#MAIL –– ( filled )

[stamp-it-to-me]

a 2014 South Korean stamp released for the Year of the Sheep (aka Year of the Ram)

[ID: a postage stamp with an abstract illustration of a sheep's head. the sheep's nose, eyes, and ears are defined by simple lines while the rest of the sheep is made of up of broken curly lines. the face value of this stamp is 300 South Korean won. end ID]

[kirby-the-gorb]

[bigfootsmom]

#19 for the prompts beloved <3

Years later I have returned to fill this prompt <3

"Do you want me to stay?"

The motel room is about as nice as the lobby was, which isn’t saying much. The scent of stale cigarette smoke hits Buck square in the face the moment he finally gets the door open. It squeaks on rusty hinges and Buck winces. 

“It’s no Ritz, but at least there are…” Buck trails off as his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. “There’s one bed.” 

Eddie brushes past him and into the room, dropping his bag onto the luggage rack before leaning over to flick on the bedside lamp. It casts a hazy orange glow on the room, illuminating some unsavory looking stains on the mauve carpet. 

“Well, beats sleeping in your jeep.”

Guilt twists in his already knotted stomach. “Yeah, you’re right— your old man back probably couldn’t handle that.” Buck laughs, trying to bring some levity to the situation.  

Buck’s attempt at a joke fizzles out in the smoky air between them, the corner of Eddie’s mouth barely twitching up in a half-hearted smile. It doesn’t do anything to erase the tight lines around his eyes. Clearing his throat, Buck steps further into the room to set his bag down on the tired looking armchair in the corner. 

“I, uh— I found a repair shop that can fit us in tomorrow morning. We just have to wait for the tow.”

“That’s good,” Eddie says, not looking up from where he’s rummaging through his bag. “Any luck finding an earlier tow?”  

Scuffing his toe over the carpet, Buck can’t quite swallow down the pang of shame. “No. They still can’t get here until early tomorrow morning.” 

(rest below the cut to save space)

Eddie sighs and Buck feels like tucking his tail between his legs and cowering. It’s easy to tell that Eddie is upset, the tense lines of his shoulders, the furrow between his brow, the deep bruises of exhaustion under his eyes— Buck knows he’s the reason behind all those things. 

Lifting his toiletry bag out of his duffle, Eddie scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

“O–okay,” Buck shuffles his feet as Eddie walks past him to the bathroom. “There was a McDonald’s down the street…I–I can go grab us some dinner.” 

Eddie doesn’t respond, but Buck doubts that he can hear him over the death rattle of the bathroom fan. Buck stands there for a moment, listening to the squealing of the pipes and the hiss of water from the showerhead. Well, dinner isn’t going to get itself. 

The McDonald’s is further away than he thought. By the time he’s walked there and back, the sun has set and he’s covered in sweat and road dust, skin prickling uncomfortably. The neon light from the motel’s sign illuminates the cracked and crumbling walkway to the room. The door sticks and it takes Buck a few times rattling the key in the lock to get it to finally swing open. 

Inside, Eddie is sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard as he watches whatever is playing on the shoebox of a television. He looks up when Buck walks in. 

“Hey.” 

There are still dark circles under his eyes, but some of the tense lines of Eddie’s muscles have relaxed. He’s changed into sleep clothes, worn sweatpants, and a faded t-shirt. His hair is still damp from his shower, strands of it falling soft against his forehead. He looks so soft and all Buck wants to do is wrap himself up in him. Instead, he lifts the greasy paper bag in his hand. 

“Hey— got your favorite.” He sets the bag on the nightstand along with a bottle of water. 

Eddie swings his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching forward to peer into the bag. “Big Mac with—” 

“Extra ketchup is in the bottom.” Buck moves his bag from the armchair and sits down. The springs creak ominously under his weight as he pulls out his own burger. 

“Thanks, Buck.” 

Buck shrugs, “Least I could do.” 

Eddie shoots Buck a weird look, but doesn’t say anything, watching him a moment longer before rifling through the paper bag. The both of them eat their meals in silence, the only noise in the room is the crinkling of paper wrappers and the drone from whatever is on the television. Eddie flips through the channels, finally settling on the rerun of a sitcom that looks vaguely familiar, while Buck pretends to taste his food. 

