#TY FOR PROMPT this was a fun one........

[hirokiyuu]

Sol/Tang 43. Watching me while I sweat from exercising

She laughs, coming to sit down by Tangent's side. "It's not that bad. I'm not saying you need to come with me, but... I dunno, I just think it's fun!"

Sol's grinning at her in that way that always makes Tangent feel like there's ants crawling up her spine, her eyes curled up and warm and bright. The smell of her is all around, disgusting with sweat, inescapably present. Even if Tangent were to close her eyes she couldn't possibly escape. So instead she tilts her head and says, "Mm, I can think of more enjoyable ways to work up a sweat."

There. Sol goes even pinker at that, eyes darting away as her head ducks and her smile twists shyly. "Jeez, Tang, I mean, yeah, but...."

It's always a nice feeling, leaving Sol lost for words. Tangent reaches out, lets her fingers rest on the back of Sol's hand with promise. "Yes, Solanaceae?"

Another pause, before Sol laughs again and then leans forward, face half-hidden by her knees. "Oh, nevermind. I can't believe you can just say that kind of stuff so easily."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Nah." Sol twists, and the smile she gives Tangent is softer than before, still a little shy at the sides. Bearable, but only just. "I like it, it just... kind of kills me a little, also?"

Good, Tangent thinks. "Then I'll try to limit your exposure to non-lethal levels," she replies, and when Sol laughs Tangent allows her smile to grow a little in return.

[halfveil]

⋯ @f1r3h34rt ⋯

prompt - sun & plants/berries

[tunastime]

Hey if your still doing the comfort fic thing can you do collection of hoodies with Ranchers? (You don't have to)

HI!! Took me a little to get to this one! Kind of based on the prompt rather than directly verbatim, but I hope you enjoy!

the collection of stolen hoodies (758 words) (x)

The slightly sticky, summer breeze blows warm across the rolling hills of the server. Despite the humidity, the wind offers a much needed reprieve from the still, stagnant air of the mines, and, shaking the water out of his hair still, is managing to dry Tango off as well. He easily rinsed a majority of the soot and grime from his hair and along his exposed arms, scrubbed black soot from his cheeks. Now, stripped down to his cargo pants and socks, Tango lies in the grass, his and Jimmy’s laundry out to dry. He’s spent a large portion of the afternoon clipping it carefully to the hastily constructed clothesline. It waved in the breeze, casting a shadow across his vision every now and again.

Despite this, Tango lies comfortably in the midday light, eyes shut. At some point he turns to dry his back, feeling the heat along his spine and the base of his tail. The grass is soft here, clover and fescue and dotted wildflowers over the hill, stretching further than what Tango can see with part of his face crushed into the soft earth. He lets his eyes shut for a moment, letting the wind and sun dry him off the best it can.

After a moment, Tango stretches, feeling his muscles pull as he twists his neck and pillows his arms under his head. If he’s going to get anything done today besides napping in the sun, much to his rancher’s chagrin, he should probably collect their laundry and give it a good shake before bringing it inside.

Peeling himself from the grass, Tango stands slowly. He stretches his arms above his head, twists back and forth to relieve some of the tension in his back. Scratching dully at his hair, strands still wet between his fingers, he wanders over to the clothesline, still padding barefoot through the soft grass and stepping stones. Most of the clothes are thoroughly dry as Tango begins to tug them from the line, but, notably, his sweater is damp at the fringes and the sleeves where chunks of shade block it from the midday sun. The humidity’s certainly to blame too, making the air ever so slightly damp as it blows through.

Tango frowns. On the line is Jimmy’s overshirt. It’s dry at every edge, and aside from being stiff from its line dry, it’s in perfectly good condition, and much too large for Tango to worry about stretching it out. Tango runs a thumb over the seam at the bottom, worrying the hem between his fingers. A good shake would get the stiffness out. Surely Jimmy wouldn’t mind if it went missing for a part of the afternoon at the behest of Tango’s decency, right? 

Plucking it carefully from the line, Tango tugs the shirt around him. It keeps some of the wind off his back and the sun even moreso, despite the fact that he’s more littered with freckles than he’d ever though he would be in his life. It also smells, still, a little like wheat and grass and smoke, and Tango sighs against the shoulder he’s brought up to sniff and closes his eyes. 

He’s addled for a moment with the idea of Jimmy trying to fit into his sweater in retaliation, and blinks his eyes open. The image of him trying to weasel his big arms in and stretching the fabric out. Tango was by no means tiny, but Jimmy was. Broad. For lack of a better term. Fitting into Tango’s clothes would be a feat deserving of an award. Tango snorts, rolling his shoulders. Maybe one day he could make them a sweater that fit both of them. Which really meant it would fit Jimmy first and Tango by extension—but regardless. It could be theirs. He could make a whole collection of them. Then they could really be set, and Tango could live out his life stealing clothes from Jimmy whenever he wanted to. Yeah. That sounded like a good plan.

A cheesy one, but one he was letting himself have, because, hey, he was feeling sentimental, and Jimmy had finally come to visit, and he was allowed to be happy to see him again, just as he did anyone else. Sighing to himself, Tango folds the rest of the clothes over one arm. Satisfied with the state of their dryness, he takes them, and himself, inside. He should at least give them a good shake and a nice fold before he started thinking about making any new clothes.

[prettymediocrewizard]

Guriten prompt to draw [not forced ^_^!!]

Kenzo comforting Grimmer after he went through something harsh [it can totally be up to you, if its after he turned into Steiner or after feeling conflicted with his emotions, etc., fully up to you, just a bittersweet prompt]. [it doesnt have to be a comic, it can also be a single image of kenzo comforting grimmer]

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

ahh my heart...

