#ask game ficlet

[theminecraftbee]

zombie joe?

Cleo buries her head in her hands and screams.

"There there," Joe says, incredibly awkwardly. "While I, personally, have never failed to shuffle off this mortal coil like this before, I've seen a lot of movies, and I'm lead to believe this is the kind of thing zombies do on accident all the time. It's like, the thing zombies are known for!"

"They're going to kick me out," Cleo says, half-miserable and half-furious. "I just got here and they're going to kick me out."

"They're not going to kick you out," Joe says, looking even more awkward. "Er, I mean. Not that I'd know how you got here in such a way that I know the other hermits won't kick you out or nothing, you'll find I have no way of knowing, since we're supposed to be doing things by consensus, but I also do know, because they aren't going to kick you out."

"I panicked and bit you!" Cleo says. "I got crowded, panicked, and bit you."

"Um," Joe says. "Yes, well, that did happen."

"And I turned you into a zombie."

"And it's really quite bracing!" Joe says. The awkward tone to his voice has gotten higher-pitched. There's a certain level of forced cheer to it. Cleo doesn't know if she appreciates it or if it makes her want to scream even more. "I mean, typically I have a heartrate, but I don't, right now! And even though my heart would normally be racing when I panic, it isn't! Also, I bet I could cut off my finger with next-to-no consequences, which makes it suddenly really tempting to--"

"Joe!" Cleo says.

"Cleo!" Joe says back.

Cleo sighs. She looks over Joe. She's not sure whether it's very in-character or out-of-character that he barely looks any different, but if it weren't for a certain grey pallor to his skin, the very visible bite mark on his arm, and the fact he is somehow already missing an eye, she might be able to pass him off as not-a-zombie. Unfortunately...

She runs a hand through her hair.

"It's fine. It's fine!" she says. "To tell the truth, I don't know if I'm meant for--"

"I should practice my moaning!" Joe says brightly.

"What," Cleo says flatly.

"You know like. Auuurgh. Grrrrr. Rawr."

"Did you just--rawr?"

"Is that one best?"

"No!"

"How about... rawr~<3!" Joe says, and then immediately starts coughing. "No, no, that was bad, even I know that was bad--"

Cleo can't help it. She starts laughing. Joe appears startled, staring at her like she's a large bear that has suddenly started doing a dance. His expression somehow looks even more wild-eyed with the missing eyeball and the dried blood on his arm from the bite.

"Did that... work?" Joe says.

"I am going to be kicked off of your safe haven server for being a threat to the integrity of the place because I'm infectious and you're rawring at me," Cleo says.

"...I will take that as a win," Joe says. "The laughing! The laughing! Not the getting kicked off, you aren't getting kicked off, I told you what I did to Biffa when I was first invited right--why are you laughing more I'm not even trying to be funny anymore--"

Cleo doesn't have a heart to slow or speed, but just then, she feels like she has a heart to warm. Yeah, sure. She might be in massive trouble, but at least this thing she's built with Joe--that's alright.

[blushweddinggowns]

"You look stupid as all hell right now."

"You look stupid as all hell right now," Mike snorted as he watched Robin touch up Steve's eyeliner, "You know that right?"

"It's called romance, you ass," Steve hissed, flipping him off while dutifully keeping his head still, "Who invited you anyway?"

"Your better half."

Steve rolled his eyes but he didn't correct him. He was right anyway, "Isn't it a school night? Are you allowed to be out this late? What would your mom think, knowing you were wasting your precious brain power on Halloween parties-"

"I'm in college you fucking dick!"

That struck a nerve. Steve smirked, good. The little shit deserved it.

"And done!" Robin announced before either of them could throw anymore insults, "I think you look good, way sexier than Tim Curry, for sure. Mike come with me to go get Nancy for a second opinion. You obviously can't be trusted."

Mike huffed, mumbling something under his breath before both of them left the room. Steve was pretty damn sure Eddie had sent him in as a spy because despite all of his reassurances, he still didn't believe that Steve was going to follow through on this stupid costume. But here he was, adjusting his fish net stockings while examining himself in the mirror.

He looked...decent. Which was better than he had been expecting. The make-up wasn't as cartoonish as the movie, something that he hoped Eddie would appreciate. In all honesty, Steve was going to take no criticisms for how he put the whole thing together, Eddie was lucky it was happening at all. Not that he would but still. Though if Steve had to guess, Eddie was going to be a fan. He better fucking be a fan, considering how he'd been asking for this forever.

They'd been together five years. Five fantastic, wonderful years. And four Halloweens with Steve laughing in his face whenever he brought up the Rocky Horror Picture show as costume inspiration. But this year...Steve didn't know. Eddie had just looked...extra desperate this time, needy in a way that Steve just couldn't say no to.

So now here he was, moments away from going downstairs to entertain all of their new and old friends for hours on end, all while wearing a corset.

The things he did for love.

"Knock, knock," Eddie's voice called from the other side of the door, like he could just smell that Steve was alone, "You decent in there Stevie?"

"Not exactly?" Steve called back, still frowning in the mirror, "But you can come in. Just lock it behind you."

Steve didn't look up when Eddie waltzed in, but he did hear his little sharp intake of breath.

"Holy shit," Eddie mumbled, bordering on a whimper as he came up behind Steve. He wrapped his arms around his waist, locking eyes with him through the mirror, "You look..."

"Stupid as hell?" Steve answered for him, smiling a little at how flushed Eddie's face already was. Damn, maybe this thing wasn't that bad after all if it could make him look like that.

Eddie shook his head, swallowing once before breathing out, "I was going to say beautiful. Gorgeous. Breath-taking. Extremely attractive-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Steve laughed, turning around in his arms. He wrapped them around Eddie's neck, pulling him down for a quick kiss, "I'm glad you like it so much. In fact, I'll even let you take it off later tonight."

Steve thought that would have been a good deal, but it made Eddie frown, "Later? But we can-"

"We can what?" Steve interrupted, "Have sex with all of our adopted children downstairs waiting for us? I don't think so."

But Eddie wasn't done begging. He was even starting to bring out the wet, puppy dog eyes, the manipulative little shit, "B-But I can be quick. I can fix your make-up after. I can-"

"Nope," Steve laughed, pulling away from him with a little smirk, "You made your bed. Now lie in it."

Eddie nearly looked like he was gonna cry, the little drama queen, "I...I didn't think this through, did I?"

Steve grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek before going to the door. He looked back at him, his smile getting a little bigger at the desperate look on his face.

Maybe he did look like an idiot in the bizarre get-up, but Steve didn't care. Not when it had Eddie rushing to follow him out.

[miasmaghoul]

could you do 30 with swissdew please?

From this list.

#30 - as comfort

-----

Dew stares at the wall of his bunk, hugging his knees to his chest. It's dark, too dark to see much beyond the divot where his phone sits, but Dew's spent enough nights in this cramped little hole to be able to reach out and touch the photos he keeps taped to the faux wood paneling. Memories of home - shots of his favorite places at the abbey, of his pack, his life. Things that bring him back to baseline when it gets too hard to keep his feet on the ground.

He thinks he's done pretty well on this leg, all things considered. It's been a busy run, more hectic than any of them expected; equipment issues, damages, road flu - all more than enough to keep them occupied, distracted. Enough to keep him from dwelling on the things he misses the most. The things he craves.

His touch lingers on one photo in particular, worn and creased and torn at the corners, and Dew can't help the sad smile that curves his lips. Alone in the dark, he doesn't mind whispering to its subject.

"Miss you, Aeth."

It's not like he's been without Aether. Not really. Video calls most every night, texting whenever they're both awake, swapping pictures and stories. They're about three quarters through this leg now, but their frequency of contact hasn't waned. He's grateful for it - he'd discovered the hard way that he can't find sleep if he doesn't hear Aether’s voice before bed.

Which, unfortunately, is why he's here now. Staring blindly as a photo whose details he's committed to memory and imagining the soothing gravel of Aether's words. It's not his fault they couldn't talk tonight - Aether had sent him a message telling Dew that Sister Imperator had fallen ill. Nothing too serious, but she required direct care that would keep Aether at her bedside for the next couple of days. He swears he isn't upset, swears he understands, but as the minutes tick by Dew can't help but grumble.

Until something rustles behind him, dim light flooding his bunk, and the little ghoul reflexively pulls his hand back under his thin blanket.

"Can't sleep, huh?"

Dew sighs. It may not be the voice he wants to hear, but it's deep and raspy and familiar and that's better than nothing.

"Not so much." Dew groans as he stretches his legs, shuffling over to face the source of the intrusion. Swiss leans on his elbow, head tilted. Even in the low light Dew can see his eyes sparkling, but they're baggy. "You?"

"I was tryin'," Swiss murmurs, scratching at his chest, "but you sigh louder than you think, Sparky."

