#do they look as great as moulded pieces? no

[maranull]

placing stickers is actually very fun, I don't get why some folks dislike them

I love them, they are a nice break on the cutting and fitting moulded pieces

[wolfpants]

nightcall (drarry, 1058 words)

Thank you to @getawayfox for the amazing art for this little piece I wrote for kinkuary! Give her post some love here ❤️‍🔥 Rated: E / nsfw Tags: Unspeakable!Drarry, begging, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, FWB, colleagues to lovers, pining, light bdsm On a top secret Unspeakable misson, Harry calls Draco from a remote phone booth on the Isle of Skye. ao3 link here, or keep reading

❤️‍🔥🖤📞🏍🥀

“What are you looking at right now?”

“Castle ruins. The sea. The moon. Dark road.”

“Have you got somewhere to sleep?”

A pause.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“Have you got somewhere to sleep?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got somewhere to sleep. Don’t worry.”

Draco’s breath crackles against Harry’s ear. 

If Harry closes his eyes—shuts off the road, the barren hills, the moonlight sparkling against the shore—he can pretend Draco’s right here with him. 

He can pretend Draco’s huffing gently into his ear, murmuring against his throat like he might if they were alone together in the same room.

“That’s all I do,” Draco whispers dryly. “Arsehole.”

They shouldn’t even be talking. It’s against code. They could lose their jobs. 

The Ministry doesn't know how to tap Muggle telephone boxes, but Draco and Harry know better than to talk about work outside of Level Nine. So Harry doesn’t ask Draco if he’s still working on those files and old tomes he keeps under deadly protection magic in The Manor. He doesn’t ask if he stayed in the office all night again and forgot to eat dinner. 

“Does my voice sound normal?” Draco asks when Harry doesn’t respond to the bait of his insult. 

“Your voice has never sounded normal.” 

Harry is curled over the telephone desk. He runs his finger over the edges of the BT directory. He pulls back the cover to read it.

THE PHONE BOOK: HIGHLANDS AND ISLANDS 2003/2004

Almost ten years out of date.

“Fuck you,” comes Draco’s predictably plummy-edged response.

“Fuck you,” Harry repeats, grinning. He shifts his weight from one hip to the other. His riding leathers, softened and moulded to his body like a second skin, crease and rasp gently. His helmet is by his feet, his bike outside on the gravel; headlight on, casting the winding road ahead in ghostly bleached light. Its engine gently purrs into the night, reminding him that they need to keep this catch up brief.

“No, really,” Draco says, dropping his voice back to a whisper. His breath puffs against the receiver.

“You’re smoking.” Harry leans against the glazed side of the box and drops his head back against the glass panes. 

“I’m outside, no one’s going to die,” Draco murmurs.

Harry closes his eyes again and pictures Draco standing on the lawn in Wiltshire. Mobile phone to ear, screen glowing against his face, cheeks pink from the cold. Surrounded by shadowed hedges and sculpted water features, smoke pluming from his lips, creeping up towards the starry sky. His hair is pulled into a knot on the back of his head. Or perhaps it’s loose, and the breeze is moving it around the sharp slopes of his cheeks.

“You look sexy when you smoke. You sound great. I miss you,” Harry says in three steady beats.

Draco won’t return the words. He never does. But Harry knows he feels them. 

That he misses them too. Whatever—they are.

Work partners. Friends. More than friends sometimes. Less than friends other times.

Another soft breath. “Are you alone?”

“I’m on the tip of Skye looking at the North Atlantic. I’m very alone. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a tree.”

“Then,” Draco huffs gently—an inhale, a sharp exhale, the sound of his shoes clicking against pavement. He’s walking through the hedge maze. “Fuck you.”

Harry licks his lips. “Yeah?” He cups himself over his leather trousers. Slides his thumb over the shifting head of his cock as it grows closer towards his hip.

Draco hums, deep and smooth. Harry tilts his hips up in a slow fuck against his fingers, heat spreading, sharp and singular, between his legs. “God I want you,” he rasps, closing his eyes. The flutter of pale hair. Draco’s lovely lips wrapping around the filter of his cigarette. The way he kisses, dirty and like he means it.

“You have to ask for it nicely first, Potter.” Another inhale. “You can’t just take what you want. Especially from me.”

Harry balances the phone between his shoulder and his ear and fumbles with the zip of his leathers. “Please,” he whispers. 

Draco hums again, louder this time, almost a moan but not quite. “Tell me what you want."

“I want you to sit on my face,” Harry says on a breath. His leathers are open as far as the zip will let him. He rucks up the t-shirt he wears underneath, enough to get into the waistband of his pants. His cock is already poking out the top, tip wet and swollen. He stares blearily at the beam of light outside, at the empty hills and sparkling water, fingers teasing himself in a slow, deliberate stroke.

Draco inhales sharply. “What was that?”

“I want you to sit on my face—please.” Harry licks his lips, circling his thumb over the wet head of his prick. “Want you to ride my mouth, my tongue. Take what you want from me. God, I want that so badly.”

“You like being suffocated, don’t you, you sick pup,” Draco whispers.

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out. “P—please.”

“And your tongue always feels so damn good. Maybe if you eat me good enough I could ride your cock. Would you like that?”

Harry groans, already so close. His leathers squeak and crease, and his elbow knocks against the glass behind him as he strokes his length up and down, balls drawing up tight.

“You’d have to stay still, though."

“Yes,” Harry breathes, picturing it now, like the countless times Draco has held him down—by the chest, the arms, the neck, sometimes—while he bounces up and down on his cock until they both come, sweaty and breathless.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“I want to come.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t come riding you,” Draco whispers.

“Draco…”

“Maybe I’d climb off you after you’ve spilled deep inside me, and we could switch. Maybe I could fuck the come out of you again, because you’re a dirty, needy little sl—”

Harry comes with a sharp, bitten off cry.

It spills down his fingers, splashes onto his t-shirt.

Draco chuckles. Harry hears him light another cigarette. “Good boy,” he croons.

“Fuck you,” Harry says with a breathless laugh, his head spinning. He gazes at the night sky through the foggy pane of glass above his head.

“Soon,” Draco whispers.

[minminyoonjii]

Im going through a hard break up right now and so i was asking could you maybe do a fic skz comforting reader cuz i really need it right now

Btw i love your fics so much<3

I hope your doing great love!

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🧡Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist

🌹CW

QuickFic|Gender Neutral! Reader|Hurt/Comfort|Heavy Reassurance|Domestic Fluff|Picking Up The Pieces|Song Based Fic|'Til Then, I'll Hold On To You

💛AN

Not @ me typing this out at the hospital, okie byee. I'll come back again during my next break <33

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 0.4K

"Aww, little one. Why are you upset, hm?" Chan asked, entering your room. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mouth agape, not a word was spoken. He hummed, carefully moving towards you, "Can I sit here? You don't have to say anything, baby doll. Just nod or shake your head," Chan reassured, watching your next move. Felix knocked on your door, making you flinch at the echoing sound. 

Jisung winced, furrowing his eyebrows at the jolt, "We're sorry, sweetheart. We didn't mean to," he whispered, walking in. Felix nodded, "Sorry, sunshine. We got worried, you sounded so distressed," he frowned, slowly making his way towards you. " Channie," you whimpered, opening your arms shakily. Chan released a sigh he didn't know he held, "I got you, yeah? *Got you right here, right in my arms," he said, pulling you close to his chest. 

Minho came in with a bottle of water, "Take a sip, munchkin. You cried quite a lot, " he sighed, lightly brushing your hair away from your face. Changbin held Hyunjin's arm, "Are they alright?" he asked, looking towards Felix. "Yeah, but the pain burns, so the tears aren't stopping anytime soon," he whispered, rubbing your calves. Changbin frowned, getting onto the bed with Hyunjin on his lap, "I wish I could take some of it," he growled lowly, pressing his tongue against his inner cheek. 

Hyunjin rubbed Changbin's back, "We all do, hyung," he said, tucking himself within Changbin's hold. "Shh, little one. Get some rest," Chan shushed, rocking your sobbing figure. Their hearts ached, slowly forming a cuddle pack around you. "Give me your loneliness, and I'll give you mine," Seungmin hummed, kissing the top of your palm. "Leave all your tears by your bedside, and let's live a night," Jeongin whispered, brushing your hair. 

"I know you feel a mess, and your pillow wouldn't dry, " Jisung shushed, tucking your plush between your arms. "Come lay on me instead, pay no mind," Chan chuckled, smiling softly as he wiped your tears. "To the voice in your head, pulling old memories," Hyunjin hummed, pulling a blanket over your exhausted body. "Making their circles around your bed," Felix sighed, making sure your feet were tucked under the blankets.