Thank you for the prompt! I love bittersweet emotions, I don't draw it nearly enough~

[ok-boomerang]

Hey Lena!

Zutara Drabble # 5 & 8, please. ^.^

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” & “Wanna bet?”

Katara knocked once, briefly, on the Fire Lord’s office door before pushing it open and inviting herself in. She and Zuko had worked together for so long—had been friends for so long—that they no longer had the need, or the patience, for a semblance of formality.

Katara supposed that on some unlucky day in the future she might walk in on him practicing his Iroh impression, or worse (better?), with his pants down. But per usual, the Fire Lord was merely at his desk, head in hand, as his glazed-over eyes scanned some boring parchment.

“Hey Zuko,” chirped Katara, feeling herself almost expand upon seeing him, upon seeing the transformation of his face when his eyes fell on her—the subtle widening of his right eye, the easy smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey,” he said in response, setting his parchment aside and giving her his full attention. A piece of hair had fallen out of his top knot. “My favorite ambassador—"

“Mhm, whatever,” she joked back. “Funny how I become the favorite every time the fishing waters treaty is up for renewal—"

“You’re always my favorite, I just happen to point it out at specific times.”

Katara rolled her eyes, even though she felt her cheeks warm a little at Zuko’s words.

“Anyway,” she said, shrugging off that impossibility, “I’m just delivering the report on the healers in Fire Fountain City.” She handed him another piece of parchment, which Zuko took with some hesitation.

“The report on the healers—?” he muttered, eyes scanning the page. “But I didn’t need this for a couple more days—”

“Yes, well, Tanriq invited me to the Fire Lantern Festival tomorrow evening, so I got it done early.”

She watched as Zuko’s eyes stopped scanning the parchment, but he didn’t look up.

“Tanriq?” For some reason, his voice had gone up in pitch.

“Do you know another Tanriq?” Katara asked, curious at Zuko’s confusion.

“The—the ambassador from the Northern Water Tribe?”

“Of course,” said Katara slowly.

“You’re—together?”

“No,” she said immediately, and then chided herself. “I mean—I’m giving him a chance. So…maybe in the future? We’ll see how it goes—”

“It’s not going to go well,” Zuko interrupted her.

Katara blinked at him. “Huh?”

“I mean,” Zuko said, bringing his hands in front of him on the desk and rolling them together. “I just mean—it’s just a little odd, the two of you—the Fire Lantern Festival—"

“What’s so odd about it?” Katara asked, half surprised and half curious about the issue Zuko saw that she couldn’t. “I like festivals.”

“Right, but do you like them with Tanriq? I—I dunno you will.”

“Sure, he’s a little boring—”

“He doesn’t know you at all!” Zuko interjected, and then quieted, shifting his eyes. But he continued. “I mean, will he know to take you to the food stalls that sell ocean kumquats? Will he take you dancing early enough so you don’t miss the tsungi horn players?”

Katara laughed. “I can tell him not to!” she pointed out. “You don’t need to be worried for me, I’m sure we’ll have a fine time—”

“Wanna bet?”

Katara stared at him. “Do I want to…make a bet about whether I’ll enjoy myself on a date?”

“Um,” said Zuko, shifting in his seat so that the chair squeaked. The panic on his face did not match the regality of his formal robes. “No, that was uncalled for, sorry,” he said. “I—I—”

And as Zuko stuttered, and Katara stared at Zuko’s rapidly reddening cheeks, she came to an unlikely—but perhaps possible?—conclusion.

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She had to fight the urge to clap a hand to her mouth in horror. And if Zuko had looked skeptical whatsoever, she would have curled in on herself and scurried out the door like a goat dog with its tail between its legs. And then possibly quit her job and moved to the Foggy Swamp.

But Zuko didn’t look skeptical. Zuko did not calmly and coolly reject her suggestion. Instead, he noisily backed up his chair, stood, buried his hands in his hair, and yelped, “Me?! Jealous?! No—no, definitely not!” And then he laughed like an unhinged hyena leopard.

“I—” Katara started, over what sounded like the beginnings of a panic attack. “I—um,” she said, reminding herself that she was a waterbending master and teacher to the Avatar and she was not scared of anything—“I won’t go with him. If you—um—if you don’t want me to,” she said, knowing that her tone had drastically changed from teasing to serious.

Zuko’s laughter died down and he matched her serious expression. “Katara, no—I would never try to insert myself in your personal life—I’m sorry, I just got, um—” he paused, but didn’t finish his sentence.

“Can I take your bet then?”

“What?”

“But for the other side. I bet you I won’t have a nice time with Tanriq.”

“I—look—I was being childish—of course you’ll have a nice time—”

“Maybe,” she said, and Zuko’s face fell for the briefest moment before he schooled it to one of impassive regard once more. “But I think I’ll have a nicer time with someone who knows me better, like you said.”

Zuko looked away from her and stretched his arm behind him to rub the back of his neck. “I think you should go with whoever you want to go with,” he muttered.

Katara wanted to scream. But…she did want this more than she wanted to scream. “You,” she said, only a smidge of frustration in her voice. “I’d rather go with you.”

Zuko’s eyes snapped to hers. “Oh? Is that—is that—is that right?”

“If, um, if you want to,” she murmured, suddenly feeling her mortification rise. What if she’d gauged this wrong? She did get along with Hu in the Foggy Swamp. She could totally start a new life there.

“Yes,” Zuko said immediately. “I mean—yes. I do want.” His eyes were boring into hers.

