#Short little sweet thing....

[pearlydolly]

[solarmorrigan]

Silly idea I talked about ages ago with @azure7539arts, inspired by a similar event my workplace hosts every year. Would minors be allowed to participate in such an event? Probably not! But then again, it was the 80s, who can say for sure. Anyway, it's my birthday and I'll post nonsense if I want to <3

-

“I need you to buy me.”

Eddie looks up from his notebook, effectively jarred from his campaign-plotting fugue state by Steve’s declaration.

Steve is standing at the other end of the dining table, staring at him expectantly.

“Y’know, this is the part where someone usually follows up their completely bonkers demand with an explanation,” Eddie says slowly.

“At the charity auction,” Steve clarifies. “I need you to bid on me, and I need you to win.”

Ah, yes, that weird Rent-an-Athlete charity auction the school runs every year; anyone on any Hawkins High sports team could volunteer to be “auctioned” off in order to raise money for said sports team, to spend a day at the beck and call of the highest bidder (within reason, supposedly). It’s generally restricted to students, but occasionally, prominent alumni are invited to participate – and Steve certainly fits the bill, especially after the story the government spun about his heroism in the face of “serial killer” Henry Creel last spring.

“And what, deny all those pretty girls a chance to get at you?” Eddie asks drily (he’d never turned up at previous auctions himself, but you could hardly avoid gossip in a school their size; it had usually been some cheerleader bidding with daddy’s money who won a date– that is, a day with Steve Harrington).

“It wasn’t always a girl who won,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest. “One time it was Mrs. Dalton – you know, the lady on the school board who lives on my block? I just spent the day doing yard work for her. She gave me lemonade. That was pretty cool.”

“Right,” Eddie drawls. “And I’m sure she definitely didn’t sit outside and stare at your ass while you were working.”

“She did not– she– I mean she was on the porch, but, like– she wouldn’t have– she’s, like, seventy, Eddie,” Steve splutters, and it’s all Eddie can do not to laugh.

“Older gals have needs, too, Steve,” Eddie says, giving in to a smirk. “So she was checking you out from the porch, huh?”

Steve goes red. “Shut up, that isn’t the point. I’m trying to ask for your help.”

“Right, right, your absolutely reasonable request for me to buy you at market. Why, again?” Eddie asks.

“The kids are planning to bid on me,” Steve says gravely.

Eddie blinks at him. “Okay?” he says, when no further explanation is forthcoming. “You basically do most of what they ask, anyway, so…?”

“Okay, believe it or not, I actually say no to at least half of what they ask me to do. I would literally never get anything done if I gave in to all their demands.” Steve jabs a finger at Eddie, who holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Anyway, this is all Henderson’s fault.”

“It usually is,” Eddie agrees, nodding sagely.

“He decided that he was going to bid on me and then use that day to finally make me play your nerd game with you–” Eddie snorts, and Steve shoots him a look, “but Wheeler doesn’t want me to play, so he said he was going to bid against Dustin and make me do anything but sit in on a session with you guys.”

“So let Wheeler win.” Eddie shrugs.

“No! I can’t let fuckin’ Mike win, he’ll probably make me do something even more ridiculous!” Steve exclaims. "He’ll make me play chauffeur for him and El on a date, or something, and he’ll probably include the stupid hat.”

“Wait, I thought El broke up with him,” Eddie breaks in.

“No, they’re on again,” Steve says absently, shaking his head. “Which is why Max has been in a bad mood lately.”

Eddie bites back the reflexive need to ask “How can you tell?”, going instead with, “I thought she and Sinclair were on again.”

“No, they are. That’s why no one’s been actively murdered,” Steve says.

“How do you keep track of all of this?” Eddie asks, squinting at Steve.

“It’s a natural skill. And we’re getting off track,” Steve says quickly. “Normally, I wouldn’t be that worried, because Dustin regularly blows his savings on weird science gadgets or whatever, but then Lucas and Will started taking sides.”

“This is getting very involved,” Eddie says.