"Late am is always when their try to start their run," Minho pointed out, laying next to Chan. "So come to me where no demons come," he reassured, stroking your cheek. They moulded themselves on the bed, cuddling close into the warmth. "Rest now, little love. Let your pillows dry themselves off for now. You can cry in our warmth instead. Don't hold back your tears, yeah?" Chan smiled, bopping your nose. Tears poured until they dried, staining your plush cheeks with tears marked left behind. "We'll be here when you need us. We're always one step beside you, " he whispered, watching as your half-lidded eyes drifted off, coaxing you into a soundless sleep

[love-rats]

as with all great horror shows, don't hug me i'm scared proves itself one of the greatest by presenting a very unsubtle "fuck capitalism" message in the very first episode of the tv show.

like seriously. they really said "work treats you like mindless zombies. the boss gets paid for doing absolutely nothing while you only really get treated like an actual human if you contort yourself until your back breaks to fit in, going above and beyond to try and mould yourself into a perfect worker. before long you look up and time has passed and everyone you love is old now, rotting away in the workplace, but it's okay, because you're part of the team, right? and then an accident happens and everyone rejoices because the management doesn't give a shit about workers' health, the 'workplace safety' video being completely performative and the mental health services being absolute rubbish. and in the end, what was it all for? a one pence piece."

like, dhmis heavily relies on shock value and is often traumatic, but the execution and the message is fucking fantastic.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

All Chained Up

All chained up Masterlist

Last chapter *ੈ✩‧₊˚ Next chapter

Tw: It gets a bit existential

Chapter 4: Nothing gives way to nothing

Your dreams were met with the black void again. It’s hollow and empty, so encompassing that it seeps through your skin, leaving a chill across your skin. It’s hard to move again, your limbs surrounded by what feels like molasses. Your mind feels so incredibly loud with its silence, and yet you feel like you are supposed to be this empty. Made to be nothing.

“It’s you-“ “You're back a-” “Why did you le-” The shadows speak, so many voices layered overtop one another that they press against your skull.

“Where am I?” Your voice is so loud here. Crystal clear and commanding despite your intent of a whisper. You flinch away from your own voice, unfamiliar with its power.

“Home.” All of the shadows unanimously agreed, nipping at your skin. You shouldn’t feel pain in a dream. And yet you feel regardless. The nothingness you were made to express was tarnished by the world that surrounds you until you’re no longer a creation that represents what it was meant to. And your creator turned their back on you, leaving you to rot in a world where you could not possibly flourish. These feelings fester and rot until you’re soft and weak. “She’ll be coming to get you soon” One voice whispers right next to your ear, and even then it sounds like a collage of voices pieced together. The words strike fear and yet you do not know why. Shouldn’t the hands of your maker be warm as they mould you back to the form you were intended? You feel as if you know this connection you yearn for with your creator is one you may never have. “We won’t let her take you away again” It puts its hands over your eyes despite there not being much to cover. One darkness simply gave way to another. The empty feeling falling into another until something changes. You feel the energy shift, a low hum filling your senses and buzzing at your limbs. The blood in your veins burns and your organs push against your bones in an effort to escape. Now you were as she intended. Now, you no longer feel like a person. Were you ever really to begin with?

You awake fully sat up, the sun hardly dousing the land with its light. Time watched, silent as ever. Silent as always, and yet your head was filled with chatter. Noise you could not shut out. Wind’s words played back through your head, how Time has given them orders to not speak with you. Caution was good in moderation of course, but that struck you as odd. His gaze was far off, looking far through you. You pop your sore joints and that light of recognition lights in his eyes.

“Rough night?” His voice was different. It’s still hard and commanding as it always had been, but where you were once met with stiffness, there was give. You found it in yourself to nod, not questioning why your nerves still stood on their ends. Why that harrowing emptiness that gave you comfort was stripped away. “Are you usually visited by bad dreams?” Now that, that struck you as odd. Time had given explicit orders to the others to only talk to you as needed (and even then they’ve broken that rule) and he went to great lengths to ignore you himself. But this genuine concern was a jarring shift of character. The shift of his words breaking you down, isolating you, to his words striving to stave off the darkness that infected your mind.

“More recently, I guess” He nods. You feel uncomfortable, despite the fact this concern should be comforting. Much the way you felt about- you cut that thought short. This would all be over soon. It has to be. You’ve fallen into the labyrinth of your mind and would soon find the exit. Or maybe your old life was the labyrinth. Both thoughts now felt sickeningly cruel. Eventually, that awkwardness is broken up by others waking up, Wild making breakfast and Legend’s begrudging return. You felt the urge to reach out, to apologise to the both of them. You hadn’t seen any man look as haunted as Wild did for the rest of that evening, and judging by the bags under his eyes, you guessed he did not sleep well either. And Legend seemed nice enough. Abrasive, sure, but he was the first to actively try and talk to you. Call it clingy, but you weren’t going to let him burn that bridge. So many things flew under your radar. Wind sat glued to your side, silent and still, much unlike the bright and unruly character he normally was. Legend passed you several looks over breakfast, trying to gauge your reaction to his outburst, trying to see if you were still so forgiving of him. Time’s face paint was slightly more vibrant than it usually was, the rich crimson and azure bright and bold against his skin.

As it turned out, both were similarly stubborn in not admitting anything was wrong. Wild was simply unwilling to talk much on the matter, saying that Legend gets heated sometimes, and assured you to ignore it. He made an effort to at least look unbothered, but no person talks with that much strain in their voice about something their unbothered but. Meanwhile, Legend was unwilling to even acknowledge that he spoke to you at all yesterday. So, all things totalled, You’ve broken Time both the person and the concept, pissed of Legend to the point he refuses your existence and possibly started a whole new conflict. And almost met god on a few occasions, but it hasn't happened yet. At least the forests were more forgiving. The trail was quiet, but filled with ambient noise. Birds whistled their song into the wind as it rustled the leaves to the left of you as water ran to your right. You fell in pace with Wild and Twilight, who’s conversation carried on despite you standing there- you felt a little sad that it was an achievement.

“You seem to be enjoyin’ yerself there, care to enlighten us?” Twilight looked over to you and you found yourself panicked. Mainly because you did not know these people well enough to know what dignified as a good response, and the actual response of ‘I’m just glad you didn’t stop talking when I was walking next to you’ was incredibly incriminating.

“I- uh It’s just been a while since I’ve been able to walk around y’know?” They’re both looking at you know, prompting you to continue. “Between work and school and- well everything, it’s been a minute since i’ve just enjoyed the world around me.” They both nod and you’re grateful for the silence that covers you.

“I get that” Wild concedes, nodding his head. “Before I started travelling I always worked too hard to ever really acknowledge the world until-“ His eyes darted to the trees, his hands caught one of the leaves from a bush and peels it apart with his nails. “One day, The world was the only company I had. And I got to see it for what it’s worth. He smiles at you with understanding, warm and unrestrained unlike how he had been earlier. The closeness of the moment is striking, like it’s the ripple of something already passed. Silence falls between the three of you again, but this time, it’s not nearly as harming. It’s comfortable in embracing the world as it is.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Damn,” Lance mutters to himself, craning his neck as he takes in the building in front of him. The tall, beautiful building. The expensive building, Lordie. They’ve come a long way since they were bunked up in their piece of shit studio apartment, 19 years old and stressed and completely unsure about what they were doing in life.

Lance snorts. Well. Maybe they haven’t changed that much.

Reminding himself how excited he is to see Hunk’s new place, he heads through the sleek glass doors, nodding at the doorman — an actual doorman, what the fuck — and hauling ass to make the elevator. He rides up to the twentieth floor, which seems to take a thousand years. That probably has less to do with the actual elevator and more to do with the fact that there are six other people in this elevator and five of them are wearing fancy suits, but whatever.

He steps out onto the quiet, carpeted hallway, looking for apartment 2014. He finds it quickly, peeking under the welcome mat like Hunk said, beyond relieved to see the silver key. He slides it through the lock, opening it easily, and pokes his head through the door.

“Dandelion?” he calls softly. He’s expecting the excited howling of Hunk’s big dumb cat, then the sound of his little paws clambering on the floor as he speeds down the hallway, but there’s nothing. Lance shrugs, stepping all the way into the apartment and locking the door behind him. Hunk must have taken Dandelion with him to see Shay.

Humming to himself, Lance heads for the kitchen. He ate before he got on the train, but that was almost two hours ago, and besides — Hunk’s fridge is always stocked. At best there will be leftovers of whatever genius Hunk has cooked up in the past couple days, and at worst there’ll be fifteen dollar exotic strawberries that Lance will steal shamelessly.

Hunk is so lucky to have Lance as a best friend, honestly.

Opening the fridge, however, is a massive disappointment. There’s not a single fancy schmancy ingredient in sight, and certainly no delicious leftovers. In fact the fridge is almost completely barren, only a carton of eggs, random condiments, and a bunch of veggies. The veggies make sense, but the fridge still feels off, somehow. But there are ingredients enough to make a killer sandwich, so Lance helps himself.

Ignoring the countless warnings Hunk has given him over the years to not eat and walk so he doesn’t get crumbs everywhere, Lance decides to give himself a tour of the apartment. It’s leagues better than anything either of them have every lived in before, which is nice. Lance is unbelievably proud of Hunk for his promotion — he deserves it and more. He most definitely deserves the sick view, 20 storeys in the air, the crown moulded ceilings, the general cleanliness. The sparseness of the place is definitely a little odd for Hunk, because he’s more of a knickknack guy, but he’s only been at this place for a couple months. Makes sense that he hasn’t unpacked yet.