“Um, great,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “So…I’ll tell Tanriq nevermind…and you’ll just need to tell your guards—”

“No,” Zuko said, leaning forward now, and Katara felt her blood thrill. “Many of the festival goers will wear masks. We can too.

“Really? But I don’t have a mask—"

“Don’t worry, I have an idea for us.”

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @astreamofstars for this ask meme: Questioning Sentences, Vol. 33 Jaheira/Khalid (and others) - “Are you getting my wife into trouble?” Two fills for the price of one cos I couldn't decide if I liked this idea or the other one better for this prompt so I did both. XD Set during Siege of Dragonspear, but doesn't include any spoilers.

-----

“All right.” Caden sways blearily on his feet, gesturing with the tankard in his hand. “Are you ready… for the master plan?”

“Minsc is ready,” Minsc agrees eagerly. “For a plan which Caden makes is masterful indeed!’

They make a rather comical tableau, gathered together in the shadows at the edge of the coalition camp. Caden is pacing unsteady circles, occasionally stopping to lean on one of the nearby trees. Nearby, Minsc and Rasaad sit side by side; Minsc has drained his mug completely and his eyes are wide with inebriated enthusiasm, while Rasaad is holding himself to ramrod stillness, the alcohol only evident in the slightly unfocused look in his eyes and the amused smile playing around his lips.

And there’s the cat, of course, which is prowling through the grass around Caden’s feet. Unlike Caden and the others, though, the cat almost melds into invisibility with the shadows. Its fluffy coat is dark gray except for a stripe of white along the tail, leaving the glint of its eyes the only obvious sign of its presence.

“Steady, Caden,” Rasaad says with a low chuckle, watching his friend take another gulp of ale. “If you are not careful, I believe you might pitch over.” 

He takes a sip from his own mug and glances over her shoulder back towards the center of the camp. No one seems to have noticed them sneaking off; most of the army has gone to sleep and the fires are burning low. The guards on watch are attentive to threats from the outside, and they have little interest to spare for the erstwhile Hero of Baldur’s Gate and his friends lurking drunkenly outside Torsin de Lancie’s tent.

“Nonsense,” Caden says gravely. “My balance is perfect and my ideas better still. Now--” He points at the cat, who is watching him with a glassy-eyed attentiveness, its tail lashing back and forth. “The key to it all.” He swings his hand in a wide arc and points dramatically into the darkness. “...A hole.”

Minsc turns his head to peer in the direction Caden is pointing and the wall of dark green canvas that sits there. “A tent,” he corrects Caden earnestly.

Caden blinks, then releases a very uncharacteristic giggle and downs another mouthful of his drink. “Nooooo,” he says, over-enunciating. “There’s a hole in the tent.” He points again at the cat. “And you can fit through it.”

The cat mrowls thoughtfully, then flops over onto its side and rolls so it is looking at Caden upside down. 

“Exactly,” Caden says, nodding several times vigorously. “And then - havoc. Shred de Lancie’s shirts. Steal his sword. Whatever you can think of.”

“It would certainly serve him right,” Rasaad agrees. He smirks over the rim of his mug as he takes another sip. “We would send Caden himself, but we have all seen his attempts at subtlety.”

“Shuuuush…” Caden whines, laughing, and punches Rasaad gently in the shoulder. This does, in fact, overbalance him and he sits down hard in the grass next to the tent’s front peg. “Oof. Well?” He grins goofily at the cat. “What d’you think?”

The cat climbs slowly and methodically up Caden’s arm until it is balanced on his shoulder, and begins to knead its claws vigorously into his shirt.

“Ow.” He grunts. Reaching up, he picks the cat up and sets it back on the ground, climbing unsteadily back to his feet. “I’ll take that as a yes. C’mon, Rasaad and Minsc and I will keep guard, and you can--”

He stops abruptly as, turning, he bumps into a man standing in his way who seems to have materialized out of the shadows. “Oh. Hello, Khalid,” he says, blinking rapidly like a child caught raiding the pantry.

Out of armor, Khalid looks about an inch shorter and considerably less broad than he usually does; his mop of dark hair is mussed from his helmet and he’s dressed for bed in a loose, dark tunic and a pair of Calishite-style trousers. “G-good evening, Caden,” he says cheerfully; his weariness from the day’s travel is evident in the thickness of his stammer, but he grins good-naturedly. “Are you g-g-getting my wife into trouble?”

Caden cocks his head at the older man innocently, an effect marred a little as he sways back on his heels. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Mmhm.” Khalid peers past him at the cat who has begun to groom itself, its fluffy tail curled up over its back. “S-she is not in b-bed, and that c-c-c-cat looks familiar. Are you quite sure?”

Caden follows his gaze and shakes his head. “It’s just a cat,” he says, very seriously. 

Khalid laughs. “There is n-n-no fooling me, C-Caden, I’m afraid,” he says.

At the sound of his voice, the cat’s head suddenly shoots up. Darting past Caden, it hurls itself at Khalid’s legs and begins circling him, rubbing up against his shins and purring ecstatically. 

Khalid’s grin softens. “Y-you see?” he murmurs. Crouching down, he runs a hand slowly along the cat’s silky fur from head to tail-tip, and the purring rises in volume like the rumble of a distant thunderstorm. “I would kn-know her in every shape,” he murmurs. “Though… the s-s-s-stripe on her tail is a d-d-dead giveaway.”

The cat nips at his hand, and he chuckles. “Am I g-g-giving away your secrets, my love? I’m s-s-sorry.” He raises an eyebrow at Caden. “N-now - out with it. Are you g-g-getting my wife into trouble?”