A large hand ruffles his hair, the same spot Swiss always goes for when his horns aren't glamoured away, and Dew can't help but lean into it despite the warmth the words force into his cheeks.

"Sorry," he mumbles, tugging his blanket to his chin. "Didn't realize. I'll keep it down."

"Psh," Swiss waves at the air, dismissive. "I didn't roll outta bed to complain, shortstack." Dew quirks an eyebrow. "C'mon, let's talk about it."

The little ghoul huffs, shakes his head, but Swiss pays him no mind. He's already hoisting himself up into the bunk with a less than graceful series of grunts, an awkward endeavor that has Dew snorting into his lumpy pillow. Swiss pokes him in the shoulder once he's up, and Dew sticks his tongue out in response. Swiss tugs the curtain shut behind him, plunges them back into darkness, and Dew doesn't complain when a heavy arm settles around his waist.

"So," Swiss shuffles close enough to share his pillow, until Dew can smell the toothpaste on his breath, "what's on your mind?"

On a normal night, Dew would shush him. Tell him it wasn't his problem, that he's just having a bad night. Maybe he'd make something up about his knee bothering him, just to shut Swiss up. Anything would be easier than admitting why, exactly, he can't sleep. An embarrassing little secret that he'd rather not expose, one he's certain that Swiss wouldn't have any problem using against him.

Swiss rubs their noses together, rubs his back, and maybe it's just the exhaustion clouding his mind but Dew thinks the risk is worth the reward.

"I have this...ritual, I guess," he mutters, working an arm out from his blanket and getting hold of the hem of Swiss' shirt. Something to fidget with. "Every night, we talk. Me 'n Aeth," he clarifies, though he suspects he doesn't have to. "It uh. It helps me sleep. Hearing his voice, I mean. Makes it seem like he's not so far away, y'know?" Dew clears his throat, refusing to let the tightness there worm its way into his voice. Swiss hums, but doesn't interrupt. A rarity. "But tonight...he couldn't. Talk, I mean. Doesn't matter why, but it's a good reason. A real reason. But..." he pauses, chews the inside of his cheek. Swiss strokes along his spine, and Dew wishes he could purr in his glamour. "It's only happened three times," he adds with a sniff. "Three times we haven't talked, for this whole tour." Dew yawns, and a warm rush of breath tells him Swiss mirrors it. "And when that happens I just...can't sleep. It's like...when we talk, it's like he's here. And when we don't..."

Dew drifts off into silence, gives a half shrug, and Swiss doesn't ask him for anything more. The little ghoul forces himself to take a deep breath, scooting himself closer to the warm body before him, and Swiss hooks a leg over his without a word. Pulls him close, that huge hand firm between his shoulderblades, and Dew can't believe how good it feels just to be held.

"Look at me, Sparky," he rumbles after a minute, and Dew does. Finds those glittering eyes, twin rings of gold bright even in the dark, and the softness in them is something so foreign it makes his heart skip. Swiss' other hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb grazing his cheekbone. He presses their foreheads together, and his breath catches in his throat.

This kiss isn't a surprise. A gentle press of Swiss' lips to his own, warm and soft. His fingers slip into Dew's hair and the little ghoul sighs through his nose, his own hand slipping around Swiss' waist just as Swiss licks at his lower lip. Dew can't hold in his whimper, only too happy to open up and let Swiss inside. It's slow, indulgent, not at all the type of kiss he's used to from Swiss, but the subtle warmth that blooms in his chest couldn't be more welcome.

He's not even out of breath when Swiss pulls back, just pleasantly tingly and much more relaxed than he was a minute ago. He huffs out a soft laugh when Swiss kisses the tip of his nose.

"Think I needed that," Dew admits, eyelids already growing heavier.

"Just thought I'd remind you that you're not alone," Swiss lilts, pleased. He scratches at the little ghoul's scalp, a motion that makes Dew's ear twitch. "Not unless you wanna be."

"Yeah?" Dew nuzzles his cheek, relishing the scratch of Swiss' stubble. "You promise?"

"'Course," Swiss chuckles, dragging Dew flush to his chest. "Want another reminder?"

"Gonna kiss me to sleep?"

"As much as it takes, fireball."

For the first time tonight, Dew smiles.

[its-all-papaya]

Okay hear me out. Landoscar & 18 but like. It's towards the end of an exhausting triple-header, they're both tired as hell and have seen more of each other than any other breathing thing (because of the jetting around the world to get to races and because they're both idiots not confessing their feelings to each other). So. They say goodnight to each other as always after idek, playing Fifa, but this time one of them steps in and in their exhaustion accidently doesn't only clasp the other's hand but presses a kiss to the corner of the mouth as well. Without noticing (?) and with the other one only noticing after a few seconds (?). Gay panic follows. Idk what happens before or after but. Do you see the vision.

I SEE THE VISION, anon. don't you worry.

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

18. casually | landoscar | 1.1k (lol)

In theory, Lando’s probably been doing this long enough to know better. He’s been in Formula 1 for six seasons and he’s been driving in time zones outside his own for more than twice that long, but coping mechanisms don’t grow on trees. Or they do, maybe, if he thinks about it… Jon had given him a packet at some point about sleep schedules and adjusting, and paper comes from trees, and so if he thinks about it kind of sideways, maybe his healthy coping mechanism had grown on a tree, and he’d just failed to read it before losing it in a drawer somewhere. Or maybe (and this is his leading option), he's just really fucking tired.

In his defense, Oscar isn’t doing any better.

They’d kept up pretenses exactly one day into the doubleheader, then Lando’d received the hey, are you awake? message at 1:45 a.m. local time on Thursday night in Baku, and who was he to ignore that kind of thing? He’s just a man, really. He receives a ‘you up?’ text and his sweatshirt is zipped over his bare chest before he can blink. Pavlovian, or some shit. Even if it’s not actually like that. He’s too tired to know the difference. Or something.

At any rate, if neither of them is going to sleep anyway, it doesn’t really matter if they’re lying in their own beds with their eyes closed or if they’re lying on a couch together playing Fifa. Or not lying together, but, like… both on the same couch. Lying down. Playing Fifa. The point is, it’ll be 4 a.m. and they’ll both be up either way, at least this way they’re less miserable. And Lando won’t tell Kim if Oscar doesn’t tell Jon and neither of them tell Zak or Andrea.

By the time they hit Saturday night in Baku, they’re both kind of adjusted, which is good. They don’t even make it to the part of the night where he can lay his head on Oscar’s thigh and blame it on the proximity to sunrise, which is really cool. Lando sleeps, like…a normal amount ahead of the race. That’s important.

But see, Lando’s not going to not go home between races, and he’s not going to sleep at 5 p.m. in Monaco either, so it’s Thursday night in Singapore and he’s up the fucking creek again, and if Oscar’s asleep, he can totally just ignore Lando’s text. Again, Lando is just a man. A sleepy one. Who would rather be exhausted on Oscar’s couch than exhausted anywhere else.

Oscar’s up on Thursday night, though, and he’s up on Friday night, too, except by then they’ve skipped the texting part and Lando’s just showed up at Oscar’s hotel room a few hours after dinner. Oscar rolls his eyes when he opens the door, but he’s smiling when he does it, and he’s already got Fifa up when Lando reaches the living room, so he’s not actually any fucking better than Lando, the muppet.

On the bright side (or, like… one of multiple bright sides, if Lando wants to be honest, which he doesn’t, thanks), they’re both pretty decent at Fifa now. They’ve played enough rounds in barely over a week that they’re getting kind of predictable to one another, and that makes Lando’s chest feel kind of stupid. Just the thought that Oscar knows him that well. Again. Tired. Just a man. His brain is basically mush, everyone’s lucky he’s even hitting the right buttons. It does eventually get the tiniest bit boring, though, at like 1 a.m., so Lando turns to Oscar after losing his second straight and asks want to watch a film, or something?

He makes Oscar choose which one while he flicks the lights off (for the best viewing, obviously), then settles back next to him on the couch a really, really normal distance away. It’s something he’s seen before, so he’s following the plot but drifting a little, too, until the next thing he knows, he’s jerking awake with a sharp breath in. Oscar’s looking down at him apologetically – down because Lando’s head is on his shoulder – and thumbing over the ball of Lando’s knee.

“Sorry,” he says, and, “didn’t mean to startle you. You should go to your bed, though.”

Which, like… makes sense. Even if Lando was definitely having the best nap of the doubleheader, hands down, just now.

Oscar probably wants to go to sleep too, though, so Lando picks himself up off the couch and yawns and makes a show of stretching before putting his shoes back on, just to make sure Oscar feels a little bad for how he’s putting Lando out.

He reaches the door while Oscar’s still doing something in the living area. It becomes apparent what when he appears with Lando’s phone in hand, sleepy smug smirk on his sleepy smug face. Ugh.