It’s hard to eat with the way his stomach won’t stop twisting. He knew he should have gotten that rattle in the jeep’s engine, but he thought that he could make it through the camping trip. Stupid. 

When the silence nearly kills him, he retreats to the bathroom, toiletries and sleep clothes clutched to his chest as he tells Eddie he’s going for a shower. Eddie grunts some noncommittal response and the food sitting heavy in his stomach sours. 

The water rattles in the undoubtably ancient pipes, but Buck is pleasantly surprised when he’s met with hot water and decent water pressure. He takes his time, washing the road from his body as he delays the inevitable…the one bed. He knows that he and Eddie have shared beds before, that’s not the problem. 

The problem is that Eddie is clearly upset with Buck, and Buck doesn’t blame him. 

He opens the bathroom door in a billowing clouds of steam, noting that Eddie is under the covers already with the television turned down low. The blue glow from the screen casts sharp shadows on his face, highlighting the curve of his nose and cheekbones. Buck hesitates in the doorway. Maybe he can slip out and come back once Eddie is asleep, avoid all the tense awkwardness of lying next to each other in the dark. 

Buck gets halfway across the room before Eddie sits up straighter, a look of confusion written across his face. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Oh, um— I–I was gonna go check on the jeep.” 

Eddie leans over and turns the bedside lamp back on. “What? Buck don’t be— the jeep is like a 2 mile walk down the road.” 

Buck twists his hands together. “I just—” 

“Buck it’s late. The jeep will be fine, we can check on it tomorrow morning.” The light from the television shines bright in his eyes. “Come to bed, worry about it tomorrow.” 

“You want me to stay?” Buck hates how the insecurity creeps into his voice, but he’s to tired to fight it. 

“Want you–– Buck what are you talking about? Of course I want you to stay. I don’t want you walking down the side of the road in the middle of the night.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

Eddie sits up, pushing the covers back. “No I’m not mad at you, why would I be?” 

“You just looked upset and—” Buck vaguely gestures at the motel room around them. “I ruined the trip back— you’re not gonna be back in time for Chris tomorrow.” 

“I mean I’m exhausted and it’s not ideal that we have to stay here, but Pepa is picking Chris up from camp tomorrow. I’ll see him after,” Eddie answers, and then blinks when he registers the other part of Buck’s sentence. “Buck you didn’t ruin anything, unless you sabotaged the jeep on purpose—” 

Buck lets out an indignant “Of course not!”

“Then it’s not your fault. It’s just a shitty situation. But no one got hurt. So all things considered I think it turned out pretty okay.” 

Slowly, Buck starts realizing that all the signs of Eddie’s “anger” from before may not have been anger at all. Heat rises in his cheeks. Well now he just feels silly. 

“You sure?” Buck has to ask just one more time. 

“Yeah I’m sure, Buck. C’mon, I know you’re exhausted from driving all day.” Eddie pats the empty side of the bed. 

A smile stretches across Buck’s face, relief swelling behind his breastbone and pushing him forward. Eagerly, he crawls under the covers on the far side of the bed, all the exhaustion hitting him at once now that he knows Eddie isn’t mad at him. 

The mattress creaks as Eddie shifts, pulling the covers back on. “Just don’t steal all the covers, then I might get mad at you.” 

Buck snorts, mumbling into the pillow, “Not like you need the covers— you’re like a furnace. Some of us have poor circulation.” 

“You just have to snuggle up.” 

It takes Buck’s brain a second to register what Eddie said and a flush spreads in his cheeks. He’s pretty sure that Eddie is joking, but his heart still skips a beat. 

“You’ll regret offering that when my snoring wakes you up.” 

Eddie laughs, settling further back against the pillows. “Fine, fine— just try and get some sleep. We’ve still got some driving tomorrow.” 

“Alright, goodnight Eddie.” 

“Goodnight, Buck.” 