Lance perks up at the sound of the key in the lock. It’s a little early, yet, almost a half hour before Hunk said he’d be here, but hey — the earlier the better! Lance has missed living near his best friend.

Quickly scarfing down his sandwich — he was so bullshitting before and if Hunk catches him red handed he’s going to die and he knows it — he sprints to the kitchen, hiding just behind the bend of the wall. He snickers quietly for himself, tense in wait. He’s going to scare the shit out of Hunk, and it’s going to be great.

“— yeah, yeah, I know, but I’ve got shit to do tonight, Shiro. I don’t have time.”

Lance freezes.

That’s not Hunk.

“What? No! I’m not sacrificing Survivor to go to some bar, dude! Why the hell would I trade chilling out with Kosmo on the couch and watching people be fools in the wilderness for dodging drunk people?”

Maybe Hunk brought a friend over, Lance thinks to himself. Hunk’s a friendly guy. It’s possible.

“Yeah, yeah.” The mystery man’s voice goes high pitched, mocking. “I have no friends and need to get out more, blah blah blah. hear you, Shiro.”

Lance’s heart pounds. So much for that theory. He peeks around the corner, expecting some dude in a ski mask and dressed in black, holding a gun and a duffel bag. Instead he sees a guy, dressed in a white t-shirt — a tight white tee, may Lance add — and basketball shorts, maybe a couple inches taller than Lance, sporting what Lance can only call an honest-to-God mullet.

Well, at least Lance got the duffel bag part right.

The man’s voice turns exasperated. “I am taking you seriously, Shiro. Promise. I’ll go — I’ll do something social tomorrow, okay?” The man turns slightly, so Lance has full view of his profile, and the arm holding up his phone.

The, uh, fairly toned arm.

“Yeah. I will. Love you, too.”

Oh no.

This intruder is hot.

The hot intruder hangs up, shoving his phone in his pocket. Then, faster than Lance can react (look, no one prepares you for a burglar that looks like a Greek god, okay? Lance is a little stupefied and he feels that it’s justified. This man’s jawline alone is affecting his heart worse than the fear that he’s gonna get murdered for witnessing a crime), the man turns into the kitchen.

Face to face with Lance.

For a moment neither of them say anything, completely frozen, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. And then the hot intruder blinks, says “Shit!” loudly enough to echo, and reaches for his pocket.

Lance, fearing the worst, screeches at the top of his lungs, and sprints for the bedroom, shoving past the intruder.

“Get out!” he screams, slamming and locking the door behind him. “Get out get out get out!”

“What the — you get out!” the intruder screams back. He slams into the door, banging on it as he juggles the handle. “Why are you here?”

“Dear God, please help me.” Lance isn’t much of a religious person, really, but all those boring years of Easter Mass growing up must have affected him in some way, because he’s halfway ready to start praying for real. Obviously, this man had quietly observed how smart and handsome and awesome Hunk looks, and assumed he’s a rich supergenius, and has now come to rob him blind as he’s out of the house. What this horrible criminal didn’t expect was Lance, here to visit his friend at his new place. And now that Lance has witnessed him, bare-faced and red-handed, he is going to murder Lance — to death — to cover his crime.

“I’m calling the police!” Lance screeches. He doesn’t have a whole lot of faith in the fuckers, but at this point they’re better than nothing. Maybe they’ll bring a forensic team to help solve the crime of Leandro Agustín Nuñez Carmen Esposita-McClain, far too young and beautiful to die, murdered tragically.

There’s a pause from the other side of the door, almost shocked.

“Why the fuck would you be calling the cops?” demands the man, half incredulous. “I’m calling the cops, you trespassing weirdo!”

Something like cold realization begins to build up in Lance’s gut. “I’m calling the cops because you’re trying to rob this apartment and maybe murder me?” he suggests.

“Rob the — murder you?” the man sputters. “This is my fucking apartment!”

Before he can talk himself out of it, Lance unlocks the door and yanks it open, face to face with Mr Tall, Mulleted, and Handsome.

“Do you,” he says nervously, face a little red, “happen to have a neighbour named Hunk Garrett?”

The man blinks at him. “Yeah. He’s across the hall. 2041.”

A long, agonizing moment of silence. Both of them just look at each other in pure bewilderment. (Well, Lance will admit that his bewilderment is not quite so pure. There might be some healthy admiration and lust swimming around there somewhere. This man is very attractive, and Lance has a thing for people who are angry with him. It’s a complex.)

“In my defense,” Lance says eventually, “I’m dyslexic.”

———

Luckily for Lance, Keith — the hot not-intruder — is very understanding of the entire ideal.

By that, Lance means he laughs himself to tears, right there on the hallway floor.

“There’s no way this is happening in real life,” Keith wheezes. “There’s no way you could fuck up this bad.”

Lance scowls. “Oh, piss off. I flipped two measly digits, and you’re the dumbass who keeps your house key under your welcome mat! Who even does that!”

It takes Keith several tries to calm himself down. The first few times he seems like he’s normal, but then he looks at Lance’s grouchy face and loses it all over again. The worst part is that he has a fucking gorgeous laugh, so Lance is having a really hard time staying angry.

“I’m —” Keith takes a deep, shuddering breath — “I’m sorry, dude. Lance. Really. I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just — I was just telling my brother that nothing happens here, you know? And then this.”

Lance softens, finally allowing himself a small smile. He offers a hand to Keith, who takes it and pulls himself up. “Yeah, I guess it’s kind of a one-in-a-lifetime thing, huh?”

Keith hums. “Yeah.”

Keith’s hand is calloused, along the heel and flex of his palm. His hand is also very warm, like Lance has his own personal hand-heater. But Lance is, if he’s being entirely honest, paying way more attention to his eyes — they’re the most peculiar shade of indigo, so dark that Lance thought they were black, at first. But no, the darkest shade of blue-purple Lance has ever seen. He has freckles too, though barely. Just a couple spattered on the bridge of his nose. And the —

The sound of the Swedish chef from the Muppets over trap music startles Lance out of his reverie — Hunk’s ringtone. He pulls away from Keith’s hand, from his very close personal space, God, and hurriedly answers.

“Yeah, Hunk?”

His voice cracks seven times. He’s not proud of it.

“Where are you, dude? You were supposed to get here earlier than me but I’ve been here for twenty minutes. Did you get lost?”

Lance looks at his watch, then curses loudly. Has he really been in Keith’s apartment for nearly an hour? Fuck!

“I didn’t get — I just lost track of time — I’m not — I’ll be right there,” he rushes out. “See you in five, okay?”

He hangs up before Hunk has the chance to respond, still cursing endlessly.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grips his hair with one hand, other clenching his phone. He flicks his eyes back to Keith, who looks way more amused than he has any right to. “I have — I’ve gotta go. Now.”

“To the right apartment this time,” Keith surmises, grinning.

Lance flushes. “That would be correct, yes. I’m meeting my friend for dinner.”

“Hunk Garrett. Chef extraordinaire. You mentioned.”

Like a dumbass and before he can stop himself, Lance blurts: “You should come with me.”

Keith raises an amused eyebrow. “I’m not an expert in social cues or anything, but I don’t think you can invite me over to other people’s houses.” He chuckles. “Although you don’t seem to have a problem showing up to places randomly, huh?”

“Shut up!”Lance checks his watch again, then bites his lip. “I really have to go.” There’s nothing stopping him. He has no reason to stay, really. But for some reason he doesn’t want to go.

“Hey, give me your number,” Keith says after a moment.

“Why?” Lance asks on reflex. Very quickly he wants to smack himself for being a fool.

Keith smiles wryly. “Well, I dunno. Once I emotionally recover from you breaking and entering into my apartment, I might decide I want to press charges. Better get your number just in case.”

Lance laughs. He takes the offered phone, punching in his number and contact, putting a heart after his name after only a beat of hesitation.

“I’ll text you,” Keith says, walking Lance to the door. For the first time since he discovered Lance hiding in his kitchen, he looks slightly nervous. “If, um. If that’s okay.”

“I’d like that,” Lance says softly. Keith’s gentle look makes something hot brew in his belly, butterflies fluttering and making his arms and legs tingle. He’s had crushes before, and he’s absolutely no stranger to finding someone hot, but this feels…different. Almost —

“Lance?” For the second time, Hunk’s voice startles Lance out of making goo-goo eyes at Keith, poking his head out of his actual apartment, right across the door. “I thought I heard you out here — wait.” Hunk’s dark eyes narrow, and he looks Lance up and down. He holds his gaze for a second, then bursts out laughing. “Keith, pal,” he wheezes, “please tell me my dumbass best friend didn’t break into your house.”

Keith grins. “He did!”

“No fuckin’ way! Lance, dude, oh my God —”

“Easy and reasonable mistake! Fuck off!”