“Might want it for your alarm,” he wiggles it between his fingers and pads over to Lando and Lando’s still half-asleep, which is his excuse for forgetting to hold a hand out for it, but it really doesn’t matter anyway, because Oscar just slides it right into the kangaroo pocket of Lando’s hoodie for him. Really cool. Mint, actually.

“Mint,” Lando says.

Oscar laughs. His eyes are especially crinkly past 2 a.m. He says “thanks for coming by” - even though Lando’s the one who started it tonight - and holds out his hand.

Lando clasps it. “Meeting’s late tomorrow, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, like 2:00 or something,” Oscar says.

“Mint,” Lando says. It makes Oscar laugh again, and Lando can’t really tell why, but, like…whatever works.

“Yeah?” Oscar’s smile is so nice around the word.

“Yeah.”

Oscar squeezes his hand, which is how Lando realizes he’d forgotten to let go in the first place. Oh, well. Late and all. Time change, jetlag… yeah.

He finally does let go, though, then pats Oscar on the hip and kisses him on the side of the mouth and says “Night, Osc.”

“Night, Lando,” Oscar says back. Then his eyes narrow. It’s a funny sort of expression that Lando hasn’t seen on him before, so he tilts his head a little, trying to figure out what’s put it there. It takes a good few seconds longer than it probably should, but Lando makes up for it by blushing twice as bright as is reasonable when he finally clocks it.

“Ah, damn,” he says through a giggle, which is probably not the appropriate response, all things considered, but that makes Oscar laugh, too, so everything’s good.

Oscar flattens his hand on Lando’s back, then, and kisses him square on the lips and says, “too tired to even kiss a mate properly, remind me to kick you out earlier next time,” which is an objectively much weirder way to respond than Lando’s. So, like… they’re even. And Oscar’s still smiling when he pushes Lando out the door. It’s mint.

[eqt-95]

Hi hello! I found the ask game related to the hearts finally so I’ll ask for 🤎 for supercorp if it sparks joy?

oh it does, it does spark joy! many thanks for the ask from both of you.

🤎 multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss

- - - - - - -

“We’re playing Doctor!” Kara shouted excitedly when Alex, Kelly, and Lena walked in to find the apartment in absolute disarray, Kara mummified with ace bandages, covered in stickers, and talking past a thermometer sticking out of her mouth, and Esme unraveling a ball of yarn.

“During an apocalypse?” Alex asked, bypassing the pile of forgotten pillows and cushions, over the stacks of books, and through the disaster zone of puzzle pieces and legos. 

“I’m a warrior injured from battle,” Kara scoffed, annoyance on her scrunched face. “See the armor?”

It was nearly impossible to see the cardboard cutouts from under all of the gauze.

“Yea, and I am her princess and the world’s best nurse,” Esme added. She reached for Kara’s hand and began tying the yarn around her wrist. “We just need to lift your arm to rest,” Esma continued, trying gallantly to hoist Kara’s arm.

“Is that my emergency med pack?” Alex asked, eyeing the black canvas bag wearily and the equipment scattered around it. 

“We ran out of band-aids,” Esme explained. “But don’t worry, we didn’t use yours. They were too boring.”

“You should get the colorful kind like the Bluey ones,” Kara added.

Before Alex could get a word, or sigh of resignation in, Esme extended her hand toward her: “Can you hold this, please?”

And that’s how Alex got roped into holding the length of rainbow yarn to elevate Kara’s very unbroken arm while Esme removed the thermometer from Kara’s mouth.

“Uh-oh,” she scowled.

“Uh-oh?” Kara asked with exaggerated worry. “What’s wrong nurse?”

“Just what I susepted.”

“Suspected, babe,” Kelly offered from the kitchen where she and Lena exchanged smirks at Alex’s expense.

“Right, suspested,” Esme said. “It’s bad news.”

“How bad, Nurse?”

“We need to cut off your arm.”

“What? Isn’t there anything else? A disgusting herb? A powerful potion?” Kara rambled. “I really need my arm to hold a sword.”

“Hmm,” Esme pondered. “There is one thing. But it’s magic” “Anything,” Kara said without missing a beat. “Please, Nurse, please!”

“Ok. Are you ready?”

Kara grimaced, clenched her eyes shut and nodded. 

In turn, Esme gave Kara’s elbow a quick kiss. “You’re healed!”

Kara opened one eye and peered toward her arm still held up by Alex and yarn. She cautiously flexed her fingers then rolled her wrist and rotated her elbow. “I’m healed!”

“Yes, you’re healed. Now please leave my house,” Alex mumbled.

------

“Hey,” Lena said when Kara stirred. 

“Hey, back,” Kara mumbled, reaching for Lena’s hand to squeeze. She hummed then opened her eyes, finding Lena then offering a dopey grin. A sign Lena could sigh with relief. “Was I out long?”

“A couple hours. You didn’t completely blow your powers, so you should recover quickly.”

Kara nodded then winced as she sat up. “And the others?”

“J’onn and Dreamer handled the rest,” Lena explained, helping adjust a pillow. “You provided enough distraction that no one else was injured.”

“Tell that to my face,” Kara huffed, lifting a hand to rub her jaw. “I think I need Nurse Esme to make me all better.”

“I think Nurse Esme is in the middle of show-and-tell,” Lena replied. “But I’ll see if Alex has a Bluey band-aid for you.”

“Or,” Kara said, then blushed beet red. “Or we could try magic.”

“I am not about to…” Lena squinted then rolled her eyes. “Oh, I see. You don’t mean my magic.”

“Well, it-it would kind of be your magic,” Kara replied, fingers worrying at the blanket in her lap. “Just, a different kind.”

Lena refrained from rolling her eyes again when Kara offered the biggest, sappiest look. 

“If you think it’ll work,” Lena answered, and she pretended not to see the glee in Kara’s face.

“It would. It really would.”

And that’s how Lena found herself pressing a kiss to Kara’s eagerly lifted cheek.

“There. Better?” Lena chuckled, leaning back into her chair and missing the way Kara’s face chased after Lena’s retreated lips.

“Um…” Kara answered, a bit downtrodden with her lower lip beginning to protrude outward.

“Um?”

“It’s just that, actually I’m pretty sure it was my left side.”

Lena tried containing a smile and resisted letting a disbelieving eyebrow arc. “Is that right?”

“I guess I forgot?”

“Maybe I should get Alex in here to check for brain damage,” Lena teased.

“No, no, it’s ok. I just… I’m still groggy and sleepy, but I just need a little more, um…”

“Magic?”

“Exactly. Then I’ll be all better.”

A kiss landed on Kara’s other temple. “Was it here?” Lena asked, lips still pressed against warm skin.

“A-a bit lower,” Kara answered, face flushing red.

“How about here?” Lena asked, offering another kiss an inch lower.

“Getting uhm,” Kara coughed. “Getting closer?”

Lena continued trailing kisses down the length of Kara’s jawline, no longer waiting for Kara’s fibs to guide her. 

“How’s that, darling?” Lena asked when the final one landed at the edge of Kara’s mouth.

“Just one more,” Kara answered, tugging a laughing Lena onto the bed and pressing a final kiss to her lips. “There,” she sighed. “All healed.”

[mollywog]

Roommate

Fake Fic Ask Game by @vasilissadragomir

🐑 (fake set of fic tags): modern au roommates, mutual pining, jealous!katniss, hot chocolate, meddling!Prim, misunderstandings

She’s smiling down at her phone when Prim snaps her fingers in front of the screen, “Are you even listening?”

“Oh! Yeah! Sorry,” Katniss says, placing her phone face down on the table.

“Who are you talking to anyways?” Her sister eyes the phone with curiosity and Katniss covers it with her hand lest Prim resort to snooping, “are you seeing someone?! You’re giddy, it’s weird”

“God no,” she has no desire for that, “Peeta’s doing a grocery run and asked about snacks.” They were going to watch Jurassic Park tonight and he’d sent her a picture of a bag of frozen Dino nuggets.

“Sounds cozy. What does Nutmeg think about her boyfriend Netflix-and-chill-ing with his super hot roommate?”

Katniss rolls her eyes, “Clove’s not in the picture anymore.” She doesn’t get it. Peeta’s the best, but his taste in women is the worst. She’d taken to giving them petty nicknames rather than learning their real ones. The latest had been a real cloven hoofed bitch.

“Oh,” Prim perks up, “So, are you gonna make a move?”

God, not her too! Maybe she’s been talking to Finnick. He keeps insisting she’s in love with Peeta. She’s not and the accusation is annoying, “No,” She says, tone firm, “Peeta and I are friends. Just friends.”

“Hmm” her sister sounds unconvinced.

“Hmm what?”

“I think you like him.”

“Of course I like him, he’s my friend.”

“Come on Katniss. You talk about him constantly, you spend all your spare time together, and you’ve hated every girl he’s ever given a second look.”