[itoshi-s]

Since rin alr inspected readers pussy, why dont we give sae a shot lol

OHHHHHHHHHHH sae's so much worse than rin :(

cw: pussy inspections, overstimulation. fem reader. characters are aged up in their mid 20's.

he's so teasing and slow. takes his time prodding, touching, crooking his finger in different ways, then adding one or two more, then moves to tasting u instead or maybe just toying with ur clit :/ giving it a pinch to see if you're still going to squeal and mewl the same way u used to months ago. has an insufferable smirk on his face the entire time - but his eyes are soft, enamored bc no matter how long he's away for, your body still reacts to him the same way. you will always be waitin for him, spread out and watching with hopeful eyes, pushing past your limits like a good girl - just to satisfy him and prove that you love him so, so much :(

prob ends up cumming in his pants as he does it .......... oh lawd he just gets so desperate - but he has to check up on u first, make sure his girl's been on her best behavior 4 him :( he goes at it for hours, two or three, you can't rly tell - but you're so swollen and throbbing by the end of it, overstimulated until there are dried tears on your cheeks, bottom lip bleeding from gnawing at it so forcefully. he's just as breathless as you are by the time he's done, has this gorgeous flush spread along his sun kissed skin, pupils blown wide behind thick lashes. fuck. you've done so good, angel. he crawls on top of you, grabs your face in large hands as he brushes hair out of your eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead. so, so good. want you t' take care of me now. can you do that? yeah? that's my girl.

[murmel-malt]

Would viserys cheat on daera? Could there be a bastard usurptation plot?

Given that there are five years between Hedaera and Viserys' wedding and Rhaenyra's birth where Daera simply wasn't capabale of bearing children yet and then Alysanne and Baelon buying a few more years after her flowering, there certainly was opportunity for Vizzy to outsource the meeting of particular need and maybe be a little careless.

And with the right support a bastard son could definitely become an issue 🤔

[crimeronan]

2024 is truly just. my year of paperwork. you guys really have no concept of just how much paperwork accumulates simply through existing until you neglect it for a few years due to being on death's door. good GOD recovery involves filling out so many papers all the time forever.

[solarpunkani]

Ok fuck it you know something I've never really quite understood about part of the Leftist vs Liberals debate on voting.

So so so many people act like its either-or. Like you're either dedicating your entire life to voting and promoting politicians and phone banking or whatever, or you're a True Rebel waiting for The Uprising to Come and Solve Everything.

But like. In my experience. Me voting is just me kinda go 'which person seems kinda good? Which one at least sucks the least? ok lemme go vote.' and then its anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour tops of my life. And I still have plenty of time to do Stuff and participate in Conversations about Other Important Things. And also you can admit and acknowledge and understand that the system As Is kinda sorta really sucks ass, but also still admit and acknowledge and understand that at this current point in time we are still living in the suckass system and do something to alleviate the suckass At Least A Little while also working to bolster/create/advocate for Other Systems.

I guess just like. it's not a black or white thing. Between 'top 500 volunteers for a specific politician/voting office/etc' and 'absolutely positively not voting at all' there is a gray area called 'vote and then just do other stuff'.

[kinos-fortress-2]

Sorry for all the asks (I hope this isn't to overwhelming sense I read on ur personal pists ur not the best at asks) but I just love the idea of Saxton and Admin having to hang out. Very excitable crocodile whos ready to maine and murder vs Admin who wants to explode his head into millions of pieces. They both hate the other, they are in a qpr to me now with Saxton thinking hes on great terms with her always and admin trys to kill him by pushing off a mountain.

well thats one quite specific description for their relationship lol

they have a sort of tom and jerry type of relationship me thinks... so yeah she totally would love to drop him out of a mountain lmao

[landwriter]

Hello Mrs landwriter. Would you consider writing a continuation of your You've Got Mail Dreamling AU? I just stumbled across it and it's really very good and I am yearning for more. Much love to you 💖

part one for context. I would also like to take the opportunity to announce that despite my Advanced Internet Age of late twenties, I am scandalously unwed and unattached. any and all comers are welcome to pitch me for my hand in marriage in my askbox.

OP - thank you so much! I have plans to write a full You’ve Got Mail AU at some point but here is another scene, just for you! thanks for enabling me :)

---

“8 o’clock, boss, right on time,” said Matthew, as they stopped outside the cafe that was definitely gonna be Morpheus’ future Last Known Location. “This mystery penpal date is some real serial killer shit, man. You know? He could be anyone.”

