#Thank you so much for the prompt!

[jon-withnoh]

Another one for Danbea: 💘

“Danvers,” she called. “Danvers, wait!”

Finally, Rebecca’s maid turned, eyes widening with surprise when she realised who had followed her into the narrow servants’ passage. Danvers bowed her head. 

“Mrs Lacy. How can I help?”

The question stopped her short. She had not thought beyond catching up with Danvers. Though if she was being honest with herself, she had not thought at all. 

“I… I wanted to speak with you for a moment. If you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all.” 

Emboldened, Beatrice took a step towards her. Danvers was wearing her usual uniform, her hair pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. In the rush of the evening’s festivities, a few strands of hair had come loose and were now tucked behind Danvers’ ear. Beatrice had never seen anything more lovely. 

“I wanted to thank you for your help the other night,” Beatrice said. There was a slight tremor in her voice. “If I could, I would try and steal you away, but Rebecca would never forgive me.”

“Mrs Lacy…” 

“It’s alright.” Beatrice gave her a slight smile. “I won’t come between the two of you. Only…”

She glanced up and down the shadowy corridor. They were alone. Beatrice raised her hand to Danvers’ face, cupping it gently around her jaw. Even in the low light, she could see Danvers’ face flush. She leaned in slowly, carefully, bracing herself for the moment Danvers would push her away. The moment did not come. 

Beatrice kissed her, gasping when Danvers’ hand came to her waist, pulling her in. She drew out the kiss as long as she could, pressed closed to Danvers in the dark corridor, her muscles tense. If anyone were to walk in — if anyone saw… With a strangled sound of longing, Beatrice pulled back.

“I needed to do that,” she whispered. “Just this once.”

Prompt: mutual pining/dared to kiss

[astralisbelle]

Din filthy prompt!

Good old shower sex on razor crest. Trying to keep quiet as much as possible because they don’t want to wake the little green baby up.

Hush, Hush -- Din Djarin x F!Reader

warnings: explicit smut, creampie, some very light d/s tones, staying quiet, and shower sex... ofc

What a day.

The hot water beading down her head and back washes away the fatigue, soothing her muscles. She hangs her head, hands pressed against the wall of the shower just to relax herself. It takes her a while before she actually takes the bar of soap in hand, works up a lather, and rubs it onto her shoulders. The sound of metal-on-metal perks her up, alerting her to a foreign presence.

“You’re going to waste all the hot water.” The Mandalorian’s modulated, curt tone cuts through the steam and hiss of the water.

“We had a long day,” she says, rinsing her arms of the soap. “I mean, if it bothers you that much, I’d say we could share it. But you’d never.” Glancing over her shoulder, she sticks her tongue out at him.

Din stands there with his arms crossed, squaring his shoulders and trying to look unimpressed. The black of his visor hides the fact that his eyes are following the contours of her body like the beads of water. Suddenly his tongue is dry and craves to quench itself with those droplets. Today was trying as it is, wearing his patience thin. After a long pause, he tugs on the leather of his gloves, pulling on each of the fingers before sliding them off. As soon as they hit the floor, he unties his cape.

Her eyes widen. “D-Din?”

“Turn around. Don’t look back.” It embarrasses her how easily she follows his commands. Though, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? She faces the wall and listens to the pieces of beskar hit the floor, to his belt clanking against metal. Stars, Din always took forever to undress, leaving her to sit in her lust, recalling lewd memories of where his hands had been, where his lips had left marks.

Bend over. Touch me. Kiss me. Cum for me.

Those were all demands he growled in her ear before — she fulfilled every last one.

The soft patter of his footsteps approaching makes her chest feel tight, like the steam was making it harder to breathe. A shadow against the wall of his figure grows bigger and bigger until the overhead light fails to shine upon her. When Din wraps his arms around her, her body awakens, recognizing the skillful hands that brought her so much pleasure before. He rests his chin on her shoulder, relishing in the heat from her body and hot shower.

His hands swipe the soap from hers, pushing her hair over shoulder. After creating suds in his palm, he massages it onto her back. She sighs in satisfaction, leaning into the touch and willing herself to not look back. Her eyes flutter closed and she drifts away. Then, his hands slide over her hips and onto her stomach. Soap makes her skin slippery as he tickles around her navel, making her giggle.

She opens her eyes to watch his hands — his bare hands that she almost never gets to see. Streams of water trickle down the valleys made from veins and knuckles. Hard, calloused pads massage her skin as a firm, defined chest rests against her back. Din’s stubbled chin rests on her neck and shoulder. She licks her bottom lip as his hands inch further up. He breathes out, wide palms capturing the flesh of her breasts. That slippery feeling makes them ultra smooth, all the more fun to knead and squish. “Mmm…” A low, satisfactory hum comes from her lower throat as he kisses her shoulder and pinches her peaks.