“Yeah, because they all sucked.”

“- his dick, and you were jealous.” Prim adds.

Katniss bulks, “don’t talk like that. Who raised you?”

“We all know who raised me. Don’t try to duck the topic! So, you’d be fine with him dating someone you approve of?”

Katniss shrugs, “of course,” it’s a trick question, because she can’t imagine anyone good enough for him.

“What about me?” Prim says, as if following her line of thought, “I must meet your standards. What if I started dating Peeta? You wouldn’t have a problem with that?”

“Didn’t know you were interested.” Why does her voice sound so high all of the sudden?

“I don’t know; maybe it’s all your glowing about how great he is. Answer the question.”

“I mean it would be weird, because you're my sister,” she says haltingly, “but obviously I think you’re amazing,” she briefly imagines Peeta leading Prim to his bedroom, and wants to vomit.

“So you’d be completely fine if I asked him out?” Prim eggs.

Her discomfort is overcome by a flare of annoyance at the challenge. “Want me to put in a good word for you?” She snarks.

“Nah.” Katniss exhales, feeling a little lighter. Maybe this will finally put the whole thing to rest, but then her sister continues with a smirk, “I’m a big girl, I don’t need your help.”

Part 2 | Part 3 or Ao3

[varpusvaras]

*jumps in* Hi!!! 10, a kiss on the jawline with Fox/Bail/Breha pls? May I suggest Bail and Breha giving Fox kisses on the jawline?

You may suggest, and you shall receive!

Fox had not had any idea about intimacy when he had left Kamino.

That wasn’t his fault. Kamino just really didn’t do any kind of education on anything of the sort. It wasn’t deemed important, because they were the soldiers of the Republic, and good soldiers didn’t have the time or the luxury to participate in such activities. Needless distractions, meant for actual people, and therefore, not meant for the clones. 

Of course, Fox had known something. They had a health class that came with everyone having to possess baseline medical skills. They knew how their bodies worked. They knew all the scientific names for every part of themselves. There had just been no information for anything else they could do with their bodies, other than fight and die. There had been rumours, as well, tiny specks that had trickled down from the older clones and finally to them, but all of it had been extremely vague and sounded honestly baffling. Fox had not understood why someone would want to put their mouths on anyone. That had to be unhygienic. 

If they figured out some things their bodies could do by themselves, in the little privacy they got from the Kaminoans and the trainers? Well, nobody really talked about that either. 

Fox ended up figuring it all out very quickly once he started his posting on Coruscant. 

How could he not? It was everywhere. It took Fox pretty much only a week or so to figure out that bodies and attraction could sell absolutely everything, even things that really didn’t make sense to him. Sometimes it really seemed like no matter what was being advertised, there would be a barely clothed person in the ad as well. 

After realising that, it was easy to figure out the rest. Even the putting your mouth on another person-thing. Fox had realised in a rather sudden and frankly, embarrassing, way that he wasn’t as immune to other people’s bodies as he had previously thought. Stone was, and he made fun of the rest of them relentlessly. The bastard. 

Well, it wasn’t like Fox was ever going to…explore any of that. He didn’t have the time, and, even more importantly, he really didn’t want to get out of his armor in front of just about anybody. No, if he ever wanted to do anything with anyone, it needed to be someone he trusted completely like that. Especially because…Fox wasn’t going to say that he was intimidated by it all, but…every time he saw other people having any sort of intimacy, they made it look easy and natural. Like they knew exactly what they were doing during every second of it. That was the one thing Fox just couldn’t figure out how it worked. 

Maybe he would, if he ever got the chance, but…no, he had too much to do already. He wasn’t attracted to anyone specific. Maybe…maybe he was just too late already. 

So he tried to ignore it, and it was going rather well, but then Bail Prestor Organa had to come marching into his life with his gentle eyes and kind smiles and soft words. He just had to, and just like that, Fox was gone. 

With all of that, also came the very intense experience of having wants and it all being targeted towards a specific person.

With all of those wants, came back the realisation that Fox had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

He tried his best to not show any insecurity. He kept his head high and his exterior collected, even when he was constantly sputtering and stumbling on the inside. Thankfully Bail was being gracious by going very slowly. One half of Fox was very glad that Bail had a wife and thus knew about things already, but at the same time, the other half of him was terrified of the same fact. Fox hated being embarrassed, and even more, he hated the sole idea of being embarrassed in front of Bail. 

So, Fox, sitting on the edge of Bail’s desk, gripped the said edge of the desk very hard to keep his breathing in check and his body in place, while Bail had one of his hands on Fox’s back and the other one on his waist, and his lips pressed against Fox’s neck. 

Fox really, really understood the appeal of putting your mouth onto someone else now. By the gods, did he understand it. He gripped the desk even harder, letting the hard wood press into his palms to keep himself from making any sort of noise. 

He was doing really well on it, until Bail moved his lips up, all the way to the corner of Fox’s jaw, and so very gently pressed kisses down along the line of it. Fox hadn’t thought of himself ticklish before, but apparently, he had thought wrong, because a surprised laugh escaped from his mouth, and with it, also a partial moan he had attempted to keep down just a second prior.

Fox didn’t have the time to properly register what he had just done, when he felt Bail’s lips curl up against his skin, and then Bail was pressing another kiss on Fox’s jaw, and another, and another, more and more, along the line. 

Another laugh escaped Fox before he could stop it, his whole body shaking with it, and his lack of resistance gave Bail just more opportunities to kiss him even more. 

“Bail”, Fox managed to choke out between laughs and other noises he did not want to name. “Bail, Bail, stop-” 

Bail did stop. He backed away and straightened up, so he could look Fox properly in the eyes. 

“Yes?” He asked, again, with the soft way he always spoke to Fox with. “Is everything alright?” 

He sounded almost concerned, and Fox had to hurry to answer, before Bail would get stressed, all because Fox was being weird.

“Yes”, Fox blurted out, still just a little breathless. “Yes, everything is okay, I just- I’m sorry.” 

It didn’t work, because Bail just looked even more concerned now than he had been before Fox had started babbling. 

“Sorry for what?” He asked, so earnestly, that Fox, even with the embarrassment aflame inside him, had to answer truthfully. 

“For-” He swallowed, “-being…not good at this.” 

Somehow, Bail managed to look both even more concerned and confused at the same time. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked. “You’re doing just fine.” 

“No, I-” Fox had to look down towards his lap. “I just made it weird by…you know.” 

“By laughing?” Bail asked. Fox nodded. “Fox, I was quite intentionally trying to make you laugh.” 

Fox whipped his head back up. Bail had an odd expression on his face now, though mainly he looked utterly perplexed. 

“What?” He blurted, because, quite frankly, he had no idea what was going on anymore. 

“Quite honestly, I was starting to be a little concerned”, Bail said, “that you were not enjoying this, and were just making yourself do it to please me.” 

“What?” Fox repeated, because now he really had no idea what was going on. “Of course I do! I just- I was just trying to be good.” 

Oh, the way Bail looked at him then, with so much care and affection on his face and in his eyes that it made Fox want to both explode and melt down to a puddle. 

“Fox”, Bail said, the same amount of care and affection in his voice as well, “you are being good. All of this is supposed to be fun to you. The only thing you should be doing right now, is to just enjoy it, and not care about anything else.” 

For some reason, that was the moment it all clicked for Fox. Attractiveness sold. Sex sold. It only made sense that everything he had seen about all of it, had been a product to sell something, even if it was just a false ideal of things. 

“Oh”, he breathed, the strength of the realisation making him a little light-headed. “Oh. Um.” 

Bail, being perfect, like he always was, waited patiently for Fox to gather himself. 

“Can we-” Fox gripped the edge of desk, this time to just ground himself. “Can we start over?” 

Bail smiled at him. 

“Of course”, he said. He leaned a little closer, before stopping momentarily. “Just to make sure. It was all alright to you? What we were doing before?” 

Fox nodded. 

“Yes”, he answered, and with that, Bail leaned back down, his lips finding Fox’s skin again. 

Right at Fox’s jawline. 

Even though Fox knew it was coming this time, he still didn’t manage to quell his laughter in time. This time, though, he didn’t even really try. 

Still.

“Bail.” 

Bail laughed as well. 

“I’m sorry”, he said. “I just had to.” 

Fox huffed, and was just about to say something rather snarky, when Bail’s mouth moved to the side and up, and he nipped the skin right behind Fox’s ear. 

Fox could yet again feel Bail’s grin against his skin as another high-pitched, surprised moan escaped Fox’s mouth. 

—

Fox was starting to think that he was getting rather good at this. 

He was basing this thought in the way Breha looked right then, smiling and outright glowing, her breaths still just calming down. 

“Good?” Fox asked still. 

Breha hummed, catching her breath for another moment before answering. 