———

Hours later, cozy on Hunk’s couch, he gets a text from an unknown number.

from: unknown

i’ve decided i won’t press charges for breaking and entering.

Lance laughs, quickly adding the number to his contacts.

to: keith <3

thank you, oh merciful one.

Lance is left on read for long enough that he’s almost offended, but luckily a text pops in before he can get really mad.

from: keith <3

don’t get too relieved yet, lance.

from: keith <3

there are other charges i’m going to press.

A real stab of fear pierces Lance’s heart.

to: keith <3

u best be joking it was an ACCIDENT

to: keith <3

i have DYSLEXIA

to: keith <3

this is DYSLEXIPHOBIC

Before Lance can really work himself up, though, Keith finishes his thought.

from: keith <3

i have to report you for theft

from: keith <3

cus aside from sandwich ingredients, i think you stole my heart

Lance couldn’t stop his giggle if he tried. It’s besotted and stupid and halfway-drunk, Jesus. Lance is embarrassed for himself.

from: keith <3

oh my god that is the most embarrassing thing i’ve ever typed and sent

from: keith <3

i’m begging you to purge it from your memory

to: keith <3

i’ll make you a deal

Lance takes a deep breath, steeling himself before sending. It feels strange to be on the other end of a pickup line — Lance can’t say he minds.

to: keith <3

you go out with me, and i’ll never mention how embarrassing you are to another soul

from: keith <3

…

from: keith <3

i’ve only known you for a day, and i know you’re lying to me

Lance snorts. That’s a fair assumption. Lance was lying. He’s actually debating waking Hunk up to show him these texts instead of waiting until tomorrow morning, but Keith doesn’t need to know that.

from: keith <3

but, yeah. i’ll go out with you.

from: keith <3

…tomorrow?

Lance grins. He has a good feeling about this.

to: keith <3

see you then, hot not-intruder :)

———

based on this video

[lets-try-some-writing]

I evedently forgot how to draw using the pad, so have this terrible sketch instead for now.

anyway lore:

I imagine the blood mold would have five growth stages.

dormant spore. Its just a small dark red growth, looking vaguley like a seastar with too many arms. its very unoticeble in this stage and only syphons a minimal amount of energy from its host.

young mould. It progresses to this stage if its either attached to a optimal host species or a dormant spore attached to a suboptimal host species detects its host being invaded by another parasite. It gains basic sentience during this stage and acts agressivley towards any potential treats.

adolecent growth. As it grows it splits into many interconected pieces, each having its own set of eyes and operating on a kind of hivemind if disconected from the original pice. at this stage it tends to focus on the habits and behaviors of its host species, adapting as well as it can to its host body structure and abilitys, integrading as smoothly as possible. If attached to a more inteligend species, it tends to get sassy at this point, it also starts picking up on its hosts emotions, wich can overwhelm it at times.

adult colonie. A large growth fully encompassing the space provided by the host species, this is generally as big as it can get if attached to a suboptimal host. It has now fully adapted to its hosts body and can make the best use of it when it comes to defending itself. it syphons as much energy from its host as it is able to do without causing harm, as well as begining to use photo- and chemosynthesis to produce and store extra energie wherever it can, both to sustain itself and its host if nesessary. it mellows out quite abit at this stage, leaving more of the general movement and activities up to its host, as well as exhibiting some of their personallity trates.

Mother colonie. A large colonie grown beond what its host can support. At this point the blood mold gives up its own live in favor of turning into a ticking time bomb, any energie stored is used to produce as many spores as possible before the mother colonie bursts, hurteling its contents into the atmosphere. if sutible hosts are nearby small pieces of the mother colonie may latch onto them and persist. it can not reach this stage if attached to a suboptimal host species.

I imagine it originating from a mostly organic planet and having adapted to infect cybernetic species later on, leaving cybertronians like ratchet as the aformentioned suboptimal host species.

It would adapt to the cybertronian ability to transform by ceperating the outer armor from the internals, leaving the mold as the only conection point, and creating a cell type that can harden on command. this would not inhibit the cybertronians ability to transform, but would allow the blood mold to open up the armor and expand in size along the transformation seams, protecting any newly exposes inner circutry with a thick layer of hardened gel, while streching out the limps and creating more spaces to observe and lash out from. its very sturdy like this and can use its stored energy to rapidly regrow lost tissue.

I think it would most likley remain compliant with optimus up until it reaches the adult colonie stage, at wich point it would pick up on ratchets personallity and become defiant. it now packs enough of a punch to hold its own against optimus and bumblebee, provided it has stored enough energie to shrug off any damage dealt to it.

Though i could also see it get hit with ratchets fear and worrie during the adolecent growth stage and decide that optimus is too much of a threat to remain around, instead taking its chances at fighting the smaller bumblebee after making a run for it.

i could also see it forefitting its control over ratchet entirely, in favor of hiding so its host could be accepted by a more protective force such as megatron and his army. this has great angst potential when sooner or later somebody finds out.

i also love the way you made it speak. it would absolutley only comunicate in broken statements and incomplete scentences. also alot of hissing in displeasure. it would be completley apathetic to anything that doesnt concern its host or the rival parasite species. but it would absolutley try to compfort ratchet once it can sense his emotions, stress isn´t good for its host after all.

thats all i got for now, enjoy! :3

This is FABULOUS lore. I will apply this in your request friend :)

I love the idea of the blood mold as a whole. I have a thousand and one ways this could be incorporated into the Pretender au. Such a fun concept, especially when pitted against its arguably more successful counterparts.

[seagull-energy]

Just realized that now is a great time to post this piece from 2022!

(a couple days late but oh well)

"Treebeard strode up the slope, hardly slackening his pace. Suddenly before them the hobbits saw a wide opening. Two great trees stood there, one on either side, like living gate-posts; but there was no gate save their crossing and interwoven boughs. As the old Ent approached, the trees lifted up their branches, and all their leaves quivered and rustled. For they were evergreen trees, and their leaves were dark and polished, and gleamed in the twilight. Beyond them was a wide level space, as though the floor of a great hall had been cut in the side of the hill. On either hand the walls sloped upwards, until they were fifty feet high or more, and along each wall stood an aisle of trees that also increased in height as they marched inwards. At the far end the rock-wall was sheer, but at the bottom it had been hollowed back into a shallow bay with an arched roof: the only roof of the hall, save the branches of the trees, which at the inner end overshadowed all the ground leaving only a broad open path in the middle. A little stream escaped from the springs above, and leaving the main water, fell tinkling down the sheer face of the wall, pouring in silver drops, like a fine curtain in front of the arched bay. The water was gathered again into a stone basin in the floor between the trees, and thence it spilled and flowed away beside the open path, out to rejoin the Entwash in its journey through the forest. 'Hm! Here we are!' said Treebeard, breaking his long silence. 'I have brought you about seventy thousand ent-strides, but what that comes to in the measurement of your land I do not know. Anyhow we are near the roots of the Last Mountain. Part of the name of this place might be Wellinghall, if it were turned into your language. I like it. We will stay here tonight.' He set them down on the grass between the aisles of the trees, and they followed him towards the great arch. The hobbits now noticed that as he walked his knees hardly bent, but his legs opened in a great stride. He planted his big toes (and they were indeed big, and very broad) on the ground first, before any other part of his feet. For a moment Treebeard stood under the rain of the falling spring, and took a deep breath; then he laughed, and passed inside. A great stone table stood there, but no chairs. At the back of the bay it was already quite dark. Treebeard lifted two great vessels and stood them on the table. They seemed to be filled with water; but he held his hands over them, and immediately they began to glow, one with a golden and the other with a rich green light; and the blending of the two lights lit the bay, as if the sun of summer was shining through a roof of young leaves. Looking back, the hobbits saw that the trees in the court had also begun to glow, faintly at first, but steadily quickening, until every leaf was edged with light: some green, some gold, some red as copper; while the tree-trunks looked like pillars moulded out of luminous stone."

-- JRR Tolkien, The Two Towers

[friezaglasiencold]

So i’m curious-your father was in what you called your ‘second form’ all of the time and didn’t seem to have any higher forms. Do all members of your race have four/five forms or is it just you and Cooler?

Well, I suppose now that I no longer have any reason to hide my ability to transform, I may as well give you all a halfway decent explanation.

Firstly, 'my race' is formally referred to as “Arcosian”, though the name varies depending on where and whom you're asking. It's not a cultural monolith, you see, and our numbers are both few and far between. You may hear us referred to as Icejin, Frost Demons, Glazierites, et cetera.

Secondly, I (and presumably others of my kind, though I'm both a mutant and also the only one who actually matters) am able to rewrite my genetic sequence on command, which is how transforming is actually done. The forms that you're familiar with are the easiest and least costly to achieve, as they're ingrained into genetic memory. Most of what I know about how it all works comes from my father and my own medical team, but allow me to give you a brief summary of each (I'll do you the courtesy of putting it under a cut, as even a 'brief summary' will take quite a bit of space):

What you know as my 'first form' is meant to be a pupal form usually taken before a moult or during hibernation. It's a transitionary stage that I remained in out of necessity, as it slowed my metabolism and forced my power to remain dormant. It's commonly associated with children and the elderly, which was great fun to find out when I was in my teens and not allowed to leave it, but I digress.