On instinct, she inches apart her feet and presses her ass right against his half-hard cock. A shower isn’t a fantastic place for this, but neither of them care.

Din pushes her forward until her chest squishes against the wall, boxing her in with his body alone. He grinds his hips, getting himself hard enough until he can rub his tip against her slit. She lets out a louder moan that prompts him to clamp a hand over her mouth.

“Shh.” Wouldn’t want to wake the kid… Oh, but his darling does so love it when he’s a little mean. “Keep quiet or I stop.”

Fuck, she could listen to him give her commands all day. A quiet whimper of affirmation is all he needs. While the roar of the water covers up his softer, repressed groans, he angles himself against her entrance. Slowly, he pushes in, her thighs quaking as she moans against his palm. He draws back before he fills her up again, her fingers curling against the wall. Din has to control himself too, clenching each of his muscles and teeth to not let a single loud sound escape the bathroom, no matter how fucking delicious her tight walls hug his dick.

Din hides a groan against her skin, uttering a quick swear. The hand clamped over her mouth tightens, his fingers digging into her cheek. He can tell that she wants to moan so badly, to say his name in sinful prayer over and over, but she does everything in her power to stop it. She bites her lip, she claws her fingers, she squeezes around him.

“You’re doing so — ah — well,” he whispers. “So good…”

His hip bones meet her rear in wet slaps as he drives harder, chasing the rise of his pleasure. She is writhing, her whines and whimpers getting desperate behind his hand. “Shh, shh,” he whispers in her ear, slowing himself to tease her. “Stay. Quiet.” She groans in response. Din gives her a hard thrust. “Just like that… yes, just like that.”

Din kisses her shoulder and sucks the droplets off her skin, just like he wanted to. “Be a good girl and cum.” Her body shudders at his words, clenching and flushing hot. “Cum.” She mewls against his palm as her thighs quake, her walls tightening around him as her climax unravels. Din has to use himself entirely to keep her from falling, holding her against him as he delivers his final few thrusts.

With a groan buried deep in her shoulder, he drives his cock deep, pumping hot streams of seed that mix with her essence. Her eyes roll up as he stuffs her full, white streams trickling down her inner thighs.

He lets go of her mouth and lets her breathe, her hands resting on his. After a few heavy breaths, she shivers, but not because of their activity. Goosebumps run up and down her skin as she awakens to the fact that the water has cooled down and inches towards cold.

Din sighs loudly. “Told you you would waste it.”

She snorts. “Shut up, Din.”

[the-nerdiest-insanity]

Okay so I'm not saying you have to write this but I wanted to share this little plot bunny in my brain with the first fic writer who showed up in the tags.

(this is not a request I just really really want to talk about this)

Okay so we all agree that the reason 'we literally have the rest of eternity to figure out what the rest of it means' is cause Charles never finished reading the myth, right?

So imagine if Edwin is killed of for realsies, and instead of just out right stating that the reader instead gets to find it out through the means of Charles reading the myth- you know, finishing it.

(the angst potential is twsiting me insides)

I started this at midnight for me, and this wormed it's way into my brain and won't leave. The ask gives away the twist, but I hope I've written this well enough that it doesn't matter

The Song Was Written Long Ago

Title from Road to Hell (reprise), Hadestown

Charles landed on the floor with the dull thumping feeling he has associated with living as a ghost on Earth. Niko and the Night Nurse are staring at him with shocked expressions.

"Charles--" Niko tried to start before he abruptly cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Don't Niko, just don't," he mumbled. Charles sniffled and slammed his fist into the ground. Slowly, he sat up onto his knees.

"Hey, I heard a loud noise," Crystal said as she entered. She took in the somber faces around her. "Did something happen? Where's--"

"Don't," Charles spat out, sharper this time. "Don't fucking say it."

"Charles?" Crystal asked as she took a hesitant step forward.

Charles stood up and plowed his way across the room, uncaring about the voices asking about him or the hands trying to stop him. He leapt into the first mirror he could reach. "Take me home," was his only thought.

Charles landed harshly into thei-- the office. His legs carried him automatically to the bookshelf. It had been so meticulously organized before this whole damned trip. Now, everything was a cluttered mess after searching for the book to save Niko.

A painful voice echoed in his head, "It wouldn't be so messy if you'd just follow my system." Charles bit his lip, attempting to rein in his emotions.

This is like one of those Orpheus and Eurydice moments, yeah?

Charles knew there were many different versions of the story he was searching for, but focused on finding the one he had started all those years ago.

Finally, he pulled out Metamorphoses. He flipped to Book X, finding the line he last read. He had stopped when the pair began to leave the Underworld. He had figured either they made it out and lived a happy life or something terrible happened. And, Charles was fine never knowing what the answer was. Until now.

He read about Orpheus's confidence in getting the pair out. He read out Orpheus's doubt. He read about Orpheus turning around too soon.