“So you see why I’m stressed!” Steve insists, smacking a hand to his forehead (personally, Eddie thinks Steve is stressed for many other reasons, but he figures pointing that out just now won’t be appreciated). “Lucas is on Dustin’s side, and that kid does odd jobs like nobody’s goddamn business; he actually has shit saved up. And usually I’d have faith in him being more, like, sensible than to spend it all on this, but the little shit is really fucking competitive.”

“Wonder who he got that from?” Eddie mutters.

“Okay, we do remember that I’m not actually biologically related to any of these idiots, right?” Steve snaps.

“Well now we’re just getting into nature versus nurture–”

“Eddie.”

“Right, sorry, continue.”

“Well, Will took Mike’s side–”

“Shocking.”

“Right? But anyway, I don’t know if the kid has much saved up, but between him and Wheeler, they might be able to win.” Steve sighs, looking far more world-weary than Eddie feels the situation really warrants.

“You know you don’t actually have to do what they ask you to, right?” Eddie points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “If an auction winner complains to the school that the person they bid on didn’t fulfill their end of the bargain, they can get their money back. It’s a whole…” he waves his hand vaguely, “thing. Happened once when I was a sophomore; Deacon McNab. Lost a good chunk of change for the football team, and they vandalized the shit out of his car.”

“Ah, right. Forgot we went to school with literal psychopaths,” Eddie hums.

“So, I just need you to bid on me and win, so I’m not stuck wasting a Saturday on whatever the hell the kids are going to try to make me do. Or not do. Or– whatever,” Steve says.

“Okay, not that I don’t understand your predicament here, but I think you’re forgetting something kind of important, Steve,” Eddie drawls.

Steve’s brows draw together in question. “What?”

“I’m fucking poor.”

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t mean– no, I will give you the money, you don’t have to spend a dime, man, I just need you to get me out of this.”

“Why not have Buckley do it?” Eddie asks.

“That was Plan A, but she actually has a date that night, and it’s kind of a big deal, so I don’t want her to cancel,” Steve says. “But I assumed you wouldn’t be busy.”

“Wow, rude,” Eddie scoffs, and Steve sighs.

“Fine, sorry, I just really hoped you wouldn’t be busy.” Steve gives him the most lethal set of puppy dog eyes Eddie has ever seen, as if there had been any chance from the beginning that he’d be able to say no. “Please?”

Just for show, Eddie lets out a long sigh, falling against his chair and letting his head flop over the backrest like he’s deflating.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Steve groans, sounding so genuinely relieved that Eddie almost feels bad about how quickly his thoughts dip into the realms of the inappropriate. “Oh my god, I owe you.”

Eddie glances back up at Steve, tongue darting out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. “You know I’m not as easy to appease as a couple of fifteen-year-olds, right?”

Steve’s eyes drop for just a second—maybe down to Eddie’s lips, maybe not; who can say?—before he looks back up, cocking an eyebrow at Eddie. “I think I can handle it.”

Slowly, Eddie grins. “We’ll see.”

[buwheal]

How is your hand doing? Is it still bleeding, at all?

[shady-tavern]

A Hero’s Return

Continuation of this little short story. No particular warnings, but let me know if I should tag something.

***

'Ready when you are.'

It felt as though the message was burning a hole into your pocket as you stared at your hero costume. Freshly laundered, repaired perfectly after your fight with that telekinetic villain and just as practical and flashy as before. It shouldn’t be scary.

Your hands weren’t trembling when you put it on, but it was a near thing. It helped to know that Silver was waiting on the other side, not a floating terror ready and willing to kill. If you failed, no civilians would get hurt or killed. You would not die knowing you had been utterly useless, or wake up miraculously to find hundreds of people dead because you hadn’t been strong enough.

You had grown stronger, you knew you had. Enough so, in fact, that the hero association had recently bumped you up to Class B. Which was a little frightening, you had never played in the upper leagues before and while you knew you were part of the bottom crowd of Class B, it was still very different to your comfortable, quiet little Class C.

You took a few deep breaths after buckling the last of your gear in place and you stared at the mirror, realizing that the costume didn’t fit like it used to. You had gained muscle and a bit of weight and…it didn’t look right anymore. The colors seemed too bright, the little fluttery accents you had once added to the design on a whim too useless.