The 'second' is...well, to put it gently, it's more bark than bite. My father preferred it only because 1) he liked to puff up his chest for the sake of his own ego and 2) he wasn't strong enough to create his own signature form. He insisted it inspired fear and respect among his subjects, but to me it just made him look desperate. It was embarrassing. (Also, apparently in times of old it was used in courtship, which given that context is quite funny .)

The 'third' is an evolutionary holdover from our days as semiaquatic predators, built for echolocation and pursuit. Isn't that fascinating? Imagine me swimming at full tilt to tear you to pieces. Ooh, very nice.

And the 'fourth', my true form, is the body in which I was born. A jack of all trades, if you will--or clay, to be moulded into whatever shape I please.

All this to say that our transformations are largely a matter of personal taste and aesthetic preference. My brother's an idiot tryhard whose diet consists mostly of protein shakes and broken dreams, so he decided to make himself look like the damned Space Terminator. That's not my problem.

[ek-ladki-bheegi-bhagi-si]

Happy Birthday Jaan

Vishnu x Reader

Summary- It's his beloved's birthday and the pressure for the perfect gift is on. After a lot of searching, Vishnu takes it upon himself to make it himself. Of course, we can't leave out her reaction!

Vishnu's Masterlist | Main Masterlist

THIS STORY IS COPYRIGHTED. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO ANYONE TO POST MY FICS ANYWHERE IF YOU FIND THEM ON ANY ACCOUNT/MEDIA PLEASE REPORT IT, IT HAS BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY CONSENT.

Vishnu sat at his desk in his mansion, surrounded by stacks of paperwork and his trusted associates. He was the head of a powerful mafia, feared and respected by many. Once upon a time, he had been successful in running India’s largest drug cartel, but after his near-death experience with that inspector, he decided it was best to leave the business. Now, he had India’s best estate agency to run. Of course, he still dabbled in crime but now he had gained the favour of the common folk after helping many poor families and making the streets of Mumbai safer for the ladies.

Today though, his mind was focused on something different - the upcoming birthday of his beloved. Vishnu wanted to do something special for his jaan, something that would show her how much he loved and cherished her. After multiple hours of brainstorming, he decided to make her a gift with his own hands, something that would be unique and personal, something that would tell her how special their love was.

The only hiccup was he had no idea how to make his vision a reality. Vishnu was not a man who was used to working with his hands. He was more accustomed to giving orders and having others do his bidding. But for her, he was willing to make an exception.

And so, for the next few days, the office of the most feared mafia boss in India looked like an overturned jewellery shop. He called in the most skilled craftsmen and set them to work on creating the most beautiful piece of jewellery for his fiancee. But as the days went by, Vishnu found himself growing increasingly dissatisfied with their progress. The pieces they were creating were beautiful, but none of them were worthy to be in his beloved’s possession.

By the end of the week, Vishnu decided to take matters into his own hands. He had dismissed all craftsmen, after thoroughly threatening them for their incompetence, and locked himself in his private workshop, only coming out to spend time with his jaan. Never had he been so determined to create something for anyone before proving just how special his love for her was. He had never worked with jewellery before, but he was a quick learner. He spent hours pouring over books and studying different techniques, experimenting with different materials and designs.

As the days turned into weeks, Vishnu grew more and more absorbed in his work. He spent long hours in his workshop, hammering, polishing, shaping, and moulding. His hands were becoming calloused and rough, which had raised many questions from you-know-who but he had been able to keep his project a secret somehow.

Finally, after weeks of hard work, Vishnu emerged from his workshop with a small box cradled in his hands. He was exhausted, but he was also filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. He had put all his love into his gift and he knew she would recognise that. Vishnu had been planning this day for weeks, wanting it to be perfect for his love’s birthday. He had arranged for a romantic lunch at their favourite restaurant and he had arranged for her favourite park to be shut down so that the two could spend their evening there.

Vishnu had never been more nervous about anything in his life ever, not even when he was on death’s doorstep. Lunch had been great, they talked so much, laughed so much, completely lost to the rest of the world. By the time they left the restaurant, it was evening. After that, Vishnu took his beloved's hand and led her to her favourite park. He arranged for a surprise picnic, complete with a basket of her favourite foods and lots and lots of cuddles. As they sat there talking, and laughing, his beloved had never looked more divine he thought. She looked like a dream, in a simple powder blue dress hair splayed all over as she rested her head on his lap. She looked enchanting, with the rays of the falling sun giving her an angelic look. He almost forgot the purpose of their visit here, until he noticed her empty neck.

“Jaani?” He called out to her, weaving his hands through her hair. “Hmm? What is it, Vishu?” She asked as she opened her eyes to look at him. He must’ve seemed nervous or tense at least because she was sitting up and looking at him with a concerned look on her face. Even with that look on her face, she looked enchanting and the sun shining through her hair did not help. He came back to reality with a snap of fingers, “Vishnu? Hello? Are you okay? What's wrong?” she asked, concern shining through her voice. He cleared his throat and said, “Nothing’s wrong, I promise. It's just- I have something for you. A gift-” “Oh Vishu, didn’t I tell you not to get me anything? You always get me something expensive and then I can never-” she interrupted.

“Wo Ho, Jaani don't ever imagine that you have to repay me for the gifts I get you, you being you is the best gift you could ever give me. I get you gifts because you deserve to be spoiled. And it is your birthday. Did you really think I wasn’t getting you a gift? And technically I didn’t get you a gift, I made it.” He said before presenting the box to her. She looked reluctant to accept it but took it nonetheless. His heart raced as she opened it.

He watched as she gasped in surprise, her eyes widening with wonder as she opened the box. Inside, lay a stunning necklace, made of shimmering gold and sparkling gemstone, which she realised was her birthstone. But what set it apart from any other piece of jewellery was the intricate detail work that Vishnu had added to it. “It's beautiful, Vishnu," she exclaimed, a multitude of emotions showcased on her face. "I don't know what to say. Thank you. It’s so beautiful!” She exclaimed with love and adoration in her eyes.

Vishnu grinned, feeling a sense of pride and satisfaction at her reaction. He had wanted to choose something special and meaningful for her, something that would remind her of their love every time she wore it.

As he watched her carefully examine the necklace, he couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for her. She was so full of joy and wonder, so appreciative of the small gestures of love that he showed her. It baffled him, how she loved him despite all that he’s done. He knew that he was lucky to have found someone like her, someone who brought so much light and happiness into his life.

As She fastened the necklace around her neck, Vishnu leaned in to help her, his fingers brushing gently against her skin. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh, savouring the warmth of his touch. “I promise you this jaan, today here on your birthday as the day ends and the night falls, that I will always love you. Take this necklace as a symbol of my love and adoration for you. And as long as you wear it, I will know you love me too.” He professed into her hair, kissing the crown of her head.

And as she turned to face him, he could see the necklace glinting against her skin, highlighting her beauty and grace. He felt a sense of awe and wonder, knowing that he had made the perfect gift for his beloved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that's Vishnu's first Repost! What do we think?

Tags-

@mad-who-ra @vijayasena @kanha-sakhi @nerdreader @athena-roy @warnermeadowsgirl

If you wanna be tagged and you will be added to the list!

Enjoy ❤️

[barbex]

Heyo and happy Friday! 😊 For DADWC, might I request #6 from the We're A Throuple! Prompt list, for Fenris/Anders/author's choice? (maybe Merrill? Or anyone really! I'm not picky lol)

Oh, this was a fun prompt, thank you! For @dadrunkwriting, poly fic with Merrill x Fenris x Anders.

I still don't know how to write short ficlets, there's like worldbuilding in this, 1200 words. 😊😊

---

“It’s going to be a great party, we should wear matching dresses,” Merrill says, her arms linked with both of them. “At least colour coordinated. I wear that green dress with the long green blouse, and you,” she looks at Anders, “don’t you have a similar blouse or coat like that?”

“Yes, I do, I’d just need some matching trousers.” He looks past Fenris, wondering if he ever saw him in anything other than black. “Do you have anything in green?”

“No.” 

His face darkens with a frown and Anders knows him well enough to see that this is something they will talk about at home, where Fenris feels safe. Merrill throws him a look, seeing the same thing. They keep walking, Merrill relaying a story the flower girls told her about a family in their street, a delicious piece of gossip Anders loves to hear. Fenris stays silent, but he still holds on to Merrill’s hand and his frown has smoothed out. 

This is alright.

Anders opens the door to their small town house, a lovely place in need of constant repairs, filled with flowerpots, colourful art and sculptures. Colours and chaos everywhere, and they all love it. Even Fenris, who does like things to be more orderly than Merrill and Anders, usually only complains about half empty tea cups with mould growing on them. As long as they don’t touch his paints and don’t move his easel, he enjoys being in the chaos with them. 