Charles slammed the book shut. He didn't need to read about how Orpheus died because he was already dead.

Charles slid slowly down to the ground, crying into the book. He could hear a voice in his head scolding him for not taking care of property. It made Charles hiccup as he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Edwin. I shouldn't have looked back. I should've lead up out before I talked to you. I'm so sorry. We were supposed to have the rest of eternity. Edwin, please."

The rest of eternity was a very short time, indeed.

Was I listening to the Hadestown soundtrack while listening to this? How could you tell? For real, I hope you all liked this and I made the annon proud.

[argentrenard]

cash - for the single-word fic prompt!

It shouldn't have had to come to this point. He shouldn't be in this position.

Argent Renard was Bertrand Blandevornne this evening (of the Burgandy Blandevornnes) and he was losing every high-stakes Triple Triad game he had played. Bertrand was a noble persona he had created, a man who owned a moderate fortune, wore hand-me-down everything from an ancient house that had lost its prestige over the years, and lived in a dilapidated mansion in Ishgard. A recently created false identity, he had not used him yet in any high-profile cons, thus he was in the early stages of building the alias' history. Eventually, once he reached Bertrand's peak reputation, he most likely would pursue a large score and then be forced to burn the boarish bastard and retire his reputation up on the shelf where all his created characters went. For now Bertrand needed to appear as a somewhat bumbling noble with more money than sense.

The difficult part he had to deal with now was tonight showcased him as a bit more bumbling than intended, and he was further coming across as having a lot less sense than the norm. He'd brought a sizeable sum to the tables at the Saucer tonight, at least 4 million gil, his winnings from a recent lucrative operation. Yet, he had only about 200,000 left. His reserves should never have gotten this low, he should have stepped away as soon as he'd lost half, but he had been feeling particularly reckless this evening. It was one of those sunsets that had spurred him to risk it all. He was sure (positive, in his gut) that something special was going to happen tonight.

So he'd kept going. He'd lost, then lost again. He nursed the remains of his now watered-down whiskey, adjusting the red ascot at his neck, and looked at his cards. Sitting in his stolen and shabby Ishgardian tailored coat and vest, at least he also looked the part of a noble who had fallen on hard times. It was just a shame that the hard times were actually accurate and not at all a scam. If word spread he had been spotted losing vast quantities of money at the Saucer, that could help him appear as bait to someone he might want to entice, but actually losing all his gil wasn't usually part of the plan.

So he mused, chewed his lip, and thought about the others at the table while he waited for the hand to play out. He'd lost what, ten times now or so? The dealer was certainly flirting with him, but she wasn't giving him any advantage. The Ul'duh merchant on his left and the Limsa captain on his right all had won at least a few rounds. They kept giving him sidelong glances of pitty. That was good for 'Bertrand's' image, but it still rankled a little bit.

He must have really pissed off the Weaver this time. He grunted. At least he was used to pissing off Gods and Goddesses.

The captain, a Roegadyn woman, leaned towards him from his right, "No shame comes from heading back home when the seas look rough, friend. Your hull has taken… quite a beating!" She guffawed and gave him a glance that suggested even though she thought he was cute, he had no chance with her.

'Bertrand' laughed, a little sheepishly, as if embarrassed. Argent did not have to strain his acting skills to accomplish this, what with how his luck had actually suffered thus far.

Two hundred thousand left. It would make sense for Bertrand to step away from the table, maybe go find a date to go home with. He'd hoped to pick up the dealer, but while she was nothing but smiles and twinkling eyes for him, she gave that look to all three of her patrons this evening. He had a feeling she was as skilled as he in flattering those she talked to.

The merchant, a Lalafell gentleman with a meticulously maintained goatee, offered some advice without even looking up from his own cards, "Were I you, I would lick my wounds so I could come back for more another time. The house has practically swindled you, my friend," and he too chuckled, placing the back of his hand over his mouth as if this made laughter at Argent's expense more polite.

Why did everyone call you a 'friend' when they sought to insult you?

The noble he was tonight, however, just grinned with them, as if completely unaware he was being mocked and assumed he was in on the joke.

"Well, perhaps… perhaps you're both right but… well it's just gil, to me. I have more than I know what to do with, as my family always said!" He laughed loudly with them, an obnoxious and somewhat buffoonish laugh. Then he went on longer with the laughter, eventually making them uncomfortable so they both quieted and returned to their cards.

"Are you going to stay with me then, and keep me company a little longer, Ser Blandevornne?" the young hyur behind the counter asked him, almost batting her eyelashes.

Argent pursed his lips, and then pushed his chips across the counter. All of them. He made it look like she had won him over with her charm. In reality, he was positive this hand would be the turnaround win he needed. He still had that feeling. A tingling that something magical was about to happen. He'd be going home with a huge win, he could just feel it.