You took another deep breath and turned away from the mirror. Now was not the time to get into an existential crisis over your costume. You could always order a new one from the association later. You grabbed your phone, staring at the most recent message for a long moment, your heart pounding nervously.

'Ready when you are.'

You could hear Silver’s voice in your mind as you read those words, could see his reassuring smile, the kindness in his mercury eyes that didn’t quite manage to hide patient anticipation. He was looking forward to this, you knew. He had been there every step of the way, as you had dragged yourself out of the hole your failure and terror had shoved you into.

You didn’t feel ready to be a hero again, but you had decided that it didn’t matter. You would never feel ready. You could run those obstacle courses and simulations Silver built a hundred thousand times and not feel ready.

'Ready' you typed back and hit send before you could stop yourself. 

The hero association already knew you would return to active duty today. The substitute hero had left the city last night, looking relieved. His stay here had been exceptionally boring, since Silver had refused to challenge him in any way. Aside from bugging him a bit for fun, but his pranks were always harmless.

You flexed your hands and for a moment you felt all the scar tissue pull tight, stitched up wounds and surgery scars and broken bones that had taken months to heal. You weren’t ready, but you were sick and tired of sitting around at home.

You were sick and tired of being scared, of worrying. Of thinking about the next Class A villain that could show up with murder on their mind. You wanted to be a hero, still, even now. You wanted to protect people and help them where you could. You straightened your shoulders and walked forward, projecting a confidence you did not feel.

It was showtime.

*.*.*.*

You watched civilians cackle in delight as they were pelted with marshmallow butts the size of half your palm. Silver was bouncing a bit on his toes at your side, grinning so wide it must’ve hurt his cheeks.

"Well?" he said with a grin. "Aren’t you going to try and stop me? Oh no, darling, dashing hero!" He pretended to fall into a faint, hand theatrically pressed against his forehead. 

He tipped over with thoughtless trust, knowing you’d be there to catch him. And you did, hands pressed against his signature leather jacket as he draped himself over your arms with exaggerated drama. He continued, "Whatever shall I do, my evil soul quivers!"

You couldn’t help but laugh, tension you hadn’t been aware of sliding off your shoulders like water off a duck’s back. When you caught your breath again, looking down, Silver had the softest smile on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked far too sweet for someone proclaiming he had an evil soul.

He straightened from his pretend fainting after a moment and tugged his jacket properly back into place.

"Good first day back?" he asked quietly, barely audible over the huffing and puffing noise of his Ass Kicker 50, it’s wheel of used but thoroughly cleaned and disinfected boots merrily pelting butts into the growing crowd.

"Yeah," you answered just as quietly. "Glad to see me again?"

"Of course, darling." His soft smile got a mischievous edge as it grew into a smirk. "But you must be losing your edge, you haven’t even disabled my baby yet."

You couldn’t help but smirk back, tapping a piece of plating. "Dead switch is beneath this thing, isn’t it?"

He looked startled, then cursed and grumbled, actually looking like he had no idea if he was frustrated or delighted and instead settled on a weird mix of both. "I was hiding it so well! How the fuck did you know?"

You gave him a small shrug. "It’s the only place that works and from the way the thing’s set up and built, it had to be in this area to avoid messing with the machinery. And it’s the only plating that’s not bolted down. Pressure opens it, right?"

You pressed down experimentally on one side and the plate popped open easily enough, swinging aside to reveal the big red button. Because of course it was a big red button. That was so very Silver.

When you looked up, his mercury eyes were bright and intense and that elated-frustrated look was still on his face. "And you once asked me why I fight you," he said, his quiet voice carrying a particular tone that you couldn’t quite place. It made you feel faintly flustered, though.

You fiddled with the plate for a moment, before closing it again. "Yeah, well, I’m just glad I’m not boring."

Silver drew up to his full height, actually looking affronted. "Boring? How dare you?"

The smile tugging at your face felt far too earnest and touched by half, but it seemed to soothe his insulted affront.

"I’ll have a conversation with whoever put that thought into your head," he said, pointing a finger at you. "And if it was you yourself, we are going to have a long talk."

Hearing a round of loud, delighted noise from the side, both of you looked over to see a group of goth teens cackling as they pocked little holes between the cheeks of their marshmallows butts.