With their shopping put away, Merrill looks at Anders, asking without words, and he nods. 

“Alright, Fenris,” Merrill says cheerfully, “let’s see if we can find anything matching in your closet.” She takes his hand and pulls him up the stairs with her. He follows with little resistance, but Anders watches him carefully as he follows them. There are certain things Fenris is less open about, and his personal room and things are part of his careful boundaries. 

But Merrill has a keen sense for how much she can push Fenris out of his comfort zone, smiling at him as they step into his room. “Well, let’s see what you have.”

Fenris opens the doors to the wardrobe and steps aside. “Nothing green, as I said.”

There are a few shelves and a bar for hanging things and everything, every single piece of fabric is black. 

“No wonder I have never seen you in anything but your black leather trousers,” Merrill says.

“I like what I like,” Fenris says.

Anders steps closer to him, brushing his nose against his ear. “And they look amazing on you.”

Merrill smiles at Fenris’ blush, kneading her lips as she’s thinking. “If we want to make things different for this party, maybe you should wear my dresses?” 

“Would any of yours even fit?” Anders looks from Merrill to himself. It’s not that he’s fat, but compared to Merrill, even Fenris looks too large.

“I have wraparounds, they’ll work.” She bounces off to her room, and Anders and Fenris follow. 

“Are you alright with wearing a dress?” Anders asks him. 

Fenris looks up at him with a small smile. “I reserve the right to refuse if I look ridiculous.”

“Fair enough. Although, I can’t imagine anything not looking good on you.” He slides his hand over Fenris’ back, gently, giving him the option to step away from it. But he doesn’t, leaning closer instead. This is a win in their careful relationship. 

Boundaries. Finding the boundaries for all three of them and respecting them is what makes them work. 

Chaos reigns in Merrill’s room, of course. She’s already spread half of the contents of her wardrobe around the room, picking through flowing fabrics in various shades of green. It’s her favourite colour, obviously.

“Here, Anders, this will fit you,” she says, holding out a large swath of fabric. “And this one is for you, Fenris.” She steps closer to him with a green dress. “May I help you put it on?”

Fenris lowers his head, brushing his nose over her temple. “Yes.” 

Anders takes off his shirt and trousers to wrap the fabric around himself, but he forgets about it when Fenris undresses and Merrill begins to arrange the dress around his nearly naked body. Merrill also wears hardly anything, and watching them both is like watching beauty personified. 

Merrill wraps the fabric around Fenris’ waist and suddenly it looks like a proper dress. She steps back to look at her creation, picking at a seam and a fold here and there. “You look so pretty, vhenan.”

Taking her hand, Fenris pulls her close, kissing her. “Thank you, amata.” He brushes through her hair and presses a kiss on her forehead. “We may have to do something about Anders.”

Merrill turns her head with a giggle. “He’s staring. I think we broke him.”

Anders lets the fabric slip over his arm. “My loves, I need a little help.”

Merrill bounces over to him, taking the dress and begins to drape it over his body. Of course, Fenris has already figured out how all this drapery works, and helps Merrill. Occasionally he slides his hand under the fabric and caresses Anders’ skin, while Merrill presses very close to him. It’s enough to drive a person out of their mind.

“My loves...” Anders groans. Fenris kisses his neck, he must be standing on his tiptoes. And Anders just wants to melt. 

“I have an idea,” Merrill says, skipping out of the door. “I’ll be right back.”

With a breath, Anders turns, pulling Fenris into his arms. The green fabric looks amazing on him and it’s so soft under his hands. He bends to kiss Fenris’ neck. “Do you like the dress?”

“It’s surprisingly comfortable,” Fenris says, his voice quite more breathy than usually. His hips press against Anders’, thin and soft fabric all that is between them. “I may have to rip this dress off your body soon,” Fenris growls.

That deep growl does terrible things to Anders’ self control. He slides his hands between the folds of the dress, probably ruining the whole arrangement. 

“I think that should wait, my vhenans,” comes Merrill’s voice from the door. She sounds quite different and when Anders turns to look at her, his knees go weak.

Merrill wears one of Fenris’ black leather trousers, a black leather west, and even slim boots with heels. The only green on her is a cape swinging over her back. “I thought if you wear my clothes, I could wear your clothes.”

“Fuck, you look so hot.” Anders takes two steps to her and goes down on one knee. “You are a goddess.”

Appearing at his side, Fenris doesn’t go down on his knee, but the admiration is clear on his face. He puts a hand on Anders’ shoulder. “And we are your devoted worshippers.” 

“Really?” Merrill giggles, but then her eyes sparkle. “I think I like that.” She steps closer, appearing more confident with every step. “I’m not putting a leash on my worshippers,” she glances at Fenris and winks. “But I would love it if my worshippers stayed close to me.”

“We will,” Anders hurries to say, warm excitement flooding his body.

Fenris bows to take Merrill’s hand and presses a kiss on the back of it. “Anything you want, amata.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Merrill calls out.

Anders looks at Fenris, seeing him smile. Yes, it will be a fun evening, and much more.

[solohux]

@makekyluxsuffer Day 1 ; Kidnap/Rescue/‘Take Me Instead’ (Post TROS, canon divergence, no Ben Solo & Hux Lives AU)

Hux never wanted to return to Exegol.

It was difficult enough for him being in the darkened skies over it during the final battle against the Resistance, eyes scanning the surface for any sign of his beloved Ren. Eliminating both Darth Sidious and Rey in one battle wasn’t an easy feat but Kylo had emerged victorious, albeit missing an arm and in desperate need of medical aid.

With Palpatine gone for good, Hux believed that all the Force nonsense was over. He believed he and Kylo could rule the galaxy in peace, with order and control. He was wrong.

The scattered Sith acolytes have gathered and chosen Kylo as their next leader. Or rather, chosen to clone him and use his blank slate to mould him into their pawn, their weapon, their very own leader.

And of course, they need the original Ren to clone.

They’re chanting when Hux enters their temple. It’s buried deep within the chambers of Exegol, rooms filled with equipment and tanks ready for their new offspring, with detailed analysis of Kylo’s body and health scanning through the screens as though he’s a piece of data and not a living creature.

Hux has come alone, dressed in his black and red stormtrooper armour, minus a helmet and modified with better weapons and more room for agile movement. His backup are waiting outside; if he can’t rescue his husband then no one else is going to have a chance.

When Hux finds him, Kylo is lying on a stone slab like an animal readying for sacrifice. His robes have been torn from him, leaving him naked and shivering. There’s a tight collar around his neck that is glowing red, an eerie crimson colour that reminds Hux of the glow of a red kyber crystal. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles are the same, seemingly pulsing with dark energy.

At the foot of the stone slab are eight figures in red, hooded robes, their faces hidden from sight and their chants low and mysterious. Hux doesn’t understand what they’re saying but he doesn’t need to. His twin blasters are on them as soon as he enters the temple’s chamber.

“Let him go,” Hux says, his tone laced with power. “Let him go now.”

The acolytes do not stop chanting. They don’t move, unfazed by Emperor Hux’s entrance. He takes the opportunity to tend to Kylo, touching his cheek and whispering his name.

“H-Hux,” Kylo breathes, wheezing. His eyes are barely open, barely conscious. His skin is littered with cuts; he would have put up a damn good fight before he was taken and stripped.

“It’s alright, Ren. I’m here. I’m taking you home.”

The chanting stops abruptly, startling Hux with the sudden silence. Seven of the hooded figures take a step back, leaving one at the front.

“You will not speak to the vessel,” it says, speaking as though a serpent would, hissing. “He is ours.”

“He’s mine,” Hux growls, standing up and staring down the acolyte. “You won’t touch him again.”

The acolyte huffs, “The boy has great power. The dark side is strong with him, his blood is worthy of the Sith. We will clone him and take his essence. You may have his empty shell when we are done.”

Low chuckles emit from the group of hooded creatures. Hux remains tall.

“Take me instead,” he says, tears brimming in his eyes as he looks down at Kylo, counting the bruises that litter his pale skin. “Let him go. I’ll take his place.”

The acolytes erupt into laughter.

“You!” The main one shakes their head. “Armitage Hux. A runt and bastard child of an old commandant. You are not worthy. You know nothing of the Force or the dark side. You will be punished for coming here and interfering with the boy’s destiny.”

The acolyte raises a pale, wrinkled hand as though to summon powers but nothing happens. Only Kylo’s heavy breathing echoes throughout the chamber.

“Unworthy,” Hux smirks, placing his twin blasters back into their holsters strapped to his thighs. “I’ve heard that word my whole life. I’ve proved everyone else wrong and I’m about to do the same to you.”

Slowly, he unclips the stormtrooper armour that covers the back of his hand, removing the black glove underneath. His lips purse together in a satisfied grin as he reveals his palm to the group of hidden figures, showing them the ancient symbol that sits there. The Sith. Sidious.

“No! It cannot be!”

“Impossible!”

“He is our saviour, not the boy!”