"All in!? My my, Ser, aren't you bold and brave," she sweetly said. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. Instead, he hung his head as if he was blushing.

The cards flipped. Argent stared. It looked like this might be it. First, the merchant lost and clucked his tongue. He'd only bet a small amount this round. Then the captain lost, and she plopped her drink down with a curse. Her wager had been a bit more sizeable this time around.

Then the the final round hit and Argent was practically on the edge of his seat as…

The card flipped over and his fortune was told.

Silence met the table for the span of a few clinks in his glass as the last of the ice settled into the dregs of whiskey.

After a beat, Argent muttered, "I'll… cash out now."

The dealer, chipper no matter the circumstance, brightly said, "Very well, Ser Blandevornne! Here you go, your cash out!"

She slid one chip across the table to him. He looked at it, then looked back to her.

"Keep it," he sighed, and tossed the last chip back to her, along with a wink. He then swept up his glass (which was now mostly whiskey-flavored melted ice), and walked away from the game table.

It wasn't a good night for him, but then again, it wasn't a bad night either. He had experienced much worse, and this evening had only left him broke with no one on his arm. He glanced about at all the patrons, from those clanking around in full armor to those wearing the tiniest of bikinis, and everything in between. Perhaps he could salvage some of the night, at least.

It was only cash, after all, and he should have known it would end up this way. The House wins. The House always wins.

[dolores-hazy]

I spent the day waiting for a text back. He responded 26 hours later. Said work was crazy but he's been online on instagram every hour today (I checked because I missed him) In these 26 hours I convinced myself it's over and I won't date for a few months once he has the guts to be honest about cutting ties :) I don't know. He met my parents and they love him. But I don't know if I do. How do you make a poem out of this mess?

Markedly out of touch

Enmeshed meddling parents

Bestowing their blessing

Mind and heart undisciplined

Messy without further reflection

Do I want what I think I want

Because it's expected I should?

Or is my desire there too

Somewhere beneath the rubble?

Bubble up to the surface, truth

Guide me intently through tension

Fit to be tied, tired of fumbling

Feeling like a bumbleheaded fool

Perhaps I'm waiting for permission

But there's freedom in stumbling

Without always seeking forgiveness

[desertfangs]

Lestat/Daniel

"I had a dream last night, Daniel, and you just so happened to be in it," Lestat said.

This went to a predictably naughty place. I'm thinking about continuing this but I'd need to do so on AO3 with an explicit tag. If that's something anyone would like to see, let me know. Otherwise, I'm sure your imaginations are as good as Daniel's. ;)

“I had a dream last night, Daniel, and you just so happened to be in it,” Lestat said. 

Daniel opened one eye. Lestat was kneeling on the bed beside him in the place where Armand usually slept. He wore jeans and a t-shirt and his blond hair was flying loose around his tanned face. His blue-gray eyes looked down at him in a penetrating, intense way that made Daniel flush. He closed his eye and pressed his face deeper into the pillow. 

“Oh yeah, and what were we doing in this dream of yours?” 

Lestat grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Daniel shifted onto his back and glared up at him. “You’re the one who woke me up to give me this breaking news.” 

Daniel was held under by the sun longer than most of the others, with the exception of Louis, and he’d awoken to an empty bed, promptly drifting back into a mortal sleep when he did. Sometimes he liked to sleep an extra hour, particularly in Armand’s bed. He always bought the softest sheets. 

He sat up, the sheet falling from his chest, realizing as he did that he wasn’t wearing anything at all. Some nights he put on pajamas but last night he and Armand had… opted not to. He ran his fingers nervously through his ashen hair. 

Lestat gave an appreciative look to his bare chest. “I don’t know if I should say. It was quite… risqué.” 

Daniel rolled his eyes. Lestat was perched on the bed and Daniel was naked under a sheet. He could handle whatever Lestat dreamt about. “Try me.” 

Lestat’s eyebrows flew up. He leaned close so that Daniel could feel his breath on his neck and smell the spiciness of his cologne. “Is that an invitation?” 

Daniel swallowed, heat rising in his neck and cheeks. He hadn’t fed yet so there wasn’t much blood in him but even still the thought of Lestat’s fangs in his neck made him want to grab Lestat and wrestle him down against the mattress. Instead, Daniel pushed him back out of his personal bubble. 

“Just tell me.” 

Lestat beamed. “Well, were driving across the country. Your maker was there insisting we find a different car and then the tire blew out. So you had to fix it. You were the only one who knew how.” 

Daniel stared him. “Fascinating. You know Armand can change a tire. Can’t you?” 

Lestat waved a hand, signaling that it was unimportant. “The tire couldn’t be fixed so we found an abandoned farmhouse to stay at during the day. You insisted we needed to clean up, so you pulled me into the shower with you.” Lestat trailed a finger down Daniel’s chin, light and gentle, leaving a trail across his face. “The things I did to you against the tile.” 