There’s a low hissing sound, and the wildshape melts away, leaving Jaheira, curled awkwardly on the ground, pressed against his thigh. She looks up at him with a bleary smile and pokes him in the side. “How dare you?” she says reprovingly; the words, though carefully pronounced, have a distinct tipsy slur. “I do not need the boy’s help to get myself into trouble.”

“Ahhhhh, I s-see.” Khalid’s eyes widen and he juts out his jaw, mock-appalled. “A d-d-drunken band, the l-lot of you.”

“I believe you have mispronounced ‘criminal masterminds,’ Khalid,” Rasaad says with a sage nod. 

“Well, t-t-tell me, then,” Khalid says. His lips twitch with amusement. “What c-c-conspiracy can you be m-m-masterminding at this t-time of night?”

Caden downs the rest of his mug. “Messing with Torsin de Lancie’s tent,” he says matter-of-factly.

Khalid tilts his head slowly to one side. His eyes flick over the tent, to the hole in the fabric at its rear, then to Caden, then to Jaheira. Then he starts to laugh. “Ahhhh, I see,” he says, shaking his head ruefully. “Well… why d-d-didn’t you say so in the f-f-first place? C-carry on.”

[peaceoutofthepieces]

4 + kandreil for the ask game ? hope you’re doing well <33

you could not have chosen better tysm

4. Shut-Up Kiss

Andrew berates Neil endlessly for running his mouth, but Neil has never known anyone to rant as pointlessly and frequently as Kevin. Sometimes it's almost charming; Kevin's love for history sends him on tangents of fascination every now and again, especially with a drink or two loosening his tongue, and his genuine respect and fanboy adoration for the Trojans—and Jeremy Knox—is almost sweet. Sometimes it's concerning; Kevin's breathing turns ragged and his eyes grow foggy when his mind returns to the Nest, and sometimes, now, commentary will come with it, the knowledge that Riko can't touch him anymore allowing Kevin to tell some of the stories that have refused to die with Riko, at least when Andrew and Neil are the only ones around to hear it.

Other times, it's annoying as shit. In these instances, Neil cannot help thinking Kevin's tattoo is glaringly accurate.

Kevin is nothing if not a drama queen.

"You have been doing this drill for two years," Kevin rants now, eyes full of thundery frustration as he looks down at Neil. "You should have long perfected it, even without the addition of your captaincy, and soon I will not be here to pick up your slack. I do not understand how you expect to–"

The thing about Kevin's ranting now is that it's annoying as shit, but the angrier Neil is at Kevin these days the more he wants him. Neil doesn't—will never—find Kevin's scoldings endearing or amusing or anything of the sort, too short of temper as he is, but he has always found a pull in response to Kevin's fire because of how terribly it matches his own.

The thing about Kevin's ranting now is that Neil can still fantasise about punching him while kissing him instead.

Kevin makes a noise against Neil's mouth, indignant and pissed off and wanting, and the fire in Neil's veins stokes higher, burns hotter. He curls a hand around Kevin's neck and draws him down, down, satisfied only when Kevin's arms fall to his waist and pull him up in response.

They only startle apart when a ball thwacks the floor a few inches from their feet, both breathing hard. Neil feels a savage smile curl his lips at the sight of Kevin's hooded eyes, his lips parted and silent.

Then he looks over at Andrew, who appears as bored as ever to anyone who knows him less, but to Neil is amused and annoyed and interested all at once, if only for how his gaze bores into them. He raises an eyebrow at Neil, and Neil is shrugging before he has even consciously decoded the expression, agreeing yes, alright, I'm stealing your moves now.

"Thanks for the show," Andrew says, dryly, and Kevin makes another wordless noise somewhere between dismissive and craving. "Are you done yet?"

To give credit where credit is due, in the past few months of embedding himself more deeply in them than ever before, Kevin had found the remainder of his spine and has been learning to recover himself remarkably quickly. He presses his palm to the dip of Neil's spine and meets Andrew's eyes to return, "Eager to get back to the dorms?"

Andrew flicks his gaze over to Neil, and Neil obliges; Andrew is not quite close enough, but Neil is more than happy to kiss Kevin quiet again.

send me a number + ship

[rollercoasterwords]

ohhh i’ve been waiting for this one 🤭 r/s number 20 pls 🤭🫶

20. you’re in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him that you love him.

(i am so sorry in advance for this one lol)

"they asked me to be the godfather," sirius says, and remus grips the steering wheel like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to strangle.

"oh."

it all makes much more sense now. the whiskey. the cigarette ash on his breath. the bruise staining his neck. the undone buttons of his shirt.

just once--just once--remus wishes james knew when to keep his mouth shut. doesn't understand how he could spend half his life with the brightest star in the sky and still not see how it shines. this is the wedding all over again, sirius drinking himself half to death over a stupid speech and still scraping himself out of the gutter to be james' best man.

always james' best man.

sometimes, remus honestly doesn't know which one of them he hates more.

"gonna be sick," sirius mumbles, face all smashed against the window, "rem--gonna--"

"okay, okay, hang on--"

the road's empty, but remus pulls all the way over anyway, leaves the engine running and the headlights on while he jumps out, circles the front, gets the door open just in time for vomit to splatter onto the dirt. it flecks his shoes, the cuffs of his jeans. remus sighs. remus tucks the hair away from sirius' face, and hates himself for the horrible way his heart twists at every point of contact between his fingertips and the other boy's skin. he keeps telling himself that one day it won't matter. he keeps telling himself that one day he'll feel less.

he wonders how many years sirius has been telling himself the exact same thing.

