satin fabric is hers for the taking.
She gifts it to him with a smile, and he knows not how to react.
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Or: Five times Astarion is reminded of owning nothing, and five times his traveling companion gifts him trinkets to change that.
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Astarion is thirty-eight when he orders a man to be hanged for breaking into his estate. A year later he cannot so much as step foot into a house uninvited; yet he knows people intimately, insufferably so.
The fingers that he plays like cards to his advantage will always be the ace up his sleeve. Everywhere he goes they unlock tragedy, and carve their way into history unseen. He likes himself better when the wish to break skin is denied, but so is the order to peel open bodies with nothing but words.
Perhaps that is why he steals back minutes of his freedom, one lockpick at a time.
It will take him two centuries to learn the definition of home.
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Or: Astarion cannot taste more than rats and defeat on his tongue, which is why he unlocks secrets whenever Cazador is away. Over the years, it becomes the second skill he masters; the one that sparks delight in someone who does not want him for his body.
Recent bookmarks
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Ever so carefully- as if his hair were made of glass instead of silk and daydreams- Viktor reaches his hand out, his fingers stretching toward Jayce’s hair. He wavers for a moment, hesitating only a second- what if Jayce pulls away? What if he is misreading this whole scenario? What if he crosses a line that cannot be uncrossed-
He is laying with his head in your lap, Viktor chides himself. If anyone crossed a line, it was him. This is merely retaliation- the consequences of his actions. Something Jayce needs exposure to anyway.
And with that, Viktor slips his fingers into Jayce’s hair.
or: jayce has a thing for laying his head in peoples laps. and having his hair pet
set during the season 1 time skip
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Bookmarked by Cirrocumulus
01 Dec 2024