Heat shot through Daniel and his mouth went dry. Lestat wasn’t even giving details but he could picture it well enough: his hands soaping up Lestat’s taught, tan body, Lestat pushing him against the cool tile as the water ran over them, Lestat’s lips on his throat. He thought of the oversized shower in the bathroom only feet away and all the things they could do in there. 

Lestat leaned back and then climbed off the bed, backing up as if he was going to head for the door. “Well, I just thought you should know.” 

Daniel threw a pillow at him. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Quite a thing to say when I just shared something so personal.” Lestat caught the pillow and set it neatly on the bed, which was more aggravating than just throwing it back. 

Daniel rolled his eyes again. Lestat headed for the door. “Where are you going? Aren’t Armand and Louis out at the opera?” That had been their plan, anyhow, which was why Daniel had opted to stay in bed for a bit. 

“As you may recall, I am the esteemed leader of our kind and I have business to attend to,” Lestat said, squaring his shoulders and looking down his nose at Daniel in the haughtiest manner he could manage. It might have been more chiding if it wasn’t so damn sexy. 

“Really, what business?” Daniel asked, scratching at his chin where his stubble used to grow. 

Lestat glared harder, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m sure there’s business. I just need to get back into my email. And call Marius.” 

Daniel snorted. Armand had taught Lestat how to keep his internet accounts secure by using obscenely long passwords. He’d done the same for Daniel when he’d moved back into Trinity Gate, making him change everything so a long string of nonsense. But Lestat had missed the lesson on how to use the password keeper, and thus was always getting locked out of his email. 

Daniel picked up his phone from the nightstand. “Tell you what. I’ll call Marius right now and tell him you’re taking the night off.”

Lestat’s face dropped. “You wouldn’t.” 

The truth was, Lestat had been blowing off work and ignoring Marius’ calls for the past three nights. Daniel knew because Marius kept calling and texting him instead, demanding he put Lestat on the phone. Lestat managed to mysteriously disappear whenever that happened.  

“Hey, I’m just trying to help out a friend.” Daniel smiled. “You’ve been working too hard. I should let him know you need a night to yourself.” 

Lestat pounced. Daniel didn’t expect it, but he should have. Living with Armand should have taught him better.

Lestat was on top of him in seconds, reaching for the phone. Daniel tried to keep it out of his reach but Lestat was fast and strong and soon he was straddling Daniel and pinning him to the mattress, the weight him hard and heavy. His fingers closed around Daniel’s and the phone and he plucked it out of his grasp. He held it aloft victoriously, laughing. 

Lestat shook with laughter on top of him and Daniel became keenly aware of how naked he was and how there was only a sheet between them. Lestat either heard his thoughts or realized the same thing because that winning grin of his spread across his face. He tossed Daniel’s phone behind him and it made a thunk when it landed somewhere on the carpet. 

Lestat’s fingers danced on the sheet over Daniel’s abdomen. His breath hitched. His cheeks burned. “I thought your maker bought everyone those designer pajamas from Italy.”

“Will you get off me?” Daniel demanded, trying to sound annoyed instead of desperate to have him to do the opposite. 

Lestat leaned down close to his face and stroked his cheek. Daniel sucked in a breath his dead lungs didn’t need. “I certainly could.” He bent down closer and put his lips right up to Daniel’s lips, so close he could feel them there, but stopped short of touching them to Daniel’s. A whine escaped Daniel’s lips, unbidden, and Lestat smiled, the movement brushing against him. 

Lestat’s tongue slid into his mouth, warm and tentative. Daniel kissed him back desperately, hands digging into his hair to pull him closer. Fangs nicked his tongue and electricity exploded in Daniel’s mouth, his vision going white as the little droplets of blood shot through him. When Lestat pulled back, he was panting and Daniel’s chest heaved as his dead heart pounded, veins tight with a lack of blood. 

Daniel threaded his fingers deeper in Lestat’s hair and pulled him back down, kissing him again. His tongue moved against Lestat’s with ferocious need. Lestat made a noise that was low and primal, his fingernails digging into Daniel’s shoulder until they pierced his skin. The pain jolted him, heightening the pleasure of their mouths moving together.

When they broke apart again, Lestat leaned back, a wicked gleam in his eye as he looked down at Daniel. “It just occurred to me that since we have the house to ourselves, you can make my dream come true.” 

Just occurred to him. Right.

Daniel smirked. “You want me to teach you how to change a flat tire?”

Lestat laughed. “Much as I’ve love to see you greasy and sweating with the effort, I think we can make better use of the shower, non?” 

Daniel’s pulse raced and he nodded. 

Lestat beamed. He climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Daniel hesitated for a only moment, trying to calm his excitement, before he got up and followed him in. 