“Matthew,” said Morpheus, and turned to look at him with a terrifyingly smitten expression. “A mystery he may be, but he is still the single most charming person I have ever come in contact with. The way he writes of life. The stories he tells! His passion, his hunger, his wit. He could be a bike messenger, and I would be a madman to not turn my life upside down and marry him.”

Matthew felt the rare, exquisite discomfort of actually being the fuckin’ voice of reason in a situation. “You don’t even know what he looks like, boss. Marriage seems a bit, uh, full on? If you haven’t even swapped photos?”

Morpheus regarded him a little satisfied smirk. “We haven’t exchanged pictures of our faces, no.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said in disbelief. Morpheus just raised his eyebrows. “You slut! What is it with gay dudes and-”

“It would be tremendously unprofessional for my assistant to make generalizations about an entire population,” said Morpheus. He sniffed. “Also, he is bisexual.”

“Okay, okay, boss, he’s bisexual, my bad, how about the professionalism of dragging your assistant to your date with this mystery bisexual whose name you don’t even know?” He was, truth be told, pretty fuckin’ invested at this point, but if he could guilt Morpheus into a more generous Christmas bonus, he would. Shame was for suckers.

“You are here in your capacity as my friend,” said Morpheus. Oh, the cold-hearted asshole, invoking their friendship on a Nets game night.

“Then at least let me be homophobic!” he protested. A passerby glared at him. Tourists. “You only get to choose one, man. Loyal assistant or lovably brash bosom buddy, making the protagonist look like less of an-”

“Go on, then,” said Morpheus, heading off his loving insult and folding his arms expectantly.

“No, fuck, the moment is gone. It’s not the same if you give me permission, man. I’m taking an I-O-U for later. One homophobia, when you least expect it,” he said.

Morpheus, who actually did look like he might vomit from his nerves at any moment, at least rolled his eyes at that. That was something.

This was definitely a pep talk moment. God, he was shit at pep talks.

“Well, I’ve loyally delivered you to your fate, or date, or whatever, so, uh, have fun! Don’t get stabbed, text me how it goes, and remember: don’t let him take you to a second location. That’s how they get you, boss. Unless I’m in your will. Then totally do,” he said. He clapped Morpheus on the shoulder and added, in all his generosity of spirit, “Good luck, man. You’ve got this.”

Morpheus clapped a hand on his shoulder too. It stayed. It squeezed painfully tight. “Matthew. My best friend,” he said.

“Yeah?” he asked. This was not good. This was Big Favor shit coming on, he could smell it.

“Would you go and look for me?” asked Morpheus, in a rush.

“Me?” he asked, and thought That’s it? Morpheus had it bad. So, so bad.

“Yes. Just go look through the window and check him out. Please,” said Morpheus. His voice was edged with hysteria. Matthew thought he might actually start to vibrate apart.

“You’re pathetic, boss,” he said, cheerfully. “Also, that’s creepy as fuck.”

“Matthew,” said Morpheus.

“Alright, alright bossman. I’m going. I’m looking. As your best friend.”

Morpheus nodded and sat himself down heavily on a nearby bench. It sounded like he was doing La Maze breathing.

He climbed the steps and, yes, very fuckin’ creepily peered through the window into the cafe. All groups and couples, definitely not Mystery Bisexual, except - there was a waiter taking an order from the table at the back. There was a closed book on the table. “Is he uh, supposed to have a book or something? You know, since you don’t know what his face looks like?” he asked, and didn’t even make the joke, excellent best friend that he was.

“Yes,” said Morpheus. “Yes, and?”

“And the waiter’s blocking him,” he said. “Wait, hold on, he’s moving-” The waiter left and he sucked in a breath.

“Well? Can you see him? Can you see him?”

“Uh,” he said, dumbly.

“Matthew, New York is an at-will employment state. Matthew. What do you see.”

“I can see him,” he said, slowly. Well, at least Morpheus wouldn’t get murdered by his date. Or he would, actually, but at least Matthew would be able to point the cops in the right direction.

“And?” Or - third possibility - Matthew would be the one murdered, by his own  best friend.