"Ah, I knew I had forgotten something," Silver muttered and you dissolved into helpless laughter, ending up leaning against his shoulder and gasping for air.

By the time you calmed down, you were out of breath, your belly aching in the best of ways and you reached up to wipe some moisture away. Silver looked very content and happy, standing there and watching the machine pelt away, people jumping to catch the butts wrapped in paper to keep things sanitary. So they could be picked up and still eaten if they fell to the floor.

He was always so thoughtful, you thought, still leaning against him and not moving away. You had no idea what he got out of being a villain - well, aside from tax fraud, a bunch of other illegal activities and some very, very strange substances you were not going to touch, ever - but you were happy to see him happy. He deserved it.

"They needed that too," Silver said in this moment, nodding at the crowd. "This city hasn’t quite been the same since that villain attacked. They’re relieved to have you back and seeing us fight harmlessly should put more demons to rest."

You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in your own trauma as you had been. You looked back at the people and you saw that he was right. There was a visceral relief on many faces, a giddiness that was born half out of the silliness of the situation and half out of a release of fear-filled tension.

They had been even more helpless than you had been. Civilians with no combat abilities and absolutely no chance to survive the Class A villain. All they had been able to do was run while they had to watch you bleed and break and still stand up again and again.

Oh. 

A quiet realization struck you down to your core. You had wondered why people had been polite but not overly warm with the substitute hero. He had sent you regular updates on villain activity and how his patrols had gone, even if it had taken you a while before you had gotten the guts to read it all instead of only the summary. 

He had mentioned that people didn’t seem all that curious about him and he had sulked about that a bit.

All this time you had thought that you had failed them, these people who grinned and waved when they saw you. Who didn’t hesitate to call you away from the street and ask for help or offer you sweets or lunch when you had been patrolling for hours. People who let you hold their babies or hugged you when you brought their lost pets back.

But they hadn’t seen a failure that day months ago. They had seen you, standing between them and certain death and refusing to give up, no matter what. All because you wanted to protect them with all you had.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" Silver’s worried voice cut into your thoughts and when you glanced at him, his brows were furrowed. "Why are you crying? Do you need me to switch off my baby and back up?"

"I’m fine," you croaked weakly, though you totally were tearing up. "I’m just glad to be back, don’t read too much into it."

Silver’s face softened with a quiet bit of relief and he hummed in understanding. "I’m glad, too, by the way," he said after a moment. "To have you back that is. I may have been a wee bit lonely."

You raised an eyebrow, glad that no tears had spilled over. "You saw me almost every day."

"But not like this," Silver said. "Don’t get me wrong, I love watching you destroy the machines of the obstacle course or absolutely ace the simulations, but I missed going up against you like this."

You rubbed the back of your neck, straightening from your slouch against him. "You always say things like that with a straight face." You both admired him for it and felt envious. Sometimes you wished you could just simply say what was on your mind as well.

Silver smiled, a little lopsided and crooked. "Life’s short, so who cares what others think," he said. "All I care about is living every day the best I can."

You knew what he meant by that. He had told you a bit more about his fight against Terra after modifying some more simulations for you. You had even seen a glimpse of the patchwork of scars that fight had left on him, many of them surgery scars. He had barely survived his debut as a villain. His ever first fight and it had been against Terra.

"You know, I wanted to make the butts bigger," he said before you could say anything, smoothly but obviously changing the topic. "But there was only so much I could fit into Ass Kicker 50 and that just wouldn’t do."

"Are you going to run out of butts soon?" you wondered.

Silver hummed thoughtfully. "I guess there is a minute of pelting left at most."

The two of you waited until the machine stuttered and began to slow, the wheel of boots no longer finding marshmallows to kick into the crowd. Silver gestured grandly for you to go ahead and you pressed the dead switch with a small smile.

"Well then." He clapped his hands together. "I guess I should say hello to my favorite warden. He is ever so happy to see me every time."

You couldn’t help but snort, then you hesitated. "You know, you could just…go."

Silver actually looked a little insulted. "Don’t ruin my date with prison, my dear." He beckoned you closer with a finger, presenting his hands. "I want to see if I can walk out the front door dressed like a futuristic clown."