[akirakirxaa]

[ HAIR ]:     while in the process of checking the receiver for injuries or other signs of harm, the sender gently brushes several strands of hair from their eyes.

Can I get a, uh... an order for some sweet sweet Akira and Haurchefant? With a side of fries.

[Prompt list here! I'm so glad people are liking AkiraxHaurch. <3 Takes place shortly after the Final Steps of Faith.]

Akira sprinted through Ishgard towards Fortemps manor, taking stairs two at a time and scrambling over rubble. Her sweet, well meaning, kind, foolish Haurchefant had been attempting to protect what little of Ishgard he could, or maybe trying to come to her assistance, and emerged during the final onslaught from Nidhogg's horde, never mind that the chirurgeons had been insistent on his being on a restricted activity regimen. If he'd been hurt again...

As she approached, she could see him at the base of the stairs to the manor, at first glance seemingly untouched apart from the soot smeared on his nice clothes (as he seemed to have not even taken the time to put on proper armor). She stormed up, the worry blossoming into anger with every step. How dare he worry her like this after what happened in the Vault?

"Are you hurt?" Akira demanded, almost sounding like an accusation, as she started looking him over, searching for any signs of blood or scratches or even bruises. "You know you're not supposed to be exerting yourself, let alone being in combat. You didn't reopen your wound did you? I swear, it's like you have no sense at all of self preservation-" She stuttered to a halt as his hand gently brushed her sweat-and-dirt caked hair out of her face, looking at her with such adoration that she seemed to have lost her words in the face of him.

"You look like the Fury Herself," he tucked the strands of hair behind one horn, his fingers just lightly brushing against it as he did so, prompting a tiny shiver from her.

"I don't think the Fury would be covered in dirt and ash," she pointed out awkwardly. He chuckled, leaning forward to give her a quick kiss on the forehead.

"So, how fairs our friend Estinien?" he asked, casually as if asking after the weather. Akira cleared her throat a little and straightened up, giving in to the lingering worry as she brushed off some of the soot from his jacket.

"He'll be okay, in time. Aymeric and Brigid escorted him to the infirmary to be treated for any wounds. Then he'll just need rest." Akira straightened the front of her armor to have something to do, eyes glancing not so subtly over Haurchefant as she continued to try to see if he was injured.

"Then it sounds like there's cause for celebration!" he gave her a winning grin, taking both her hands in his. "Let's go inside, we can have a drink and you can thoroughly inspect me for any injuries." For a moment, Akira didn't register what he said. Then she felt like her face caught on fire, and with him holding her hands she couldn't hide behind them.

"A-a drink would be n-nice," she stammered nervously. She grimaced down at her filthy hands. "And uh, maybe a bath? If that's okay?" He flashed a brilliant smile as he leaned forward and quickly stole a chaste kiss from her.

"Anything you'd like, my love," he pressed his forehead to hers, kissing her hands briefly and leading the way back into the manor. She hesitated just a moment, nerves getting the best of her for a heartbeat. Don't be silly, you just fought a dragon, she told herself firmly, and followed him inside.

[residentdormouse]

"drink me" with Glen (and other(s)) ? 😊

💖💖 Thank you so much for the Prompt! 💖💖

So, @impuretale had a headcanon about Glen and Stu fishing, and it's just kind of lived in my head since. And what's fishing without beer. So here we are. AO3 linked if its preferred reading platform.

'Fish On'

Fandom: the Stand

Characters: Glen Bateman, Stu Redman

Words: 1,275

(Original Prompt Post)

Faint ripples emerged on the water’s surface as tiny insects began to accumulate along the slowly drifting fishing line. Burnt oranges and reds reflected in the clear blue stream, and a scattered canopy of green lined the river banks allowing patches of light to coat the protruding rocks. If he had his paints, there was no doubt in Glen’s mind that this would all be captured on a canvas. Unfortunately, circumstances as they were, he could only sit back and bask in the imagery, hoping to commit as much to memory as he could.

With a palette in his mind, he partitioned off the blank space. Colorful blends of warm hues in the sky would come first, followed by the downward reflection into the waves. Tree trunks placed along the edges and then obstructed with thick patches of dark green. Lighter shades speckled on top and yellow touches scarcely lining the outer edges to highlight the dying light.

Full concentration set on the process, the snapping twigs, the crunch of fallen leaves, the meandering footsteps, they all went unnoticed until they were directly beside him.

"Dozin’ off there, old timer?"

"Yeah, alright, fuck you too, Texas. Man can’t enjoy a peaceful night of fishing with a beer or two?"

Discussion of the beverage reminded Glen of its presence, and he took a sip from the open container sitting next to him. There was no need to look up, he knew his comment landed its mark when Stu’s laughter broke through the silence.