"fuck," sirius groans, and remus asks where are you going and sirius says need t'lie down and remus says wait, just--wait and he's got an arm around sirius' waist, he's guiding him away from the vomit, he is keeping at least one of them un-stained. sirius is stumbling back, trying to heave himself into the bed of the truck. remus helps. remus follows him. he always does.

there's still an old blanket, crumpled in the corner. sirius doesn't seem to notice when remus lays it out, but he does it anyway, guiding the other boy onto something more forgiving than cold metal. they lie side by side, staring at stars. from this angle, remus can't see the bruise on sirius' neck. he can almost pretend it's not there, or at least that he doesn't know how he got it. sirius will bury himself in the body of anyone willing to be his grave, and they all know that, even james.

james just hasn't managed to figure out that he's the shovel.

"no moon tonight," sirius mumbles. remus touches him again, moves a lock of hair from his eyes.

"no."

he lets his fingertips linger, just a second. in the morning, sirius won't remember this anyway.

"got you, though," sirius says, and it comes out half-sigh, "moony. always got you."

"yeah," remus whispers, "you've always got me."

sirius turns to look at him, and even with eyes all liquor-glazed and blinking it's the sort of look that pins him, a butterfly to a board.

"did you ever love someone, remus?" sirius asks.

you idiot, remus doesn't say, you beautiful, impossible idiot.

maybe one day, he'll crash the truck, just so they can both feel the same thing at the same time.

from this prompt list!

[team-118]

58 for the prompt game? -💙

hiiii @igarbagecannoteven ily

58. You don't have to say anything.

935 words • pre-relationship, buddie • s3e12 missing scene

Eddie is about to ring the doorbell when his phone buzzes.

Buck (118): doors open for you! let urself in when u get here :)

Buck (118): BUT DONT LEAVE THE KITCHEN

Buck (118): EDDIE IM SERIOUS WIAT AT THE RABLE TPPLSPLSPSLSPLSPLS

He laughs as he twists the door open, walking into Buck's loft. "Do I need to close my eyes, too?" Eddie teases.

There's a pause while Buck deliberates. "I mean..."

"Buck, Jesus -"

"Okay! Just wait two seconds," Buck huffs from the living room.

Eddie makes himself at home on one of Buck's barstools, fiddling with his keys. Buck's loft is becoming more and more familiar to him. He sees its vaulting windows and Buck's pristine tabletops as often as Pepa's, maybe even his own, at this point. The box of pizza he, Buck, and Chris had demolished just two nights ago rests against the recycling can. If he walked over to the fridge, he's sure he'd find the half-empty bottle of Pepsi Chris had left behind, because Buck has a weird superiority complex about Cola.

Eddie's about to risk Buck's wrath by knocking on the wall next to the living room when Buck emerges, covered in sweat and grime, red in the face from exertion.

"Hey, thanks for coming!" Buck greets him brightly, oblivious to his own appearance. With his sunny smile and sparkling eyes, any anxiety Eddie might've felt about Buck's secrecy today washes away. Eddie can't help but smile back.

"Of course. Wait, don't -" he gestures, but Buck's already wiping tire grease off his palms and onto his jeans.

"Whoops," Buck grins.

"You're actually twelve," Eddie tells him.

"What's that make you, old man?" Buck retorts, and before Eddie can tell him how little sense that makes, Buck's grabbing his hand and dragging him to the living room.

Buck crosses his arms in front of the doorway, blocking the view with his wide, wide shoulders. Eddie really resents the two inches Buck has on him, in moments like these.

"Okay, before you see it, you need to know I wanted to do this," Buck starts.

"Uh, okay," Eddie says, trying to peek. Buck blocks him easily.

"And I don't expect anything, okay? You don't even have to, like..." Buck trails off, choosing his words carefully. "Follow through. Totally up to you, yeah? But I promise it's safe. I'd swear it on my life."

"I trust you," Eddie reassures, automatic. As he says it, he realizes he really does mean it. He would be confused or even worried if it was anyone else, but with Buck, he's just...not.

Buck exhales. "Yeah, okay. Alright." He sidesteps, finally letting Eddie into his living room.

Inside, Buck's entire toolbox is in shambles across the hardwood. Rags covered in black grease are pushed into the corners, clearing a path to the centre of the room. Buck's laptop is open on a side table, whirring with the hundreds of tabs it has open. The light filters through the windows and lands on...something. A contraption in the middle of the room, tall and metal like some kind of barebones Eiffel tower. There are handholds on the sides and a net of ropes at the base.

Buck steps gingerly around it, so Eddie follows.

"What exactly...am I looking at here?" Eddie can feel his eyebrows twisting in confusion.

"Oh, I forgot," Buck says, grinning wickedly like he definitely didn't, "the secret ingredient." He reaches behind the mess of the toolbox and pulls out a skateboard. It's bright red and decked out in colourful stickers. On the top, Buck has pasted the letters "CHRISTOPHER DIAZ". 

Eddie's speechless.

"I just didn't want him to miss out," Buck says, rushed. "You know, when I was little, I taught myself how to skateboard without my parents around. Banged myself up good. I don't want Chris to think he has to do it on his own, or that he can't do it, because he can, and-" he trips on his breath, stumbling. Eddie still can't make his stupid mouth move, and he can tell it's stressing Buck out.

"You don't have to say anything," Buck tells him, nervous.

"I don't - know what to say," Eddie breathes around a laugh. "Buck, you - I can't believe you did this for him. No one's ever - how much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, man, come on," Buck brushes him off. "You owe me nothing. I told you, I wanted to do this."

"Yeah, but," Eddie exhales. "Nobody's ever really...wanted to."

"Well," Buck says, tone intentionally light. "I did."