You blinked, in the middle of pulling out your cuffs. "What would that look like?"

He smirked as you reached out towards him. "I guess you’ll have to find out." He leaned in as your hands closed the cuffs around his wrists, warm skin pressed to warm skin and cold metal between. "I’ll make sure to make the news for you."

"Alright," you said, bemused and curious in equal measure. You noticed how warm he was, this close to you, your hands covering his. His breath smelled faintly of peppermint. "Come on, there are two new officers on the roaster who are eager to prove you can’t slip past them."

His face lit up. "Oooh, fun." He chuckled, low and menacing and for once sounding like the villain he was. "I do love ruining their day. Shattered dreams taste ever so delicious."

You rolled your eyes fondly, waving the waiting police over. They hurriedly hid the marshmallow butts they were snacking on and bustled over, trying to look important and menacing. Even if Silver was a very polite and very wonderful villain, he was still wanted for a number of crimes and the state really wanted to prosecute him.

"Be gentle with Ass Kicker 50," you told the clean-up crew who came in to tow the machine away to a storage facility. "She’s done good service."

When you looked back over to Silver, you caught the warm, unbearably fond smile as he watched you on his way to the police car. He cast you a wink as he got in, mouthing, 'Clown'. You playfully wrinkled your nose at him and saw more than heard him laugh as the door was closed.

"Um." A soft, hesitant voice made you look over and you immediately recognized the girl who had approached you. The teenager who had nearly died at your side months ago. "I’m very happy you’re back and that you made a full recovery." She thrust out a small gift. "Thank you, for saving my life."

"And mine." One of her friends bustled over, holding a little wrapped gift as well. "If not for you, I wouldn’t have made it."

You felt speechless, accepting the gifts hesitantly and that seemed to open the floodgates. You were swiftly surrounded by people thanking you and expressing their concern and relief in equal measure. Your arms soon overflowed with gifts, flowers from the elderly, drawn pictures from children and baked cookies from grateful parents. It nearly made you cry.

You did cry a little when you got home, sniffling as you sat in a pile of gifts, reading letters and smiling at the graceless but enthusiastic scribbles of a five year old. Suzie was curled up in your lap, fast asleep as a small bundle of warmth.

You taped all the pictures to one wall and pinned the letters to an old, large pinboard you had gotten a few years ago. You put the food away and the flowers into a vase and scattered the rest of the gifts across your flat in a smattering of decorations.

It had mattered. Ever single moment you had felt helpless and terrified had mattered. You hadn’t been a footnote on some document, lamenting a too early death. Because of you, so many futures still existed, those bright, burning lives not snuffed out by a cruel hand.

You would continue growing stronger for them all, you vowed to yourself. Even if you needed Silver to end the fight and save you again, you would be there. Standing between evil and everyone else as many times as it took.

For the first time in months, you felt like a hero again, too.

You dozed off with the news channel on and jerked awake sometime in the early morning hours just in time to blearily watch a repeated clip of Silver, dressed as a sparkly, futuristic clown, moonwalk dancing out of prison. There it was, his famous, Class A skill of getting out of trouble in the most ridiculous ways.

You were chuckling softly to yourself, reaching out to fish your phone from your coffee table. You already had a message waiting for you.

'Watch me, darling.'

You were still half asleep when you answered, a golden feeling like honey on warm bread filling your chest, 'Always.'

You hesitated, then tapped out one more message, 'If you have any more inventions, I’m ready.'

He answered immediately. 'Oh, darling.' It read and you could hear the glee in his voice in your mind, could imagine the way he brightened. 'I was hoping you’d say that.'