“Good”, she said, and giggled lightly as Fox pressed small kisses on her collarbones. She let Fox freely move her around, only sighing contently as he laid down and tucked her close to his side. Her bare body was soft and warm against Fox’s own, and Fox could really only marvel at it all. 

How he had gotten here, how he had gotten so lucky, Fox still couldn’t quite understand. 

He must’ve fallen deeper into his thoughts than he realised, because he only snapped out of it when Breha moved. 

“I thought, back when I met Bail, that I couldn’t possibly get any happier than I already was”, she said, as she pushed herself up on her elbows, and lightly rested her head on top of Fox’s chest. “Somehow, though, the Galaxy deemed me worthy enough for you as well.” 

Fox snorted a little. 

“Between you and me, I should be the one saying that”, he said. “You, on the other hand, are easily the most worthy person of all the happiness there is.” 

Breha sighed, still fondly. 

“Well, look at it this way”, she said, lifting her head up again, “aren’t we lucky, that we found happiness together?” 

She looked at him with bright eyes, her voice so full of love, that Fox’s voice caught somewhere inside his throat. 

There it was again. Yes, weren’t they so lucky? Somehow, somehow, Fox had found happiness, and at the same time, managed to be the reason for someone else to be happy as well? That shouldn’t have been how it worked. Fox was made to be expendable, someone not important enough to be taught more about life, someone whose search for happiness was deemed detrimental and needless before he even had gotten the opportunity to begin his search- 

His thoughts were broken up again by soft, warm lips pressing against his jaw. Fox blinked, and then a laugh was already making its way out of him, as Breha braced herself more against the bed for better leverage, and moved her mouth up Fox’s jawline, peppering him with soft, sweet kisses. 

Fox tapped her on her back. 

“Breha.” 

“Sorry”, she said, leaning her face back down on Fox’s chest. “Bail told me about it, and I had to try it.” 

“Of course he did.” Breha laughed at his exasperated tone. 

“I love it when you laugh”, she said. “I love it when you are happy. I love you.” 

She looked up at him and smiled. Fox smiled back. 

“I love you too”, he said, and wrapped his arms around Breha as she wrapped herself around him.

[thursdayinspace]

Made up title: The Ginger Invasion

ohh okay. that is so very clearly sick!fic?!

Mulder is sick. He never gets sick, and it's awful. It's terrible. He can't even get out of bed, that's how terrible he feels. He tries, he does, but finds himself on the floor after only two steps. The room is spinning, his stomach is extremely angry at him, and he doesn't know how other people do it. He's been beaten up, he's been shot, he's been tortured, but he thinks this bug, whatever it is, might finally be the thing that defeats him. He can't even go to the bathroom.

Everything hurts. He's too cold, then too hot, his head is pounding and Scully will be wondering why he isn't at work. He should call her. What time is it? He doesn't know.

"Mulder?"

He just about manages to lift his head and there she is, Scully, in his bedroom doorway; she turns on the light and it hurts his eyes, but even as he squints against it the glow of her red hair in the sudden brightness is enough to make him let out a relieved breath. "Hi." He hates to admit when he needs help. But he needs help. And help just showed up.

"Oh god, Mulder," she says, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and as she puts a cool hand on his burning forehead, he knows he's gonna be okay now.

--

He drifts in and out of sleep. He's lost all sense of time; it doesn't matter. He opens his eyes and sees her hovering above him, hair falling over her eyes as she leans down to put a cool cloth on his head. He wakes up and sees a flash of red, turns his head to see her putting a cup of tea on his nightstand. She helps him to the bathroom, and even with how small she is she manages to hold him up -- he looks down on the top of her flaming red hair and feels such a rush of affection it makes his heart clench in his chest. The back of her head as she stands and looks out of his window. Her hair fanned out all around her as she naps on the other side of his bed, seemingly unafraid of catching whatever it is he's not dying of, she has assured him that he will be fine. He's already starting to feel better.

When he closes his eyes, the light of the room turns to orange sunrises behind his closed lids.

"You really don't have to stay," he tells her after the first time he manages to make it to the bathroom on his own.

"I know I don't have to," is all she says, and makes him sit in the chair she dragged into the room while she changes his sheets.

"I'd be okay on my own now," he insists.

She turns towards him, pillow case in her hand, and looks unsure. "If I'm invading your privacy -"

"No!" he interrupts her quickly. "No," repeats, shaking his head. He can do that again without making the room spin out of control. "You aren't. I promise."

"Good." She sounds relieved. "Just let me know when you've had enough of me."

The chances of that ever happening are below zero, he thinks. "What about work?"

"I called Skinner yesterday" she says," and told him we were both sick. He doesn't expect us back for another two days at least."

"What if you get sick too?"

To that, she just shrugs. "That's a risk I'm willing to take. I'm not just going to leave you here, Mulder."

This is not the right time to tell her that he loves her, he thinks, but it is one of those moments where it's hard not to. "I'd take care of you too."

"I know," she says, and gives him a smile. "I've never doubted it."

"Scully?" He waits until she meets his eyes again so she can see how much he means this. "I really, really appreciate your invasion."

She turns her head away but she can't hide the smile that's taking over her face. "Anytime," she promises, and he believes her.

There's a red hair on his freshly-washed t-shirt. She must have left it there when her head brushed against his chest as she guided him over to the chair.

He leaves it there.

[in-my-loki-feels]

👈 lokius

Thank you for the prompt! <3 This one was also requested by lokiloving. I may try to do a second ficlet, but there are other asks I want to get to first so please enjoy this for now! (Also thank you to @devilbearingtrouble for helping with a clunky bit of this. Please read her take on this prompt. It's so good!!)

cw NSFW (but come on, look at the prompt)

8.👈 Fingers in mouth/on lips

“If you're not going to eat it, why get it?” Mobius asked, feeling a little petulant on behalf of the neglected pie. It was a waste of a meal token, not to mention delicious pie.  Loki glanced down at the neon green slice in front of him.  “I’m eating it,” he said, and picked up his fork to swirl it through the perfect dollop of whipped cream on top. Mobius sighed.   “You're not eating it, you're playing with it.” “No, I'm playing with you,” Loki said, his green eyes locking onto Mobius with sudden intent. “Or I’d like to.”

It was such a sudden shift in behavior, it snatched Mobius’ breath. Loki had been relaxed in his chair, a smile teasing his lips. Now he looked at Mobius like a hunter eyeing prey. It was the sort of shift Mobius had seen Loki pull in Sacred Timeline footage, but never since arriving at the TVA.  “Very funny,” Mobius said, trying to move past the strange moment by cutting off another piece of his own pie. As he brought it to his lips, he looked across the table and saw Loki had given up the fork; instead, he swiped some of the whipped cream with his finger. Loki’s lips curved as he mirrored the path of Mobius’ fork, bringing his own finger to his mouth and closing his lips around it.  Mobius almost choked on his piece of pie. Loki took his time cleaning his finger, while Mobius coughed and tried to get the remains down without inhaling more. Heat suffused him, concentrating in his face—which had to be bright red—and pooling in his crotch.  “What—” He broke off with another cough.  “You know, something about mine simply doesn’t taste right,” Loki mused. He uncrossed those long legs of his, rising to his full height, and stepped over to Mobius’ side of the table. The wicked light hadn’t left his green eyes. He put one hand on the table beside Mobius’ plate, bending down so they were nearly eye to eye.  As Mobius watched, his mouth falling open, Loki stuck his finger—the same one he’d just cleaned cream off of—into what remained of the whipped cream on Mobius’ slice of pie. Then he brought it to his mouth and wrapped his fingers around it slowly, holding Mobius’ gaze as he did. His jaw moved, just enough for Mobius to imagine what Loki was doing with his tongue, and then he pulled his finger free with a pop.  Mobius felt frozen in his chair, unable to do anything but watch the events unfold. His heart pounded in his ears, rushing more blood south where he was already hard.   “That doesn’t taste quite right either,” Loki said. “It’s missing something…”  Mobius jumped when Loki took hold of his hand, his fork clattering to the table. Loki folded down all of Mobius' fingers down except his index finger, then guided Mobius’ hand down to dip that finger into the whipped cream. There was hardly any left, just enough to coat the skin.  Mobius felt like everything in the automat had come to a stop except Loki, who brought Mobius’ finger up to his mouth and slowly wrapped his lips around it.  Warm and wet were the first things Mobius thought and then ohhh, as Loki curled his tongue around Mobius’ finger. Mobius jerked in his chair as the sensation went straight down through his body to his cock. He moaned as Loki closed his eyes and sucked, even though there couldn’t have been anything left. Loki pulled Mobius’ finger out, keeping his lips tight around it until it was free, then opened his eyes and smiled.  “That’s what I was looking for,” he purred.

Prompts are here. Other ficlets here.