"Buck."

"No, I'm serious, Eddie. He's a good kid. I wanted - just let me do this for him, please."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Buck, I can't thank you enough," Eddie stresses.

Buck gives him a small smile. "You don't have to thank me. Just let me be there when you show it to him?"

"Of course."

They stand in silence for a while, Eddie watching the sun light up the accessible skateboard like some kind of treasure chest in a video game. He can feel Buck's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn to meet his gaze. He just lets Buck look while he sinks into this feeling. Eddie can't quite believe it, but maybe he and Chris could have this. Maybe.

He clears his throat. "Let me help you clean up your living room, at least."

Buck laughs easily. "Yeah, okay."

It takes until sunset to scrub the grease off the hardwood, and maybe they're not as efficient together as they could be, but Eddie doesn't mind. He could do this for something like a lifetime.

[the-penguinspy]

19. “You deserve so much better.” mary x shannon

thanks for the prompt, em :)

--

The late afternoon sunlight casts a muted, golden hue on the courtyard, light shining through in lazy bursts at the behest of the clouds fast-moving eastward. A gentle breeze ruffles the grass and provides a welcome respite against the heat, no doubt refreshing for those sister warriors at the tail-end of the day’s training sessions, especially evident to those who close their eyes and tilt their heads toward the heading of the wind.

All-in-all, a serene end to the day. Mary is certain that she’d be enjoying it a lot more if she wasn’t currently following Shannon to the outdoor sparring mats.

They reach the mats and Shannon starts stretching immediately. Mary stares for a second before she starts her own warm-ups. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

“Your shotguns do an excellent job at keeping enemies at bay, but what happens when you run out of ammo? What happens if someone gets inside of your guard?” Shannon stands and brings her legs together, bends at the waist until her palms touch the floor. Mary simply continues with her arm stretches. Show off. 

“That’s why I have two shotguns, instead of just one.” 

Shannon frowns, straightening her body once more. “I’m serious. I know you can take care of yourself, but I still worry about you.” She takes Mary’s hand and squeezes gently, and when she speaks, her voice is soft. “Humour me this once. We can see how it goes.”

Mary squeezes her hand back and sighs. “Fine, but only if your next prank is played on Lil. It’s her fault that I still double-check the sugar and salt shakers each time I use them.”

//

A dozen instances of eating mat and Mary finally, finally performs the disarming maneuver successfully. Shannon grins proudly, canines sharp, and Mary looks at her mouth just in time to catch a tongue darting quick over teeth. She resets her body into the starting position once more, and Mary rolls her shoulders before mirroring her stance. 

“Again.”

//

By the time Shannon calls for a stop, the sun had already reached the horizon and painted the sky into a beautiful red-orange. Mary flops down on her back to better appreciate the view, heartbeat hummingbird-quick, her breathing still ragged from the impromptu training session.

She hears Shannon shuffle down beside her, looks over to see legs stretched parallel to her own. Shannon leans back on her hands, nary a hair out of place and with only the slightest sheen of sweat on her forehead to give evidence of physical exertion.

They stay that way until Mary’s stomach growls. “Any idea what they’re serving for supper?”

“Mashed potatoes and roasted veggies, if my sources are correct.”

Mary closes her eyes and groans. “Ugh, mashed potatoes again? After that workout you put me through? I deserve so much better.”

“You deserve so much better,” Shannon agrees.

Something’s off about her voice. It wavered a bit at the end, and Mary looks over to assess if there’s anything wrong. Shannon keeps her gaze trained in front of them, squinting at the sunset, her mouth set in a neutral line. Her face is a careful mix of nonchalance and solemnity, and she would have succeeded in her portrayal of such if her lip hadn’t wobbled when Mary looked over, if her teeth hadn’t bitten down on the inside of her bottom lip to tamp down a smile. For an enthusiastic practical joker, Shannon’s got a surprisingly bad poker face.

Mary narrows her eyes and scrambles to sit up. “Shan.” A responding hum. “I know that look. What do you have planned?”

Shannon turns to face her and, now caught, releases the abused lip to offer her happiness freely. “You deserve so much better,” she repeats. “You deserve someone who you can kiss in public, someone you can love in the open.” Her smile wavers slightly. “You deserve someone who can stay.”

“Shannon.” The name rasps out of Mary’s mouth, and she brings a hand up to cradle Shannon’s cheek. “It’s my choice to be here, to be here with you. I love you, I’m staying, and there’s nothing that you, or anyone, or the goddamn universe can do that’ll make me leave.” 

“Language,” Shannon says, but her smile settles, is no longer turbulent, and she turns her face into Mary’s palm to hide it. The heat of her cheek spreads evenly through Mary’s palm, and the small kiss that Shannon places there electrifies her skin. Tiny bolts of lightning travel up her arm and through her veins, thousands strong; restarts her heart and awakens her body, and Mary blinks fast in an effort to stabilize her focus.

“You also deserve,” Shannon continues, “a reward.” The words come out muffled against Mary’s hand, vibrations smoothing out over the skin, and Mary leans in to hear her better. “Seafood paella. That place by the beach, the one with the perfect shrimp-to-clam ratio? I’ve made a reservation.”

Mary laughs, touched, and her affection spills out in the form of a thumb stroking reverent over Shannon’s cheek. “And what exactly am I being rewarded for?”

Shannon’s smile turns sharp. “Finishing a session of hand-to-hand combat training. I think they call that positive reinforcement or something.”

The eye-roll from Mary is inevitable. “They don’t take reservations. It’s barely busy at this hour, too.” “Is it so wrong to want everything to go smoothly?” 