You loved this ridiculous, wonderful man so much, you thought, still bleary and half asleep. Your heart felt so full with good things it felt as though it was spilling over to the point where you had to squeeze a pillow, hiding a wide grin against it.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

ajax with dimples and foul legacy with two dips carved into either side of his intricate lil mask face

*holds mic up* YOU. KEEP TALKING

you met Foul Legacy before you meet Ajax, somewhere out in the mountains of Liyue when he's finishing up a training session, the sight of a giant Abyssal monster making you freeze in your tracks, blood turning to ice when his faceted gaze lands on you. your heart drops, squeezing your eyes shut as heavy footsteps approach you- only to blink when something solid and slightly cold bumps gently against your forehead. the creature whines quietly, sitting on his heels to make himself seem smaller, less threatening, and slowly you reach out and set your hand on top of his head, your finger sinking into his fluffy hair. the beast brightens, odd, gem-shaped eye gleaming as he promptly leans in and begins sniffing your jacket and bag, letting out curious chitters and leaning against your palms with happy purrs. all you can do is laugh in surprise, fingers tracing the edges of his mask-like face, eventually falling on two small divots where his cheeks might be, serving seemingly no purpose. you poke them, and tilt your head, and your new friend simply tilts his head in mimicry and trills

it's not until you meet Ajax, or Childe as he goes by when doing his Harbinger work, that you understand. he's loud and boisterous and a bit playfully rough, almost the exact opposite of his Abyssal counterpart you come to know as Foul Legacy, always greeting you with a tight squeeze or a pat on the head and swinging your hand cheerfully as you walk. there's a certain charm to him when he spontaneously twirls you around or lifts you off the ground to carry you, like today, and you stare down at him with a good-natured smile as he grins up at you, oceanic eyes creased shut. you blink, then gasp, and Ajax's eyes fly open as he looks at you worriedly, but you merely laugh and poke his cheeks in delight, your fingers nudging familiar divots, except in soft skin rather than a tough mask

"Ajax! You and Foul Legacy have dimples!"

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

This server does things to people, things that can’t be undone.

Like weave parts of Mapicc into Zam. It meshed their bodies together until separation became a pipe dream, and Zam was fine with it. He was fine. It was nice to be close with Mapicc, to have someone fill the gaps he left open, a steady presence who could make up for the fact that Zam was Zam. Now he just has himself. Now he just has a knife.

devotions week day two: potions & death. COLLABORATION WITH THE WONDERFUL @noxious-amillion !!! GO CHECK THEIR ART OUT HERE

[vaperarmand]

cutting teeth

eric/assad, m, 1.9k words

tags: Biting, Character Bleed

Assad hates the feeling of prop fangs in his mouth. Eric helps, until he doesn't.

[whoreiaki-kakyoin]

Doms who get all stupid and needy the second they see their sub ready and willing for them send tweet 😤😤😤

Doms who want to tease, want to draw it out, ask their subs to put on a show and prove why they deserve to be played with…. Only to feel their brain fry at how sweetly their submissive obeys, offering themselves so enthusiastically, so completely, looking so irresistible and perfect…

Doms who melt into their subs with a groan or a whine, their sub reassuring them gently that it’s okay if they need it right now, if they want to skip the teasing because they can’t wait and want to claim their submissive, want to hold them and make love to them…. I love doms who get flustered for their pretty subs because they’re impatient and want to feel them now.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Raised in Amphibia AU Marcy has a very complicated relationship with Andrias. They love each other and see each other as father and daughter. He never yells at her, never raised a hand at her, yet she's so utterly terrified of him. She doesn't even know why she feels like this, but all she wants is to not lose his love and to make him proud, and feels like she's always in debt, always failing at earning her place, always desperately two steps behind, never quite pleasing him.

She gives up so much of herself to earn his love and approval... she keeps most of her less useful interests secret, she doesn't have any friends except for maybe Lady Olivia, she drops whatever she's doing, no matter how important, to go to her father when he calls her, she "forgets" about her feelings when they're inconvenient to him...

She used to wear her hair long because he liked it. He never pressured her to wear it like that, possibly didn't even notice the effects his words had on her, but he once said it's what's traditional for the Leviathan royal family, and that it looked good in her, and she was determined to keep hers as long as possible, until one day she can't handle all the stress and anxiety and she desperately cuts it all in her bedchambers. Now it's so short, barely reaching her jaw. She cried herself to sleep that night. Andrias didn't say anything about it, only that it looked nice, and Marcy feels her heart sink - she let it grow for years no matter how uncomfortable it was or how little she liked it for nothing.

[thefanciestborrower]

Cookies and Comics

“Hey Zane?” 

“Hmmm?”

“Did you know you’re all glowy inside?” 