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Heyyyy (with the full intent of giving you a smut prompt)

Can i get a #59 with Phantom offering to help Mountain with an unexpected rut bc everyone else is conveniently otherwise busy somehow?

you read my mind I had an idea so similar to this in my head for so long.

The first thing Mountain noticed when he woke up was how hot it was. The second thing was how hard he was. Uncomfortably so, a knot already formed at the base, ready to be fucked into someone and the sensitive sticky head brushed against the thin fabric of his bed sheets making his hiss and roll his head back against the pillow. 

He knew he was in rut, knew he was last night but he ignored it, hoping he was wrong and symptoms would magically disappear. He was wrong though, he knew that now as the need to take, claim and breed already flowed through his veins. It was early, almost a month early but he suspects Auroras first heat last week might have something to do with it. 

He squeezes at the base of his cock, around his half formed knot with a groan before kicking the cover off him. The cold air hits his body immediately making his nipples stiffen and pebble. He almost conclaves in on himself at how sensitive they are already. He lets out a growl, almost in annoyance, not bothering to pit any close on and makes his way out his room and towards the hallway to the ghouls den.

He stalks down the hallway, looking for someone, anyone, to help him through this unexpected rut, Swiss, Cumulus, hell, even Dew. He lets out another growl at the thought of Dew innocently stumbling down the hallway and finding him and Mountain forcing the little ghoul onto his hands and knees, forcing his ass high into the air and fucking him right then and there in the hallway for anyone to see. 

His cock throbs at the thought, a bead of pre forming as the slit and he squeezes around the base again making himself groan.  Unable to find anyone he makes his way to the kitchen, hoping, praying, to any god there is that someone will be there. His ears prick up hearing noise coming from the kitchen, how his heart rate increasing at the suspense, he’s praying for anyone, all the ghouls flying through his head, but when he reaches the kitchen he stops dead in his tracks. 

Somehow, he’d forgotten one. Phantom. Poor, unsuspecting, innocent, little Phantom. He was stood at the kitchen counter attempting to make coffee when Mountain walked and, and almost walked right angle out again. He would have if Phantom hadn’t noticed him and giggled. “You look like shit.”  Mountain suppresses a growl, his fists balling up at his sides. He can’t do this, not to Phantom. He’s too young, too new and inexperienced to be able to handle him in rut. 

“I-have you seen any of the others?” His voice is slow and thick.  Phantom doesn’t look up from whatever he’s concentrating on. “Who?” 

Mountain grits his teeth and takes a deep breath. “Anyone, doesn’t matter who.”  Phantom shrugs and shakes his head.“Haven’t seen anyone all morning, the dens been empty since I woke up.” His eyes flick up to Mountain. “I didn’t even know you were here until just now.” 

Mountain could cry. He actually might. “Do-do you know where they are?” His voice crack on several words.  Phantom shrugs again. “No, sorry.” He holds his mug up for Mountain to see. “You want some coffee?” 

Mountain screws his eyes shut as he feels tears welling as his cock kick pathetically between his legs as another wave of rut washes him. He shakes his head. “No, no thank you. I need to find someone.”  He turns to leave the kitchen but is stopped by Phantom piping up again. “I’m someone.”  Mountain whimpers and let’s out a sob. “You are the wrong someone.” 

Phantom, unphased by Mountain, walks around the counter so he’s standing directly in front of him. “I can help you, you know.”  Mountain looks down at the little ghoul, stunned. Phantom just rolls his eyes at him. “Don’t look so shocked, you’re in rut right? It’s so obvious you smell like a pine forest, you’re flushed red and your cock is ridiculously hard. Kudos by the way, that thing is seriously impressive.” 

Mountain goes to cover his cock with hands but Phantom stops him by taking his hands in his. “Let me help you, please.”  Mountain shakes his head, feeling the tears that head previously welled in eyes drop down onto his cheeks. “I can’t, I’ll hurt you, it’ll be too much you to handle.” 

Phantom rolls his eyes again, thumbing away the tears on Mountain's cheek. “I think I can decide what I can and can’t handle.”  The determined look on Phantom’s face was honestly a little reassuring to Mountain. “You have to be sure. Are you sure? Once I start I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

 Phantom smirks at him. “I’m more then sure.” He grabs Mountain’s hip, pulling him into his so that his cock his pushed into his belly. “Now come on, big boy. Hurt me, use me to make yourself feel good, I know you want too.” 

Something in Mountain snaps then and he grabs at Phantoms hair, pulling his head back harshly to expose his neck. His fangs brushing along Phantoms scent gland as a threat.

 “You have approximately thirty second to get up to my room beofre I bend you ober this counter and fuck you right here in the kitchen.” He noses long his neck, inhaling deeply.   Phantom whimpers and smirks at him. “That a promise?” 

[theminecraftbee]

fae zedaph, avian tango, and/or butterfly impulse?

Tango pinches the bridge of his nose. He breathes in. He breathes out. He looks at Zedaph.

"Okay. Why do you have a baby," Tango says.

"Well, it was an accident!" Zedaph says.

"How! How do you accidentally end up with a baby!" Tango says. He pauses. He considers what he has just said. He revises: "How do you or I accidentally end up with a baby! I am a robot and you are an immortal fairy creature. You can't babyificate. I know. You've checked."

"You don't have to sound so haunted," Zedaph says, vaguely hurt.

"I am very haunted by most of what you do, that's not the point. How did you end up with a baby! I can't take care of a baby, Zedaph! You definitely can't take care of a baby! What are we going to do with a baby?"

Zedaph shuffles his feet. When they'd first met, Tango had been reluctantly impressed with how human Zedaph's mannerisms were for a guy who, at that time, still hadn't been entirely certain you weren't supposed to eat people who were rude to you. He's come a long way since Tango had discovered he was just alive enough to be able to accidentally slip into the feywild, and Zedaph discovered he was actually much happier experimenting in the human world most of the time than dealing with other fair folk and their 'predictable rules' and 'annoying laws of hospitality'.

If Tango wasn't mostly made of steel and cold iron, he probably wouldn't have survived the early encounters with Zedaph. Nowadays, though, it's easy to mistake Zedaph for just an exceptionally weird human. Sure, he still looks at everyone a little bit like they're more of an experiment or strange animal than a person, but that's just Zedaph. Even if he were human, Tango's pretty sure he'd follow his own idiosyncratic laws.

None of this explains why he has a baby.

"Okay, look, it's not my fault this time, I swear," Zedaph says. "It's--look, I was in-town, and there was this guy, and he made a bargain with me! It was a very little bargain! I didn't think he'd break it. Honest! He just wanted gold--"

"Oh no," mutters Tango.

"--and I just told him that I wanted him to take care of a sheep for me without looking at it! I wanted to see what would happen if a sheep grew up without anyone looking at it. Would it want to look at other people more or less? You know my problems with sheep and looking at me."

"I hate that I know where this is going," Tango says.

"And he was all like, oh that's easy, I won't break that bargain. And I remembered what you said about how most people don't like having their babies swapped out with fey, which still doesn't really make sense honestly because I think a baby me is WAY more exciting than a baby human to take care of and also then I can experiment with the baby human but that's not the point. The point is that you said most people would avoid that! So I said, okay, if you break our bargain and look at the sheep, I'll come take your first baby. It's a traditional fey thing! I thought he wouldn't do it! I don't want a baby, I want a traumatized sheep!"

"Sometimes I wonder if my inventor knew my life would end up like this," Tango says.

"So imagine my shock when one day I just--poof--I have a baby!"

"I don't know how to take care of a baby," Tango says. "You absolutely shouldn't be trusted with a baby. What do we do with a baby."

The two of them look at the child.

"I mean, I cast a spell on it so it would sleep?" Zedaph says tentatively. "But to be totally honest with you, I don't actually know how long those last. You know how it is with my magic."

"I have decided this is Impulse's problem," Tango responds after a moment. "We give the baby to Impulse. He's a human. Humans know what to do with babies, right?"

Zedaph gives Tango an extremely skeptical look. "I got this one from a human."

"Impulse will suffer with us," Tango says.

"Sold," Zedaph says. "Let's go give Impulse a surprise baby."

"Please don't phrase it like that," Tango says, and they both start heading in the direction of where Tango thinks Impulse is currently living. Surely, he has the solution to this problem. Surely.

[figthefruitfaeth]

108 "is that my shirt?" with the pairing of your choice please zoey <3

my dear beloved lou—i love this prompt so much, thank you <3 please know i listened to moon river by frank ocean for the entirety of its creation. I hope you like it

steddie | pre-slash/confession (kinda) | 868 words

Eddie takes a deep breath. 

Blue. That's what it feels like. Spring fresh cornflowers in his lungs, the edges of an inky indigo sky staining his fingertips. Blue is the breath he takes, the old ceramic bowl of cereal he's got clutched to his chest, the veins under his skin. 

It's the color of Steve's shirt.