Mary smirks. “Everything, huh? There’s more to this little date of ours?” Shannon flushes, cheeks turning rosy. She keeps her gaze locked with Mary’s and brings her own hand up, fingers circling Mary’s wrist. Her thumb brushes over Mary’s pulse – a quick one-two pass – and Mary watches as the thumb is replaced with lips, as Shannon presses a slow kiss over thin blue veins, pressure feather-light, imprint barely-there. 

The expression on her face must be amusing at the very least, because Shannon’s mouth curves upwards and chuckles, and the breath that Mary had been holding in finally finds its way out. Her lungs snatch greedily at the air, and she’s certain that her unsteady breathing isn’t due to the lingering exertion from their earlier spar. 

“Are you coming, or what?”

Shannon’s already on her feet. She stands in front of Mary, extends a hand down and wiggles her fingers to entice a handhold. The sun from behind her casts her shadow long and dark over Mary, over the courtyard. In the shadow of her face, her smile is a gentle arc; small and shy, directed towards one recipient, and one recipient only. 

Mary takes her hand and hoists herself up from the ground. “Obviously. Can’t let that hard-fought reservation go to waste.”

Shannon shoves at her shoulder playfully, but their hands stay linked all the way to Mary’s parked motorcycle.

[fingertipsmp3]

Friendship ended with google sheets, now filofax is my best friend

[portokali]

playlist: captures the essence of bad reputation by joan jett

woohoo that's a great one, hope i did it justice!

(bad reputation - joan jett) rebel girl - bikini kill drunk walk home - mitski うっせぇわ (usseewa) - ado teach me to fight - yonaka fight club - the anxiety ladylike / WHATTA BITCH - the regrettes lash out - alice merton paradisin' - rina sawayama vortex - nova twins stfu - rico nasty cherry bomb - the runaways

listen here!

send me a concept for a playlist!

[nyoomerr]

"i'll write some drabbles" i said, "it'll be fun" i said, "i can write short little responses to all the prompts" i said

in unsurprising news, i don't actually know moderation. the first one i manage to finish and it's over 4k words long HAHA

anyway uhhh i'll do my best to get to all the drabble prompts but if they all end up like this one is going i dont think i'll be able to orz

[caswellseyes]

“you said you wanted to talk?" “yeah…it can wait, though. enjoy your date.”

For more of my Boggie brain rot

i'm always happy to help further the boggie brain rot, thanks so much for sending this in! it got a bit long so i've posted it over on ao3, the link to the full fic will be in the reblogs!

the one who's waiting at home

Bobby is getting really tired of this.

It just keeps happening, is the issue. It keeps happening, and Reggie keeps trying, and Bobby is always left to pick up the pieces when it goes wrong. 

Because every single time Reggie goes on a date with someone, he gets attached. And every single time, whoever it is that he’s seeing ends up not appreciating the wonder that is Reggie. Every single time, it ends in heartbreak.

And every single time, Reggie blames himself.

It’s stupid, really. Reggie is quick to love, and honestly, it’s one of Bobby’s favourite parts of him. His roommate has a big heart and doesn’t hesitate to let people in, which, especially considering the difficult life he’s had, is really admirable. Bobby himself could never be this open with his affection. There’s a reason Reggie is the one scoring dates left and right while Bobby doesn’t even remember the last date he’s been on. Which is fine – based on the way dating is going for Reggie, he’s not exactly eager to ‘get out there’ – and he’s the last to judge, he really is. If dating all these stupid people who aren’t good enough for Reggie is what makes Reggie happy, then by all means, Reggie should date more people.

It’s just that, you know, all these stupid people aren’t good enough for Reggie and inevitably end up breaking his heart.

Okay, maybe Bobby is getting a little more upset about this than he has any right to be. In his defence, he’s been crushing on Reggie since the second the other moved into the apartment and so far, he’s doing an admirable job of not letting anything on. 

There’s no point in telling Reggie, of course. Reggie loves so easily, so openly, that surely, Bobby would know by now if his feelings were returned. They don’t seem to be, and thus, Bobby keeps his mouth shut. 

What he will not keep his mouth shut about for any longer, though, is how much these dates are breaking Reggie’s heart. No, that he has to stop. 

[icehearts]

(from sealrock)

#6 for the sexuality prompt :)

HIII thank you @sealrock for the ask. <3

[ sexuality headcanons & prompts ]

6. what are some more situational or contextual turn-ons?

Any time someone is able to take command of a situation that's spinning wildly out of control, it's a turn-on. Handling an unruly crowd, calming a flock of chocobos that've been spooked, or even smooth-talking their way out of a potentially violent confrontation. Remember that one Radz-at-Han scene with G'raha Tia when shit is hitting the fan? That sort of thing. It's the confidence and capability in the face of danger that really lights her fire.

[astrumocs]

SLAMS IN LOST FOR SEIFER THANKS

Prompt 45 / Lost - Seifer Sanaca:

Major Characters: Otavah Minera (The Reshaper) and Seifer Sanaca Minor Character: Leiere Kedrie (NPC)

Setting: The Exchanges Fleet Vessel; Very distant past

—– Google Docs Link —–

“Up for a spar, General?” Spoke up the voice of Seifer, as he absently rotated his wrist, causing the blue metal of his dagger to gleam under the artificial lights-- unlike his short sword, which rested still in his other hand.

Two members of The Exchange's crew had just finished with a little sparring match of their own, ceasing the fight only when General Minera finally called it a draw. The combatants had shaken hands with sweaty palms and through labored breaths, but they both seemed content with the fact that neither of them had taken a loss in their friendly battle.