Zane laughed at the muffled question, carefully rolling little balls of cookie dough and placing them on the baking tray exactly two inches apart. “Jay has mentioned it before yes. Why do you ask, is it too bright?”

“No,” came the nonchalant reply, “Actually it’s perfect comic reading light. I was just wondering.” 

A smile tugged at Zane’s lips as he felt Lloyd stretch and flop onto his back against the pliable silicone lining of his ‘stomach’. It technically was nothing like the organ it resembled, only being good for storage really, but due to its placement and interior his brothers had all taken to calling it such. Not that he minded; the term was endearing, if not entirely accurate. “Comic reading? Well in that case, I simply must ask what sort adventure Fritz Donnegan has gone off on now.” He tilted his head, now counting out the balls of dough to make sure he’d rolled out the right amount. It wouldn’t do if he ended up making too few. 

Lloyd’s smile practically beamed through his metallic chest plate. “He’s going to a lava planet to fight the evil Volcano Lord!” He all but squealed, kicking his feet excitedly against Zane’s silicone interior. “Which is gonna be hard cause he lost the cannon he got from that water planet back in issue 37 to a galactic space beetle in issue 53, but I KNOW he’ll think of something! He always does!” There was a heavy sigh as Lloyd paused in his rant, shifting onto his side. “When I get bigger, I wanna be just like him.” 

Zane chuckled, opening the oven and gently placing the tray in as the preheated air toasted his skin. “You know what Lloyd? I think you’ll be even better.”

[vampkomori]

little fun fact: in a cn video for the dreamjolt holstery event they have aventurine (with the hat and glasses!!) order a drink called Station of Freedom thats clearly designed after him considering the name and the colors matching him perfectly 💛💚

[messrsbyler]

green

Will’s eyes always turned a bit greener during sunsets. Although, green wasn’t the correct word to describe them. Beautiful, sparkling, infinite; those were words that could paint a picture of Will’s eyes, but none of them could depict their colour as the sun sank below the skies.

Mike imagined the sunlight of an afternoon seeping through the branches and leaves of a tree in full bloom. He thought of the halos around the green and the oranges from the clouds, the mix of shades and lights all reflected in Will’s eyes, and yet again came empty for a word to describe it all.

He was in the process of pondering over the limitations of the English language and how unfair all of it was, when Will turned away from the sunlight bathing his face and found Mike looking. A nervous smile pulled from his lips and a new shade spread over his cheeks. It was as lovely and as lacking of a name as his eyes were.

“What?” he asked.

Mike kept looking at Will and shook his head. There was so much he could fit in that question alone. He could talk about how ‘green’ was a stupid and plain word, about sunsets and trees and leaves, about heartbeats and old promises made in a basement.

Everything, he wanted to say. But just as ‘green’, the word felt too big and yet too hollow and plain.

“Nothing,” he said instead and smiled back. “Just looking.”

[leenukeath]

Childhood treasure

It was such a little thing. A bunch of old fabrics sewn together and barely holding with singed threads, yet something in it made the still young Bounty Hunter kneel down and pick it up.

A burned house, a grisly sight that dated a few days ago, the embers had turned to coals and the ashes had already been scattered by the winds. Many footsteps in the burnt floorboards, people had been there after the act.

The old rabbit plush had been spared ironically by ending up in an old pot over the chimney, singed but still salvageable. The question now was if its owner was still around to lay claim to it. Tardif sighed, there was little chance a child could survive a house burning, and even if they had escaped these woods were too dangerous for anyone without strong survival instincts and knowledge, whoever this toy belonged to, they were probably gone by now.

He should have thrown the thing away and gone back on his way but something stilled his hand, instead coaxing him to shove the sad burnt thing in his knapsack and take it with him. He figured maybe he would find a child who would want it later. A few days later when resting at an inn, he pulled it out again, examining the burn spots and pulling out his sewing kit. One of his old shirts that was too ragged to be used was cleanly cut to patch up the various holes making it look somewhat less miserable. A thorough wash in the bassin with some soap rinced away the soot and dark patches, leaving a somewhat less grimy looking but still lovingly used bunny. He hated to admit it but he was starting to get attached to it.