“He’s, uh, he’s hot, boss.” He was. Nice smile, warm eyes, broad shoulders. The sort of approachable hot guy-ness that could make another guy wonder about sucking dick after a few drinks. Y’know. Theoretically.

“I knew it,” said Morpheus, triumphantly. “I knew it. I knew he would be, Matthew. He had to be. Had. To. Be.” He laughed in delight.

Matthew had never heard him sound happier in his life. It was fuckin’ unnerving. He felt like he was witnessing a Great White cavorting through the water like a dolphin. Felt wrong. Felt a bit too toothy. He took a moment to mourn his Christmas bonus, and then sighed and spoke again.

“Uh, boss, it’s just. He sort of looks like, uh, that Hob guy?”

“What, Hob Gadling with the little bookstore?”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s hot, right?”

“Yes. I suppose. Absolutely. I don’t care about Hob Gadling. He’s irrelevant.”

Hoo-fuckin’-boy. Matthew grimaced.

“Boss, if you don’t like Hob Gadling, I can uh, I can promise you, you’re not gonna like your man with the book.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is Hob Gadling.”

[stamp-it-to-me]

a 1963 USSR stamp depicting the first artificial satellite, Sputnik

[ID: a long rectangular postage stamp with an illustration of a small satellite orbiting the Earth. the satellite has a red star on it. there is a large ink mark on this stamp, indicating that it has been used. the face value of this stamp is 10 Russian kopek. end ID]

[akwolfgrl]

We all know if she did snoop and read his mail sanji wouldn't get mad at her. She's the one who takes the mail just like she takes the paper in the morning.

[bigfootsmom]

Slow dancing for the soft prompts?

“C’mon, up you get.”

Eddie’s voice cuts through the gentle hiss of rain against the windows and the soft staticky music leaking from the small radio perched next to the fridge. 

Buck lifts his head from where it had been resting on his folded arms, blearily searching the now dark kitchen for his husband. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pounding in his temples and his mouth feels like he swallowed sand. 

“Wha– what time is it?” Buck asks, throat clicking as he tries to rewet his mouth. 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Buck twists in his kitchen chair to look at the clock hanging on the wall. It takes him a moment to read the small numbers, but when he does finally manage it he’s surprised to see how late it is. He had planned to already have dinner ready, but the remnants of half completed prep is strewn around the countertops. Halfway through preparing the food, Buck had to sit down at the kitchen table — the ache in his leg becoming too persistent to ignore.  

“It’s time for you to go to bed,” Eddie hums, smoothing a warm palm across Buck's shoulders. Buck leans into the contact, shifting toward Eddie’s warmth like a sunflower seeking the sun. 

“Mm— not tired,” Buck mumbles, tilting his head up for a kiss. 

Eddie complies with the request, easily planting one against Buck’s lips before asking, “oh really? Why were you sleeping on the table then?” 

Buck sags, knee and hip twinging as if to remind him why. “I was just resting.” 

Calloused fingers card through his probably wildly unkempt curls, and Buck finds him sinking more and more against the solid warmth of Eddie pressed against him. Just when he thinks he could actually nod off like this, Eddie breaks the silence. 

“Is your leg bothering you?” 

Biting his lip, Buck sighs as he spins his wedding band around his finger. The warm metal glints in the lowlight of the hall light filtering into the kitchen. There are more days than not that his leg ends up bothering him. But that’s to be expected when he had fallen through the floor of a burning warehouse and landed on his previously crushed leg. Today is just particularly bad. 

Buck had known it was coming, had woken up with the telltale stiffness in his joints. But he had ignored it, not bothering to do any of the stretches his PT had taught him, hoping to muscle through like he used to be able to do. He knows that was stupid of him. There’s a small curl of embarrassment settling in his belly, and he debates not telling Eddie. He doesn’t even have a good reason he can provide for why he didn’t do anything. Not one he can articulate at least. 

In the end, he decides he doesn’t like lying to Eddie, even by omission. “Yeah, it is.” 

“Did you do your stretches?” 

Buck’s silence is answer enough and Eddie nods to himself. “Okay, c’mere.” 

Eddie gets a big hand wrapped around Buck’s bicep and helps him stand from the kitchen chair. Buck goes willingly, letting Eddie pull him up and into his arms. 