“Can’t imagine you’re catchin’ anything if you gotta splash around every time you need a new drink.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong; a smartass, but not wrong. Only a few more swallows and he’d be back in the river grabbing another can from where he strategically placed them in the river. But they had enough food, and beer was better cold.

"Ah, Hell. You know how it is. Old habits and all that. Ain’t broke–"

"Don’t fix it. Yeah, I know that one. Where'd you even get that?"

"Never leave home without it.” The quip earned him chuckle, and he followed up with an animated motion towards the case. A silent offer for him to help himself, and Stu didn’t refuse. “Grabbed a pack on the last stock up. Saving it for some down time, and hey, what do you know…"

Once he had taken a can for himself, Stu held up another in an offer of his own. Without any reason to suspect an objection, he gave the drink a light underhand toss, which Glen thankfully didn’t have to reach far to catch. Little favors.

While Stu made his way back, Glen looked out onto the river. His line had ventured farther down the way, and he gave a few quick turns on the reel to bring it back into view.

Not that it did much good.

Once Harold offered to start up the fire for the evening, Glen took his leave from the group. Grabbed his beer, a pole, and a folding camp chair, before heading down to try his luck. That had to be an hour ago. At least. Aside from a slightly growing buzz, he hadn’t caught a damn thing. No bites. No lost bait. Not even a nibble.

Another few cranks of the reel, and his attention turned back to Stu. “Ah, well, it never was about the fish anyway, although I wouldn’t turn them down if they came, mind you.” With the final drop gone, he set his empty can down and cracked into the new one. “No. May not seem like it, but sometimes, you have to set aside some time to just ‘be’. Even now. Hell, especially now. Time that you can just sit down, have a beer, watch the sunset. Shoot the shit with some enjoyable company.” He shot a smirk to Stu at this, and it was promptly returned. “Enjoy all that life has to offer. You don’t, and well, you end up losing sight of it all. If you can’t enjoy the little things, then what the hell are we still here for? Why are we doing it?”

“Ain’t gonna hear any arguments from me.” Swishing the liquid around in the can, Stu kept his eyes downcast in observation for a moment. It was a solemn tone despite the joking nature that was natural between them now. Something was on his mind, and he was clearly working up to it. “So, Fran is pregnant. Case you were wondering. Not sure she’s telling that yet, but since you somehow already knew.”

His hesitance now made sense; wasn’t exactly an easy topic. Their dreams. His dreams. Truth be told, he still wasn’t sure what to think of the matter. Seeing Fran with his own eyes. In person. Awake. That was enough to firmly shake whatever resolve he had left, not that he had all that much left after the Mother Abagail discovery. Somehow, unbelievable as it was, he saw her. Saw a future her. Clear as day.

"You have anymore of those… whatever you want to call 'em?"

"Psychic visions?” If his mocking tone didn’t give away his skepticism, his animated gestures sure would have. “No. No, none of that. None worth reminiscing about, that is. Not sure if I should be concerned about that or, well…"

As uncharacteristic as it was, he left the thought trail. Sure, he had no problem talking, common knowledge there, but he also knew when thought was required. And this development… this needed a fair deal of thought. And alcohol.

He took another sip from his beer as Stu picked up where he left off.

“Worse things, I suppose. Could be dreamin’ of our friend…”

No further clarification followed, but Glen didn’t need it. Their boogeyman. The dark man. Whatever ridiculous title they stuck to him, it didn't matter. Stu was right; there were, in fact, worse things. At least his mind was clear from him. For now.

"Yeah, I'll drink to that."

Accompanying the comment, Glen raised his can once more with a tip towards his companion before taking another drink. After a shake of his head, Stu followed suit with a laugh.

"Have a feelin’ it doesn't take much for you to find a reason."

"Well, you got me there." And the air was clear once more. With the atmosphere shift, Glen had no problem picking back up with the banter. “But I’d venture to guess you’re the same way.”

Another laugh. Another drink in concession. More astute observations about the need to enjoy the simplistic things in life. But with the fading light now falling far below the horizon, Glen began to pack up his space.

“Lost cause here, I’d say. Fire sounds more promising, don’t you think?”

“Think you may be on to something.”

Empty cans were folded up into the chair, and Glen was thankful to have the extra set of hands. Without prompt, Stu went back into the river for the remainder of their drinks, and Glen began to reel in his line. Began and abruptly stopped.

“Goddamnit. Stu, you mind? Think I got a snag.”

“Think you got a fish.”

“What?”

And as soon as the question arose, Stu pulled out his line to reveal a fairly large catfish flopping around on the end, removing any doubt of his claim.

“Well, I’ll be. Guess we’re not going back empty handed.”

“Thought it wasn’t about the fish.”

“Yeah, but my stomach could put in a counter argument. C’mon.”

And with that, the pair headed back to the camp for the night, good omens, a good buzz, and a fairly decent catch in tow.