~

It never left his knapsack, Tardif would never be able to live with the shame of being caught with a plush toy in his possession but the rabbit in his bag had become a somewhat soothing presence in his life, a thing to hold and let witness his less dignified moments of weakness. For a lone fighter like him, the presence was welcome, even if it was only with eyes of threads.

~

It was in that damned estate that he thought he was finally going to break. His will thrown against the walls of horrors they were constantly being submitted to alongside the threat of death made the facade of strength harder to keep up with each day. His secret possession in his bag beneath his bunk felt more and more important to anchor himself to this reality.

Then one day Missandei mentionned the forest she used to live in, and the fire. When asked about it, she spoke about how she had to run away when she was barely eight, holding her father's crossbow that she had had to trade for her dear rabbit… He knew he had found her, that he should give her what was rightfully hers back, but it tore his heart as well. His precious companion taken away from him, who would he allow to see his tears now?

Yet the thought of a child forced to grow into a killer much too fast, faster than even he had to made him reconsider. And the next day he brought her a box containing their little treasure of fabric and stuffing. "You made her a little outfit?!" exclaimed Missandei when she picked it up, examining the cautiously sewn together pullover on the plush rabbit. Tardif nervously rubbed the back of his neck: "Well it was such a sad thing when I found it… figured I'd make it less miserable."

Missandei happily took her rabbit back, to Tardif's slight chagrin, but her genuine happiness in the following days was a slight ray of light in the darkness of this world. She made sure to spend as much time as she could with the usually reserved Bounty Hunter, to his reluctant appreciation, and sometimes came back to him asking for help with repairs and weapon maintenance. Tardif may have lost a dear trinket, but had gained a friend, the rarest reward he had ever been blessed with.

[bmpmp3]

vocal synths and winter designs

[quaranmine]

re fw!Scar's mom knitting stuff: What if she knitted Grian his trademark red sweater?-

NOW YOU'RE COOKING!

Kind of want to yoink this for one of my oneshots. I haven't written much of it but I did have a plan to do a oneshot of Scar visiting Grian in England for the first time! (This would be the story I alluded to in which "nothing bad happens," and I actually meant it.) I had been thinking fall of 1990 for the setting, but I also didn't want to step on your toes with your fic in case you had something else. Also, I wanted to finish Alpenglow first so I was "waiting and seeing" lol. It would be cute for Scar to deliver it in person :D

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Hiii !! I love your writing !!ヽ(≧∀≦)ﾉ

I do have a ask, What would you think it would be like to be living with Dragon!FL? Like what would daily life be like while living with him? Especially with his big collection of jewels..

(Sorry if this not very descriptive (⇀‸↼‶) I love your writing and wanted to make this request !!)

oh oh oh i have a great idea for this one!!

dragon Foul Legacy would absolutely love if you happened to live somewhere near the Chasm. it's one of his favorite places in the entirety of Teyvat, with the deep caverns and hidden gemstones and ores glittering in the dark. once the seal over the main entrance is broken, he bugs you every single day to go exploring with him, pouting and flapping his wings until you finally relent, his tail thumping happily against the floor when you throw up your hands. you barely even need a lumenstone- the gleaming celestial patterns on Legacy's wings and body illuminate the caves well enough, not to mention the sparks of lightning dancing around his claws as he clambers over the stone walls and ruins, growling in delight and waiting for you to catch up. if you slip he shoots out quick as a dart, gently grasping the back of your coat and lifting you up next to him with a concerned chitter

it's not always safe for you to explore with him, either because of weather or cavern conditions and the like. but that's okay- he's very sturdy and strong, and will be perfectly fine on his own! apart from being a bit lonely, of course. Legacy spends the days you're away down in the depths, searching for the best chunks of crystal and jewels to add to his hoard and present to you. he returns home often drenched with rainwater, arms full of sparkly objects and stones and the occasional arm from an Abyss Lector, chirping proudly. even if you're tired or sore from a day's work, you always help him clean everything he's collected, and he always always nudges the best pieces to you as a courting gift, although you've told him he doesn't have to give you anything

he likes gifting you little treasures. it makes him happy, seeing you smile in that kind, sweet way of yours, nuzzling his head against your cheek with a happy croon