Hux shakes his head, “I may be a Hux in name but I am a Palpatine by blood. You call me a bastard but my mother was the Emperor’s legitimate daughter. You insult him by insulting me. You’ve tested me by taking and hurting the one I love and for that, you’ll pay.”

“No! Emperor, please!”

“Mercy!”

“I’ll show you who’s unworthy,” Hux grits his teeth in rage, unleashing his collated Force powers onto the acolytes, making their minds suffer as he pollutes them from the inside.

No one takes what’s his.

The red hue of Kylo’s restrains dims as Hux calls forth all of the darkness around him, fuelling his powers to destroy the acolytes until they collapse as mindless bodies, drained of their life by the grandson of the leader they once blindly followed.

When Hux is satisfied that they’re taken care of, he turns to his beloved. It would seem as though Kylo passed out before he had the chance to see any of what’s just happened. It’s probably for the best, Hux thinks, as he pulls back on his glove and armour; this way, he can keep on protecting Kylo from afar like he has done since the day they fell in love.

[mh-and-celiac]

My recommendations for GF staples in Australia (likely available in NZ/Aotearoa & some are global brands).

I wrote this out the other day for a GF group I’m in but thought it’d help to share here too. After a year of trail & error, these are most of my favourite gluten free staples for main meals. I really wanted a list like this when I started out gluten free, so hope it helps someone else.

Pasta- San Remo, I really couldn’t stomach anything else. Look for pastas with corn/maize as a main ingredient & rice low in ingredients or not there.

Latina fresh is almost imperceptibly different to gluten too. Thats a fresh pasta. When I was struggling the most with the transition, Latina fresh helped when trying to make a meal made me cry.

Gnocchi- Simply wize.

Bread- buy from your local gluten free bakery. We try to convince ourselves that supermarket bread is fine when it’s not. The fact that no one will eat it not toasted says enough. It’s also safer to freeze as supermarket bread arrives to them frozen & it’s defrosted on the shelves. It also means they risk mould. So you save money that way.

Pizza base - Senza for proper pizza. Bfree mini pita for pita bread bases.

Tortillas- Old El Paso. These are the softest, most flexible & most resilient to tears. They tear less than gluten ones in my experience. They do have the weird gluten free/tapioca smell but when they’re piled with filling you won’t notice. If you’ve tried them before & didn’t like them, try them again. They’ve change their formula in the last year or so apparently.

Noodles- Mr. Chens vermicelli rice noodles, but I’m sure any rice noodle would be fine as they’re naturally gf. If you’re adventurous & want to make your own 2 minute noodles, these would be perfect too because they’re divided up into 5 ‘chunks’ in the packet.

Other bits & pieces;

Crackers - Orgran quinoa wafers. The Ob ones are great too but harder than the orgran ones & I get so fed up with gluten free food being so hard. Simply wise do lots of crackers.

Crumpets - liberate. Check for mould, the supermarket defrosting on the shelf is BS. But these can be refrozen. If you like soft, squishy crumpets with the the back a little crunchy, these are your crumpets. The genius ones as disgusting & hard & crumble. Some people like them, I don’t think we ate the same gluten ones tbh 😂.

Arnotts Tim tams couldn’t have turned out much more perfectly.

Choc chip biscuits is from the ultimate brand at Coles. Also the Coles ‘I’m free from’ bars.

Master foods sweat chilli sauce, the kids one in the orange squeeze bottle.

Aldi do gluten free wedges & bubble & squeak.

V2 meat alternatives are gluten free & great.

Everything from yumi (falafels, veggie balls, veggie burgers (though they need extra sauce, bit dry), dip) is gluten free & great.

Fry family meat free nuggets are gf & good, but nothing else from that brand is gf.

Cc’s & most corn chips (not Doritos), Cheezels, skittles, twirls & flakes are all GF & no ‘may contains’.

My biggest tip starting out is to use the Woolies app. They have a really good filter for gluten free foods. It makes shopping less overwhelming knowing things you can get without scouring every packet in the store. The coles app is rubbish for this, so even if you shop there, try the Woolies app. Each store stocks things the other doesn’t, but it’s a starting point.

Also trust labels. You don’t need to know what all the weird flavours, colours & preservatives are. They will state beside them, if they contain a gluten source. Keep an eye out for barley malt.

[wolfwoocl]

@millionsnife from (x)

Ohh, he’s got a name aboard the ship already. Bakery man. Not the best, not the worst. The box of donuts remains in his hands and he’s still under the microscope. 

“Wh–” 

Did that man just compliment his…? Wolfwood looks down at the open front of his shirt, puzzling over one, the fact that Vash found it necessary to mention a random baker’s pecs to his brother, and two, that this was somehow part of the basis for Knives’s…approval, for lack of a better word. 

And he still has this damn, greasy box in his hands. Knives has shown exactly zero intent on taking it from him, much to his dismay. Putting forth great effort in ignoring the sense of impending doom awaiting him farther down the corridor, Wolfwood puts one foot forward. Then another. Following. 

“Sure.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Knives doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist, and Nicholas still hasn’t determined whether he’ll still be in one piece by the time he steps off this ship.

As they walk past the endless stretch of immaculate, moulded glassfiber walls, he scans the various blinking lights in the overheads, the secured doors further down the passageway, the low-frequency thrumming of machinery and something or other he doesn’t have a name for. A few passing crewmen dressing in coats and plain white uniforms (scientists?) give him a few odd looks, but with Knives standing next to him no one slows their stride to examine him further. He’s never been in a SEEDs ship before. 

Wolfwood’s jaw falls open in surprise. “That was you. Er, yeah. I got ‘em.” He pauses, then adds, “Thanks.” 

Probably better not to mention that filling in the hole in his door, sanding it down, and repainting it had been a royal pain in the ass. Nevermind what the hell he was supposed to do with a weird-looking knife. No handles, no practical way to hold the damn thing, and it was sharp.

“So…you’re a big knife appreciator, huh?” 

Stellar ice-breaker.

[kynrki]

SILENT TREATMENT!

024. i never did well in listening skills tests

WARNINGS: swearing, fluffyyyyyy, wc: 802!!!

yn sighed as she waited at the coffee shop for jungwon. she really wanted to make things right between them. she would never admit it but she really missed being around him and what riki had said about him being happier that she was back? made her heart flutter.

“hey, sorry im a bit late!” jungwon breathed out. he pulled out his chair and sat across from you. “its no worries, i jus got here anyways” you replied as you handed him a drink that you got for him so long. “thank you!” jungwon said as he sipped his drink.

“basically i want to say im sorry. for how i have been treating you ever since i came back. it’s unfair towards you because you didn’t even know why and when i left, hell you probably didnt even know i left in the first place. so i dont blame you, i jus i dont know, i think coming back made me think of things i didn’t wanna think about and i think i took it out on you, which im very sorry about by the way.” you said as you finished.

“basically i want to say im sorry. for how i have been treating you ever since i came back. it’s unfair towards you because you didn’t even know why and when i left, hell you probably didnt even know i left in the first place. so i dont blame you, i jus i dont know, i think coming back made me think of things i didn’t wanna think about and i think i took it out on you, which im very sorry about by the way.” you said as you finished.

“yn, listen i get it okay? its not your fault and its not mine either. yes i dont know why you left and why it hurt you so much but i hope you know in the time you left, i felt like a piece of me disappeared too.” jungwon said as he stared into your eyes. he waited for you to answer. but you didn’t. you kept quiet.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in and out. “jungwon listen, the reason i left was because ifelt like you were ignoring because of riki them.” you said finally. “ignoring you? what do you mean?” jungwon asked confused. “i dont wanna sound selfish but even since we entered highschool and you became friends with jake them, it was always about them. you always hung out with them. you always talked to then and about them. you even stopped talking to me completely, your whole focus was on them and them only. and i guess i jus felt left out, like i didn’t belong here anymore so i did what i always do. i ran. ran away from my problems when i could’ve sorted it out with you.” you said

jungwon sighed as he took all this new information in. his heart dropped when he realised that he did, in-fact completely ignore you. he jus wanted to be cool with ‘the boys’ and never realised what great cost it could’ve afforded him. the great cost being you.

“yn im so so sorry i didnt even-“ “and what makes it even worse is i had this massive crush on you, i mean i still do but thats not the point, the point is that it was jus so embarrassing for me to come back here because i didnt wanna hurt my pride.” you interrupted him.

jungwons cheeks started turning red. you liked him? and you still do? is he dreaming or? “you like me?” jungwon smirked as he leaned on the table closer to you. “w-what? are you even listening to what im saying?” you stuttered. jungwon then loved his chair to beside yours. your breath hitched as he leaned even closer now. his lips ghosting over yours.