[kingsroad]

title: wish upon the stars (they won't save you)

ship: arthur dayne x omc, house harlaw. plot: just as rhaegar thought that prophecy guided his actions with lyanna stark and the birth of his third child, prophecy laid turmoil at arthur dayne's feet, as well. after crossing the sunset sea on his brother's ship without issue, the harlaw boy watches as the brightwater begins taking on water not far from the arbor's shores. the captain, unwilling to turn around, begins to set his teeth against his crew. by the time they reach starfall, there is nothing left to save — no seaworthy ship, no crew. and as he drowned, the harlaw boy dreamed of wolves with bloodied fur. his savior was none other than the sword of the morning, but valyrian steel would not save his life or save his silver prince.

[thieving-magpiexhunting-tiger]

Noticing trauma #21

The Head of a Criminal

Jim is having a bad day. Sebastian finds him and attempts to make it all better.

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[erwinsvow]

Do you think rafe would wear necklace with his girl’s initial?? Like his girl bought it as a present and i’m curious on how rafe would react 😃

"so what i'm hearin' is you got me somethin' with my own money?" rafe asks, looking down at the neatly wrapped box, a pretty white ribbon looped around it. your fingers play with the satin bow, anxious for rafe to open it.

"rafe!" you start with a whine but stop yourself. "it's the thought that counts, okay?" he laughs, taking the gift from your hands.

"sure, kid. whatever you say." he undoes the bow, setting it aside since he knows you'll want to keep it. the wrapping paper gets ripped up and off, while you protest that it could have been reused. he opens the box, looking down at a thin silver chain. there's a little pendant hanging down, the shape of your initial.

he looks up from the chain at you, waiting for his response with big eyes and parted lips. you're playing with your R necklace, the way you always do when you're nervous.

"d-do you like it? i thought we could match," you say quietly, biting you lower lip in anticipation.

"yeah?" he questions, taking the jewelry out of the box and into his hand, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

"only if you like it. you don't have to wear it, i just-"

"just what?" he looks you right in the eyes, wanting your real answer, not just you bouncing around his question from nerves.

"i just wanted to make sure everyone knows you're mine." you lip stings from where you're biting down, rafe look into your eyes.

he opens his arms, and you crawl into his lap, taking the chain from his palm and putting it around his neck, clipping it into place. you smile, pressing a kiss to rafe's cheek, his hands tight on your waist.

"got that right, kid."

[celestialwrites]

saying ‘i love you’ without saying ‘i love you’ dialogue prompts

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ “to me, you are perfect.”

♡ "don't you realise? you are my world."

♡ "you brought me back to life."

♡ "the only way i know how to describe what i feel around you is home. i feel at home."

♡ "it's as if my entire life i have been sinking in a storm and you came and pulled me out."

♡ "you know i stayed for you, and frankly, i don't regret it one bit."

♡ "with the whole of my heart, i believe that together we are infinite."

♡ "i never intend on leaving you. you hear me? never."

♡ "thank you for being the shoulder i always needed, even when you hated me."

♡ "i can't live without you!"

♡ "never leave me, my heart couldn't bear it."

♡ "i've spent my whole life waiting for you."

♡ "consumed in darkness, you darling, were my light."

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS!!<3

[hydrachea]

Thinking about Robin and Sunday's halos.

About how Robin's halo isn't a closed circle, but more like a branch forming a circular shape, where the start and stem don't touch. It's also uneven in shape and splits into three flowers, like it's allowed to grow freely, unobstructed. Something about Robin having left Penacony and having escaped the confines of her cage, being able to flourish. About her being able to let people in, and connect to them.

Meanwhile Sunday stayed behind to be the head of the Oak family and conform to the strict role that's expected of him, and his halo is a perfectly symmetrical shape that's practically fully closed off. It's sharp, almost more like a crown of thorns than a halo. And it almost doesn't have any openings to let anything, or anyone, in easily. It actively discourages getting close to it.

And then if you want to get sappy about, which I will - Sunday doesn't let anyone in, with that almost completely sealed, thorny halo of his... But there's an opening in Robin's halo, and so it can fit around Sunday's. Something about him always being able to find solace in her, because there's room for him in her (halo) heart always, by design.

Anyway I'm not normal about them.

[2aceofspades]

44 por favor? "I... I think I need a hug."

A very nice choice 🙌✨

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TW: Blood/Injury

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Thank you for your submission! 🤗🌟

(:

[srapsodia]

omg idk if you're still doing the character interaction drawings or not but if no one else has asked for it yet i'd love to see tsukki and yamaguchi in 46: one bandaging the other—yamaguchi wrapping tsukki's fingers maybe? or even the other way around tbh seriously im in love with every response youve given to each prompt, theyre all so cool and dynamic!! (and just your art in general, the poses aaah!!)

46: one bandaging the other

it's a captain's duty to make sure his teammates are taken care of, of course 🧡