Eddie shifts—presses his back fully against the window frame, the cold seeping through the thin cotton a welcome relief from the heat of the day. He keeps his head titled out towards the street, but his eyes are focused in.

Steve is on the opposite end of the window, head resting against the glass, his own bowl of cereal balanced carefully on both knees. Eddie watches the last of the day curling into his collarbone, the tips of his bangs. His chest moving in slow and easy breaths, eyes just slivers of hazel in the light. A sleepy cat, perfectly content.

Yet despite the quiet peace of the moment, Eddie feels it. Has felt it all day. Something sticking, unsettled in himself. Sleep in the corner of his eyes, the dry coarse grind of sand in his back molars. He's blamed it on the weed, paranoia lurking in the silence between the hum and ding of the microwaved nachos they'd made earlier—his mind trying to makeup for a body that had, for once, slowed down. 

But that didn't stop himself from feeling it, from knowing something is off—no, Eddie shakes his head—different.

Something is different about Steve.

Steve, very carefully, spoons a mouthful of mushy multi-grain into his mouth. Grimaces, then does it again. A drop of milk lands on his shirt, seeping into fabric quicker than it landed. A spot of midnight in a sea of navy.

His shirt is blue. Which, all things considered, isn't different at all. Though he tends to favor the warmer side of the wheel chart, Steve's wardrobe is a rainbow of colors. From steel blue jackets to violet sweaters, Eddie's seen him in it all.

Mouth closed, his tongue runs along his teeth, twists against the edges of the back. Can't quite reach the end. 

A dark blue t-shirt. A little big, not swallowed in fabric but less form fitting than most of his clothes. Old, maybe  second or even third hand if the edges of the sleeves are anything to go by. Or the image splashed on the chest, which is really only a memory of a design—speckled silver to grey in uneven patches. There's still one letter legible, a sharp 't' dead in the middle. 

It looks a bit like a band t-shirt, reminds Eddie of the shirts Wayne gave him when he first moved in, before they could go the Salvation Army together. Smoke and oil clinging to the threads, a reference to a song he'd only heard once on the radio, but stuck. Settled the buzz in his head, let his body move and mean something more than disappointment. Staring in the mirror, hair barely more than a buzzcut, navy stark against his pale skin—

”Is that my shirt?”

His voice is too loud, accidentally overshot by both the shock and last half hour of silence. Steve doesn't seem to be as affected, turning his head against the glass to face Eddie with a smooth nonchalance.

“Yeah,“ he says. Eddie looks at him, brows raised. Steve looks back, bloodshot eyes blinking slowly, seemingly feeling a one word explanation is all he needs.

Eddie searches for something, anything to say, ends up with a choked cough, and then, “Why?” Which—stupid, stupid, stupid.

Glacial blue, Steve looks down at his (his or his? theirs?) shirt, then back up at Eddie.

“Must've gotten it mixed up.”

Must've gotten it mixed up.

What.

Eddie blinks. Feels a bit like a dog as he shakes his head, mouth opening and then closing up tight in quick succession. There's no way Steve Harrington mixed up his clothes. The man spends 30 minutes a night picking out his outfit for the next day. He missed a group movie cause he couldn't find the right jacket. He almost had a conniption when Dustin tried to wash his colors with his whites. 

Steve always wears the gold and red striped socks when he needs a bit of luck and never just throws something on. Steve doesn't ‘mix up’ clothes, not unless he's dying, not unless it means something—

Oh.

“Oh,” he says out loud, dumbly.

Steve smiles like their afternoon—a hazy, sticky sweet honey in his hands.

“Yeah.”

And then Steve winks, and turns back to the window.

Eddie bites his lip, feels his mouth tearing away into a smile anyway. Turns back to the outside before he does something crazy, shovels in another spoonful of nearly disintegrated cereal, watches night settle in. Lights from other, distant homes click on, warm yellow windows bobbing along in the pitch black darkness. 

In the morning, when the sky lives up to its infamous hue, and the weed has left them their usual jittery, overthinking selves—Eddie will ask him other questions, will need more replies filled with complex, compound sentences.

Eddie takes a deep breath.

Navy.

And for now, that's enough.

writing prompts!

[miasmaghoul]

welcome back 🫡 hows about like ifrit/omega, camboy/sexworker au but like professional rigger, extremely calm omega and cocky asshole ifrit if it tickles ur taint

The chime of incoming tokens rings through the room, and Ifrit cranes his next to look at one of his monitors. It's an awkward twist considering how Omega has him tied - hung by sturdy crimson ropes from hard points attached to a beam overhead, legs wrenched higher than his head and body twisted in a glorious arch that shows off his muscular physique. He aches all over, but the sly grin on his face doesn't show it.

"Oh, big tip from...uh..." He's reading upside down at this angle, and the blood rushing to his head makes his vision swim.

"BoneDaddy69," Omega rumbles from somewhere Ifrit can't see. Nearby enough that in only takes two steps for him to run a large hand over his tied chest. The harness is tighter than usual, putting his glorious tits on perfect display for the camera. "They tipped for a cock tie," he informs Ifrit, tone flat, and Ifrit does his best to squirm when Omega reaches down to drag a finger along his straining length. "But I doubt you'll last through it."

"Oh please," Ifrit scoffs as Omega manipulates his suspended form, pushing and pulling until his legs are spread wide enough to make his pelvis ache. He hides his grimace in a viscious grin. "You know I can take whatever you got, old man."

"We'll find out soon enough," Omega replies, calm as ever, producing a hank of baby pink rope no thicker than a shoelace. He palms Ifrit's smooth sack, watching his cock twitch and leave a shiny spot on his muscled stomach. Omega swipes a finger though the smear, rubbing it against his thumb. "But you're already wetter than Dewdrop, so I'm not hopeful."

Ifrit snarls as Omega unspools the rope, and doesn't let the camera see the way his cheeks flush.

[its-all-papaya]

landoscar + 41? 🧡 maybe fake/pr-dating-turned-real-dating coded, so maybe even + 56? like, they realize the fake wasn't that fake anymore 🙈 (insert i am in love are you in love audio here)

they are both in love, anon.

(because i found it kind of impossible to explain without adding sooo much exposition... oscar is not a driver. he's just... a guy. that mclaren found. to date lando. suspend your disbelief, idk)

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

41. to pretend (or is it?) | landoscar | 1.2k

Lando is in over his head. His aching, pounding, hurts-so-bad-it’s-making-him nauseous head. If he’d known one throw-away trip to the club in Miami was going to complicate his life so irreparably, he would have tucked his P1 trophy into bed next to him and gone straight to sleep like a good, boring boy. Instead, he’d gotten catastrophically fucked-up on any number of things he doesn’t remember and tossed himself dick-first into an entire publicity nightmare. That’s the worst part, probably: Lando doesn’t even remember. He remembers taking shots with Max and Danny and he remembers – barely – stumbling to the bathroom, and the next discernable point on that mental timeline comes at approximately 6:45 a.m., when he’d woken up to go vomit and found his lock screen so full of notifications that it’d made him forget to wonder where the man he’d gone to bed next to had pissed off to so early.

Since then, every minute of Lando’s life not spent in the car has felt full wall-to-wall with interviews, and meetings with crisis management, and saying “I’d prefer not to comment on that” so many times he hears it on repeat like an ear worm when he’s falling asleep at night. And also Oscar. There’s been a lot of Oscar.

He’s waiting in the lobby of McLaren’s hospitality when Lando arrives down from his driver’s room after qualifying in Brazil. Lando wonders how he got in, if their bosses have finally decided he’s trustworthy enough to walk around unchaperoned. It’s funny that he ever didn’t have a pass, actually; he is technically a McLaren employee. Probably. Lando thinks he gets paid. They’ve never talked about the specifics.

Either way, however he got there, Oscar is by himself in the lobby, leaned back in a chair, thumbing at his phone. He looks up when he senses Lando’s arrival, and Lando must look even more pathetic than he even thought, because Oscar’s face immediately goes soft with concern and he leaps up to take Lando’s bag off his hands.

“Hey, you alright?” he asks. He slides the backpack onto his own shoulders and then steadies a hand in the middle of Lando’s back, thumb tracing comforting little circles near his spine.

Lando could lie, but there’s not really any point to that, so he lets his face fold into the grimace it wants to be in and presses his thumb between his eyebrows.

“Head’s killing me,” he says. It comes out weak.

Oscar makes a sad little sound in sympathy, and the palm on Lando’s back shifts to his side so Oscar can tug him closer. Lando doesn’t have the energy to fight Oscar on these things at the best of times lately, so he’s definitely not going to when he’s exhausted and sick with the pain behind his eyes. Even though there’s really nobody around to see them.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel, then,” Oscar says, and Lando has never agreed to anything faster.

Oscar leads the way out of hospitality and through the paddock, fingers linked securely between Lando’s own. It’s baffling that he’s already been around this circus long enough to know the way without help. Nice, though, because Lando’s not really in a state to be of any.