“i am listening? you said you liked me and that you still do” jungwon said as he looked into your eyes. his eyes flickered down to your lips and back up to your eyes as yours did the same. with a deep breath, you closed your eyes and leaned in to kiss him. jungwon definitely didn’t expect that but who was he to complain?

it was a short sweet kiss. your lips moulded together as both your heart rates increased. the kiss was smooth as if it was a sweet melody that was playing. you broke the kiss and looked at him. he looked at you with loving eyes and smiled. “as you were saying?” jungwon said as he smiled at you sweetly. “i- yeah” you said as jungwon laughed. “hey dont laugh at me” you pouted. “okay okay, how about this, lets take things slow alright? and see where this goes?” jungwon said as he grabbed your hand in his. “okay yeah” you blushed. “now lets go to school, dont wanna get caught late” jungwon said as you both walked out.

masterlist | previous | next

AN — i wont be updating tomorrow bc i will be busy so enjoy this chap LOLZ FINALLY!!!!!

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

PAIRING — non idol!yang jungwon x non idol!reader

SYPNOSIS — yn and jungwon, the middle school best friends everyone thought would get into a relationship when they entered highschool. well, they were definitely wrong. after entering highschool, jungwon finds new friends and slowly starts to ignore yn. as much time went on, they became strangers once again, until yn decided to leave. jungwon never noticed that she left, that was until he went for family dinner at yn’s parents house. regret, pain, guilt, is all the boy could feel when her parents mentioned that one of her best friends decided to ignore her, like they were strangers again. as the years of highschool goes past, jungwon becomes closed off, only talking to his friends, wishing he still had her. but what if yn returns for the last year of highschool? will jungwon make an effort to become friends again? or will she be the one ignoring him this time?

TAGLIST ONE (closed) — @soulsdeadplants @hiqhkey @yunki4evr @lovnayeon @axolotlboo @deeznutsriki @kimjiho1 @emoworu @tomorrowbymoa-together @jwsflower @ayayiiie @yeonjunsleftboob @caty-catts @sunghoonsblackgf @jungwonnieee @sophhloaff @cyuuupid @viagumi @kimmchijjajang @y4ngjungw0nz @arizejkt19 @lil-iva @stickersim @wonluvrbot @rrvvby @swnheo @facelesswrittes @scarfac3 @crazywittysassy @shawkneecaps @cwsana @misavenue @heystarlette @99outros @lachinitaaaaa @jiawji @straykidz0914 @tobiosbbyghorl @mklhyvn @kaeslily @rendezrei @ineedcoffeeandtherapy @denleave1088 @blearis @3nh4luvr @life-shining @stephaniekim15 @pjongbb204 @nvertheless

[jaskiersvalley]

Bless for your Geralt whump, my eyes are sparkling! Your writing is really amazing

Nonnie, this has probably sat in my inbox for coming up to two years, I am so very sorry. If you're still in the fandom, I bring you an apology story of whump but, because of the way the brain gremlins sway, we're whumping Cahir today.

My Friend

Long story short, Kaer Morhen crumbled into dust, the Wolf School was no more. The stragglers and survivors who had been trying to find sanctuary there for the last century or so were left adrift. Options weren't exactly abundant and the Continent was a bit of a mess still. It was at Ciri's insistence that they headed south, to Nilfgaard in the hopes of maybe doing some good.

In a way, things were easier than anticipated. Ciri was welcomed by Emhyr, who was shrewd enough to recognise the potential power in having some witchers call Nilfgaard their home. Though Lambert went gallivanting off after the Cats' caravan, Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir stayed put with Ciri.

As it so happened, Emhyr took great interest in Vesemir's experience and Geralt had also intrigued him. It left Ciri free to explore and she took Eskel along. They didn't do anything as crass and voyeuristic as go into the dungeons. Ciri had no interest in seeing others suffer for their misdeed. Instead, she and Eskel took passages and random doors which led deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the large building. In the end they found themselves in a dimly lit, dank corridor that stank of misery and mould. Noses crinkling, they pressed on, curious about whether they were about to find some long forgotten, hidden cellar where they could carve out a secret space of their own. It was no such thing. Stepping into the room at the end of the corridor, Ciri almost wished she had never found it.

In the corner was a skeltal waif who looked as though he should have been dead some time ago. Yet he was breathing, squinting up at them as they stepped in. What Ciri didn't expect was for the man to panic.

"Princess? You can't be here!" The words were no more than a low croak. "He can't find you. Please. Run!"

Rather than listen, Ciri stepped closer. The rag that had possibly once been a shirt on the man revealed a gnarly scar, the wound had probably near enough split him in two from collarbone to the soft hollow of his belly. Magic had to have been involved in his survival.

"It's okay," Ciri tried to sooth but it seemed to fall on deaf ears as the man shook his head.

"No. Emhyr. He's your father. He's evil."

"I know."

That seemed to take the man by surprise and he sagged, eyes turning sad. "You know. No. He lies." Eyes turned to Eskel and rather than fear there seemed to be relief. "Witcher, help her get away please. Get her out of this web before it's too late."

Curiosity piqued, Eskel approached. Not once did the man flinch or show any sign of fear. As he crouched down, he offered a small smile. "In all the time I've known Ciri, she has only ever done what she's wanted."

"Please." The plea was so broken, so desperate, Eskel didn't have the heart to interrupt. "I have a good friend who was looking for her. A good man, Geralt of Rivia. Do you know him? He'll help."

The pieces clicked into place then as to who the man one. Eskel had heard enough stories, as had Ciri over the years.

"Cahir?"

For a moment silence hung in the air before Cahir sagged. "Nobody's called me that in so long."

"Okay, we're getting you out of here."

Picking Cahir up was almost laughably easy. He weighed near enough nothing as he was cradled against Eskel's chest. Torch in hand, Ciri led the way, trying to keep to the less populated passages to avoid questions for as long as possible.

In the end Cahir was gently deposited in Eskel's bed. Neither Eskel nor Ciri mentioned how he seemed reluctant to let go of Eskel, lingering in the warmth of any scrap of touch he could.

Nothing could remain a secret for long. Emhyr was outraged that his decisions were overruled. But, to nobody's real surprise, Ciri was a force of her own and, backed up as she was by her witcher family, got her own way. Cahir was free.

The curious part was Geralt's recation in all that had happened. Cahir had called him his friend. He had nodded in ackowledgement, offered a soft, "I didn't know he'd survived," and left it at that. There was no urge to see him, no exclamation of relief that his friend was alive. It was like when Lambert had told them that Aiden was alive. While knowing Lambert's misery was resolved, there was no mad dash to see him, they weren't friends after all.

When Cahir was a little more coherent and less lost in the depths of survival, he had smiled at Eskel.

"You must be one of Geralt's brothers." Which made no sense, Eskel's medallion was tucked under a shirt for a change, there was no way Cahir could have seen it. All the same, he had glanced down to try and see it, while a hand reached to fiddle with it. It only made Cahir laugh a little. "You two look like brothers. But you're more approachable."

If Eskel didn't know any better, he would have thought Cahir was flirting. Which, maybe he was. The thing was, it was difficult to tell how much Cahir was simply basking in the offer of kind company and how much he was intentionally seeking out contact. Such conundrums were rather quickly resolved, given how he and Ciri tended to mutter and giggle, heads bowed together in secret. And the blush that crept over Cahir's cheeks whenever Eskel interrupted those chats by announcing his presence. While he tried not to eavesdrop, it was difficult not to overhear snippets despite his best efforts. Murmurs like "I know he's your uncle but oh fuck me, I'm sorry" which was countered with "he'd snap you like a twig, at least get better before you try and jump him" coupled with "do you think I should cut my hair?" and Ciri's reply of "let me try and tame it for you, sickbed sexy is the height of fashion at the moment" made Eskel work hard to hide his smile. Especially when he saw the result of Ciri's efforts.

"You look nice," he offered when he saw Cahir's new hairstyle. Maybe the ribbon was a bit much but Eskel wasn't going to say that. Instead he enjoyed the pleased, flustered expression on Cahir's face. It didn't take long for Cahir to end up snuggled in his lap, forehead tucked against Eskel's neck and fingers tracing the lines of his palm. Very quickly it became the default position they could be found in, Cahir protectively wrapped in Eskel's lap. Not seeing Eskel's face also made it easier for Cahir to open up. He said very little about Emhyr and his time in the dungeons, nor did he speak much about his time with Nilfgaard. Then again, the scars and nightmares more than spoke enough for him. Instead there were stories of the Hansa, of friends, of camaraderie.

"It was nice," Cahir said softly, "to have so much trust. They were my friends."

Yet Geralt still hadn't been to see him. Eskel couldn't wrap his head around it. The fondness with which Cahir talked about the ragtag group, how they bickered, had messy fights (and how Milva once broke him and Geralt up), it all sounded almost homely.

"Would you like Geralt to come and see you?" Eskel finally asked. He couldn't imagine having a friend so close and recuperating from something so awful and not want to see them.

"That's his choice." Sadness tinged Cahir's voice.

"But-" Eskel was at a loss. He tried again, "You said he's one of your closest friends? Someone you'd trust and someone you've literally almost died for."

Finally, Cahir looked up at him, the sadness wasn't just in his voice, hus whole face was warped with it. "I did say that and I did do that. But I only ever said that he was my friend. I don't think I was ever his."