At first, he thinks they’re just embracing, and he’s not complaining about it, soaking up all the heat radiating off of his husband. Then Eddie starts rearranging Buck’s arms, getting them loosely looped around his neck before Eddie’s palms slide to Buck’s waist, holding him gently. 

The music coming from the radio is low, too low for Buck to identify the song that’s playing. But he can hear enough to realize that Eddie is moving them in a slow shuffling rhythm around the kitchen that matches the staticky rhythm humming through tinny speakers. 

“Babe, what are you doing?” 

“Dancing— we’re dancing,” Eddie replies, swaying their bodies together as they rock side to side. 

Buck shoots Eddie an incredulous look, but he just leans forward and kisses it off Buck’s face. “We can do your stretches instead, if you would like?” 

With a laugh, Buck shakes his head fondly. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but continues to follow Eddie’s lead, letting himself be slowly spun around the kitchen. 

It helps. The ache doesn’t leave him entirely, but the stiffness slowly bleeds from his joints — the slow gentle movements of their “dancing” and the warmth of Eddie helping to ease the persistent discomfort. 

Gradually, Buck finds himself relaxing, allowing more of his weight to settle on his husband. Eddie accepts it gracefully, a pillar of strength against Buck. 

“There you go, baby,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a kiss to Buck’s temple. 

Tucking his head into the hollow of Eddie’s throat, Buck sighs out, “thank you.” 

“Always,” Eddie says as if it’s just that easy. 

Maybe it is. 

send me a soft prompt and I'll write a little something!

[satanictemptation]

.

[dreamlogic]

i have no clue what's going on w/ the hiring process for the job offer i got yesterday, but at least it seems like nobody at the post office does either. 🙃

[augment-techs]

Sorry, @ajgrey9647, this was supposed to be a proper fic, but my brain wasn't cooperating so an approximation was the best I could do with web weaving and basic (so basic) summary.

Title: a machine to rage against//not asking permission Rating: M Relationships: Lord Drakkon/Coinless Jason; Jason Scott/Tommy Oliver; Coinless Zack/Coinless Trini; Kimberly Hart/Zack Taylor/Trini; Billy Cranston/Matt Cook; mentioned Coinless Bulk/Slayer Kim. Characters: Lord Drakkon; Coinless Jason Scott; Prime Jason Scott; Prime Mighty Morphin Rangers; Prime Tommy Oliver; Prime Matt Cook; Coinless Zack Taylor; Coinless Trini; Coinless Bulk; Coinless Kimberly Hart. Additional Tags: Drakkon Very Pointedly DOES NOT raise Skull Back to Life; Because He's Still a Petty Bitch; So Many Uses of Mirrors; Nirvana Lyrics; Jewel Lyrics; eating snails; Drakkon had a thing for The Lost Boys and it SHOWS; I am Talking About the Saxophone; watching someone sleep; gently stalking (not stabby with a knife stalking); drive-in theaters; masturbation; makeout sessions. Summary:

When the Grid Beasts appeared in Drakkon's perfect world, he saw the writing on the wall and shifted gears instead of just fighting and fighting until the strongest alternate version of Tommy Oliver could break through into his personal dream. He wiped the slate clean from his trying to be a superhero on his own and played with another option.

This go around he made everything as simple as it ever was in his own Coinless dimension. Yes, there would be no poverty, no starvation, crime held at bay by competent individuals he plucked out of space time to make a go at civil order, actual medical assistance and free housing, but--there would be nothing akin to mass technology. Drakkon couldn't stand the idea of smart phones and plastics and the constant noise of planes and jets and the like.

There were wind and sun powered sailboats, steam powered trains for mass transit, horse drawn carriages, and bicycles.

The wildlife, the natural world prospered, and people...connected.

There were also the Rangers in positions and lives they never would have lead (that seemed too dangerous to lead into now), with a sort of...grunge aesthetic lurking at the edges.

He takes up learning an instrument in this version of the Youth Center to see if he can expand his flirtation techniques.

(Which is why BOTH Jasons woke up on their own.)

[eternelle-chenille]

Les lettres envoyées en mars 2023  🌼