They run into a few people along the way – fans or sponsors or employees. Lando doesn’t get the chance to tell which are which, because every time somebody new greets them, Oscar’s fingers tighten around his own and he talks the both of them cleverly out of the conversation before Lando can even consider what he would say if he was left to his own devices. It feels nearly impossible that less than six months ago, Oscar could barely say two words to Lando without being directly asked to.

“Oscar!” he hears as they’re nearing the exit, and they’re so close to relative quiet that Lando can’t help but groan about it. Oscar squeezes his hand again like an apology as he turns to address whoever it is.

"What’s up?” Oscar asks. When Lando lifts his eyes from the pavement, it’s Max stood before them. Both of his hands are hooked in the straps of his backpack and his chest is heaving just a little, like he’d jogged to catch them up.

“You’ll of course be at the race tomorrow?” Max asks. Lando’s not sure where this conversation is going, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t have to happen right now. He hopes the look he’s giving Max is sufficiently irritated.

It must do the job, because Max’s eyes brighten and he says “Not pleased about that, Lando?”

Oscar’s hand goes from Lando’s palm to his back again, quick, and before Lando can open his mouth, Oscar’s saying, “He doesn’t feel good.”

“Ah,” Max says. Lando can’t figure out the look he’s being given.

“The race tomorrow?” Lando presses. If they’re going to chat about whatever it was right now, they could at least get to the point.

Max nods, shifting his gaze back to Oscar, “You are staying, yeah?”

“Yeah," Oscar says, "Why?”

It’s taking too long. Lando squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against Oscar’s shoulder, hoping the counterpressure might do anything at all for the hot ache in his brain. Oscar’s hand goes immediately to the back of Lando’s neck, like it’s habit, and his thumb starts drawing firm lines down the muscle there, hairline to nape. It feels…really, really nice, actually.

“You’ll fly back with us after,” he can make out Max saying, “to Monaco. Lando and I and a few others.”

That doesn’t really make sense. Oscar’s been planning to go home for a bit over the mini break, Lando knows, they talked about it nearly right away when the agreement was drawn up. Far be it from him to argue that point, though, not when Oscar’s saying “Yeah, thanks, mate,” and his thumb’s still easing the pain in Lando’s skull. Lando would blame it on the headache, but it’s not like he’ll mind the extra time with Oscar, either. Which Max knows.

Lando cracks his eyes open and shifts enough to squint suspiciously at his friend, but Max is just grinning happily at the pair of them.

“Very good,” Max says. Sure.

“That’s all?” Oscar asks. His thumb finally stills. Lando does not whine about it, but it’s a close thing.

“Yes,” Max says, “you can take grumpy home now.”

Then, before Lando can decide whether that’s worth getting upset over, Oscar squeezes the back of his neck and nudges him up off his shoulder. His eyes are apologetic when Lando meets them, and he kisses Lando once on the forehead as he slides their palms back together.

It’s nice. Domestic. Very convincing, probably. Oscar’s gotten really good at his job.

“We’ll see you, mate,” Oscar says.

Max clasps Oscar’s hand for a second, then squeezes Lando’s shoulder on his way by.

When he's a few steps off, Oscar says, “Ready?” like Lando hasn’t been begging to go this whole time.

Lando says yes, please and he can tell it's a little whiny, because Oscar says "Hey, okay love, I'm sorry" and brushes a gentle kiss against his lips. Lando thinks Max is probably too far away to see it, but Oscar would know better.

It’s not until they’re finally settled into the back of the car, sides pressed together, that Lando remembers:

“Max knows about everything. You didn’t have to… he knows.”

Oscar’s gaze is soft and maybe a little sad, for some reason, but he smiles past it and combs his fingers through Lando’s hair until he settles.

“Yeah,” Oscar says as Lando’s head falls back against his shoulder, “He does.”

[raycatz]

WIP ask game, artist edition! (writing welcome too)

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

It's been really fun reading about what everyone's working on! Let's get the artists involved, too! I want to see everyone's aaa.fileextention and aaaa.fileextention pieces hehe.

I have so many LU comic ideas! For most of them I have the dialogue, visuals, and acting written out. Some have art! Everything from initial concepts to multi-chapter fic.

Here's the .csp wips I have atm! Some of them are tied to comic ideas and some are stand alone.

shunk

haha tanlines

apple tree

chores

wind_maya_19_simpleRig_pose.mb

smack_audio_shorter

theblorbos

pixels2

om nom

nehneh

sleeps

full sprint

headache

ico

uuuuuhhhhh

mftrainsbro

huhwha & hhhwa

beetleeeee

Non LU writing & art wips

lizard

whee

wobbles

corn

sleepy ocs

Moe the Moblin (the idea lives on the LU ideas google doc but it's gen loz. could be LU if you wanted it to be, though! Open to interpretation.)

SSBU Links - Chateau Romani

SSBU Links - Get Out Of The Water!

Mina's Linkverse - Goat Plushie

Team Ico AU

Major & Minor Beats & Shot Types: Dragon Tower

While tagging as many people as I have wips might be possible, maybe, it would definitely be excessive! I'm tagging: @zolanort, @liccy, @luwyv, @mizaruwu, @theegh0st,

@bluevaractyl, @grenapple0547, @starrysorry, @twilight-linkess, @genderfluid-puddle-of-soup,

@awkwardpossum0, @ghostlykidplaidbanana, @jellydragons, @off-mozzarella, @kikker-oma (Oma, do you have any projects outside of Fan Joy July you want to share? :D ) and anyone who wants to play!

(also feel free to ignore the @. This is for fun and only if you want to!)

[orangepanic]

okay based off that bad sex meme Irohsami sex interrupted by a phone call and Asami just casually takes the call and discusses future industry stocks while Iroh is sitting there still hot to go and shocked like:

anyway i hope this made you laugh

Welp.

He's just slipped her panties off when the telephone by the bed jangles to life. Iroh can't for the life of him understand why anyone needs a telephone in their bedroom, where its seemingly only purpose is to disturb either sleep or other private activities, so he's even more shocked when Asami scoots up the bed, rolls over, and actually answers it.

"Hello?" Iroh has noticed how she never gives out her name at first. "Oh, yes, thank you. Yes, now is fine." She covers the receiver and throws him an apologetic look before mouthing the word sorry.

Iroh gazes from her smudged lipstick down past the waves of long black hair cascading over her open shirt to the appealing dark patch between her legs. His own shorts strain against him. Iroh wears nothing else. Because they'd been rather in the middle of something, hadn't they?

"Five-fifty," Asami says, as if repeating what her caller has told her. "What about on the Ba Sing Se exchange? They're ahead." Iroh runs a thumb experimentally over her ankle and the corner of her mouth twitches into a smile. "Alright, that's what I expected," she says into the receiver. "Can you give me the averages?"

With that small victory Iroh moves his hand further up Asami's leg. Her pale calf is cool beneath his palm. She's told him she loves how hot his skin feels to the touch but he's never admitted the inverse is also true. When he gets to her knee he makes another little circle with his thumb, this time adding some heat. Asami cocks an eyebrow at him. What are you doing? she mouths.

Iroh tugs a little at her knee. Just a little. She has every right to say no, to send him packing with shattered hopes and aching balls, but she doesn't. Instead she shifts her hips and lets him gently part her legs.

"We need to get it back up to seven at least by the end of the month," Asami says as Iroh presses his lips to the soft skin beside her knee, "ideally more. I'm not concerned, not yet. We" -- her breathing hitches when he nibbles the inside of her thigh -- "we have the second quarter earnings out on Monday."

Iroh takes his time, and is rewarded with the feel of Asami's free hand in his hair. She's not pulling him to her but almost. Nothing turns him on so much as being wanted yet this, this is something else. It almost feels like a challenge. The taste of her isn't nearly as sweet as the change in her voice on the telephone. Maybe her caller can tell, maybe they can't, but Iroh can. Her tone is high, breathy, with too many pauses. Asami usually speaks with such confidence.

"Then the Board will just ah um have to wait," she gasps into the telephone. "Along with... with... with everyone else." A pause. Iroh can feel her trembling. Her hips twitch with need. "Really. Will be. Fine."

She comes perhaps four seconds after she hangs up and Iroh thinks she might tear holes in the sheets. It's all he can do to stay with her, keeping it up as she rides out the wave shouting his name. Only when he's sure that she's finished does he relent.

The scene before him is beautiful. Asami lays on the bed red-faced and wrecked, her gorgeous green eyes blown wide. "You..." she pants, seemingly unable to finish the sentence.

Iroh grins. "I'd never abandon a mission."

Asami pulls her legs together and scoots to the side. Her mouth has a mischievous look that he doesn't like. "You," she repeats, nodding her chin to the bedside table, "go call your mother."