The General liked to watch their crew duke it out, stating that it was 'not only good for morale but made for excellent entertainment as well'. No one could really disagree with that sentiment either, it was a solid point. A lot of the crew would often stop in to watch a match going down, it really was a strong point of camaraderie on the ship.

Rising up from their lounging position off to the side of the ring, Otavah smiles cheekily at their lieutenant. “Think you can handle me at my best, Seifer?”

He lets out a puff of air from his nose in amusement, “I won’t start flying if you don’t.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Celeste, but I’ll try and hold off for your sake.”

The General has always been a bit of a tease, and it rarely mattered who he was talking to, Seifer was certainly no exception anyway. No one would expect Otavah to pass on the use of his wings, the man never put them away, and they were essential to the style of fighting he’d cultivated over the sweeps.

That being said, it wouldn’t kill him not to fly 15 feet up in the air, where the only one who could fight properly was him. Even he could admit things might get boring in that case, no matter how much the General loved playing a little dirty.

As the two men step up to take their opposing spots in the ring, their eyes meet. Seifer shakes his head slightly to knock his poof of a ponytail over his shoulder to rest against his back, then brings both of his weapons up in a readied stance.

Meanwhile, Otavah puts out both of his arms straight in front of him, rotating them in a swift motion so they cross over each other, hands now gripping an apparated pole blade and untwisting with a flourish to be in a more battle-ready position. It was hard to deny that despite how extra he was in everything he did, it was rather impressive to watch.

Seifer's mind wasn’t particularly focused on that aspect of things, although that didn’t stop Leiere, a member of his own squad, from cheering out, “Woohoo! Go, General! Kick his ass!” with all four of his arms fist pumping in the air for added emphasis.

Seeing the pleased and smug look that came over Otavah’s face was enough to make Seifer playfully roll his eyes. “Thanks for the damn vote of confidence, Lee! The support is noted!”

In that brief moment of distraction, Otavah already starts to play. Large, shimmering wings flit in small movements to aid in his languid approach. Seifer only has a moment to react to the pole blade curving up for his jaw, his arm twitching into a reaction to parry with his dagger. The metal clashes loudly, and several of the crew members around hoot and holler at the clutch counter.

There’s a brief pause where ringed violet eyes meet bronze crescents and General Minera laughs. Though the two of them are holding against each other in a seemingly effortless display, both are exerting enough strength to keep their strifes pressed together with a slight tremble on both sides.

“Already playing dirty, Otavah? I expected better.” Seifer says through a smile.

“Did you now? Your mistake, then, Celeste.” he retorts, a matching smile set on his own features.

In their brief back and forth, Seifer had moved his other hand slowly up, only to then bring it down in a swift move to try and slice into his combatant's shoulder. Otavah doesn’t even look toward the incoming threat as his wings flutter, allowing him to shift his shoulder back and away from harm. Without pause, he follows the movement up with a rotation of his blade to the left, forcing the sword into the ground.

“Shit-” is all Seifer has time to say before he has to make an evasive maneuver of his own, bending back at the waist to try and dodge the pole as it comes back for the upswing to the right. His reaction is only a fraction too late, but it’s enough that the weapon draws a small cut into his jaw, letting neon violet drops fly into the air.

At the first draw of blood, there are wide eyes and even more cheers from the onlookers. Things continue this way for a while, easily for over twenty minutes, as the two narrowly dodge each other's well-timed movements- or they seemingly fail to account for something, and they acquire a knick from one of the various weapons at play.

Moments occur where Seifer can feel the haze of magic buzzing around certain movements, but he keeps his mouth shut and allows himself moments of pride when his skills seem to keep him level with the mild fuckery afoot. Those continued moments of added confidence eventually become Seifer’s downfall, however, as his eyes track a repeated movement that the General had been using to go for a chest hit.

Seifer moves to parry it as he had in previous times, but the blade never actually makes contact with his dagger, and he notices the change too late.

Using a dancer's step, Otavah suddenly pivots in a spin to Seifer’s left, letting his right leg slide along the floor to bring him down low where his pole blade then sweeps behind his Lieutenants legs and knocks him down onto his back with a resounding thud. As the air comes back to Seifer’s lungs, he sees the tip of his opponent's blade hovering over his chest.

Several voices let out ‘ooh’s’ of sympathy, and a couple of others suck in air through their teeth at the sound. Just as many others also offer up a round of cheers or applause for the performance that the two of them gave.

“I believe you’ve lost, my dearest lieutenant.”

“Yeah, well,” A grunt as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, “I’d say I did pretty good given the integrity of my opponent, wouldn’t you?”

Another rich chuckle escapes his superior at that. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were insulting me, Seifer.”

Otavah pulls his blade away and vanishes it off to gods only knows where before reaching out an olive branch of assistance: offering to help Seifer up. The violet reaches up to take it before it suddenly gets pulled away from reach. Another roll of Seifer's eyes, “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

The Generals eyes glitter in amusement before reextending his hand. “Only messing with you my friend, no tricks this time.”

A skeptical look levels itself at Otavah for a long moment before Seifer, once again, reaches out to take their hand, and this time he makes contact, smacking their hands together audibly as he’s pulled to his feet.

“Alright, I’m gonna go take one hell of a power nap, if you don’t mind, General.” With that comment, Seifer begins to take his leave, followed quickly by Leiere- who was about to start chatting him up, before a voice calls after them both.

“By all means, Lieutenant,” they shrug, relaxed as always, “but don’t forget that your group is scheduled for a scouting mission at o-800 sharp!”

With a soft groan, Seifer only gives a thumbs-up in reply as the duo turns the corner.