#i don't even know WHAT this is

[hikarielizabethbloom]

The thing about Galadriel and Halbrand is that they were both broken people starving for something (revenge, redemption? Who cares?).

And then they met and they started feeding on each other and if felt complicated but good.

And then everything went to hell

and now they're doomed to spend the rest of their lives starving (for each other)

[maeby-cursed]

slow weekends with suguru geto after… the incident.

he wakes up early every day because that’s just how he was raised; it was always satoru who preferred to sleep until lunchtime, sprawled out in bed. the memory brings back with it a bittersweet feeling in the pit of his stomach that only grows when he looks at you, with mimiko and nanako, lying the same way his old friend did. he gets up, stretches, pushes the memories down and ties half of his beautiful hair up, getting ready to start the day. 

you wake up an hour later to the smell of rice and coffee and fresh fruit. 

“morning,” you whisper, dragging your feet to where he is.

“good morning,” he smiles, preparing you a bowl of your favorite fruit and kissing the tops of his girls’ heads.

you spend the rest of the day together, the tv on in the background for the girls as you do a crossword curled together on the sofa, as you eat lunch, as you open the windows and stare out at the passersby. the constant buzz of it is pleasant, like a soft song, the light coming from it illuminating the whole room.

after mimiko and nanako go to bed, suguru likes to watch national geographic and horrible soap operas. he tries not to think of who he used to watch them with, of everything he’s lost.

you squeeze his hand in yours.

and it’s enough. for a moment, he doesn’t think. time slows down and it’s just you and him and the tv buzz and the damp smell of a cold saturday night.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Katniss feeling insecure one random afternoon after seeing Peeta interact with some pretty girlies and asking him later that night all quiet if he thinks she’s pretty 🥺

I meant for this to be funny and then it turned out... not funny. Oh well. Enjoy some post-Mockingjay not fluff but not really angst??? No warning tags on this one.

“Having an eye for beauty isn’t the same thing as a weakness,” Peeta points out. “Except possibly when it comes to you.” - Catching Fire, Chapter 15 “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” - Mockingjay, Chapter 16

It takes me longer than usual to finish trading with the new butcher. She’s originally from Ten and came here after marrying a soldier from Thirteen. She refused to live underground any longer and he tried living in Ten, but felt too exposed and jumpy in the flat plains of that district. Twelve was their compromise. But I haven’t had the chance to build the kind of rapport with her that I had with Rooba.

Rooba. I make a mental note to ask Peeta to draw her for the memory book tonight. We’ll both have memories of her that need to be recorded.

When I finish with the butcher, mostly satisfied with the cuts of deer meat and the coin I walk away with, I make my way over to the bakery. Usually I’d help Peeta close for the day. I got lucky catching the deer so close to the fence, but it still took time for me to bring back enough help to drag it to the butcher.

Surprisingly, there are still a handful of customers in the bakery. Unusual, this late in the day. I hasten my steps, thinking Peeta might want some help getting rid of the chatty customers, and seeing me after a hunt usually does the trick.

As I reach the window, though, I slow my pace. It’s not just any customers. It’s the Lassiter girls. They moved here after the war with their father, who used to be the head foreman at a perfume factory in District One. Apparently someone thought his skills would translate well to running a medicine factory, because that’s what his job here is. And his five daughters -- Neroli, Dior, Ambrette, Clary, and Opal -- aged twenty-four to sixteen, spaced two years apart down the line, are each just as beautiful as the last. Gossip holds that they each have a different mother, and while there’s been no confirmation from their father on that point, they’re each so strikingly different in looks and coloring that it wouldn’t surprise me.

They’re currently clustered near the counter, a bouquet of undoubtedly sweet smelling flowers. Their dresses a rainbow of eye-catching hues in expensive looking fabrics. All I can do is snort as I think of how dull and dingy their clothes would’ve been if they’d lived here when there was still a coal mine. But their hair, although different shades, all gleams in glossy waves and curls and curtains of shimmering silk in the bright lights of the bakery.

I hear Peeta’s laughter then, followed shortly by the twittering chorus of the Lassiter girls’ giggling. Ugh. They cannot be serious. Not my Peeta.

None of them are married yet, and there’ve already been several District Twelve men turned away from their front door step with dazed looks in their eyes, like they couldn’t believe they’d actually dared to propose to one of the Lassiter girls. And while this group ambush of my Peeta gives me an idea of what sort of partner they might be looking for, it’s unacceptable.

I push through the bakery door and attempt a smile. Neroli sees me first. The oldest, and by far the smartest of this bunch, our eyes meet and her lips curl in a smile. She’s dressed in a dark, forest green dress. Her dark, almost black hair swept to one side, into a long, sleek ponytail. There’s no denying that she’s stunning. Long, sooty black lashes frame her pale eyes that I’ve never been able to decide if they’re blue or gray. Some part of me knows that if I were somehow more beautiful, I might look like her.

Neroli glances at Peeta, then back at me. She inclines her head slightly towards me, and I’m not certain what she means until she speaks.

“Father will be wondering what’s keeping us,” she announces to her sisters. “Come on. Get your purchases and let’s leave these two turtle doves alone.”

She still pauses to say something to Peeta before she and her sisters clear out, but the glance she throws my way before shutting the door behind her makes me think that maybe Neroli and I might’ve been friends under different circumstances. When I finally manage to look at Peeta, he’s head down in the cases, cleaning them out.

“Lock the door for me? How was your day in the woods?”

“Not bad,” I tell him as I throw the bolt. “I got a deer.”

“That’s great!”

“Put this in the cold storage while I sweep?” I hand him the package from the butchers and he hands me a broom across the counter. It’s one of my usual chores and it isn’t long after that we’re headed home. But all through dinner, I can’t get the image of the flock of Lassiter girls twittering around him out of my head. 

I distract myself after we clean up the kitchen with the memory book, telling Peeta about the deer today and how things went with the new butcher. We share a few memories of Rooba while he sketches her and I write them down in draft. We manage to finish her page and seal it into the book before it’s very late.

And while Peeta showers with me, and stands next to me while we brush our teeth and get ready for bed, he somehow feels distant. As I lay down and watch him as he carefully removes his prosthetic, I can’t help but think again about the Lassiter girls.

“Goodnight, my love,” he murmurs as he turns to me, slipping his legs under the covers and cupping my cheek in his palm before kissing my lips once, softly.

“Goodnight,” I respond and blink when he turns out the light and lays down.

But I can’t get comfortable. And behind my closed eyes, I see a still ravaged Peeta, the hijacking reversal barely even begun. His knuckles pale as he gripped the bedsheets beneath him and restraints holding him down, safely away from me.

“You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty.”

I huff out a heavy breath and jam the heels of my palms into my closed eyes, trying to push the image out of my brain. He’s laying right here beside me. He kissed me and called me his love just minutes ago. What Peeta and I have puts the stars in the sky and the poets’ words on the page to shame with its depth and significance. That’s far better than some superficial beauty.

And yet the words still slip past my lips.

“Peeta,” I whisper, and he hums in response so that I’m not sure if he’s fully awake or not. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

There’s a few seconds of silence and then I hear the sound of the sheets rustling as Peeta turns over to face me.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s just a question,” I say and smack my hands down onto the bed, right at my sides. They’re still clenched into fists and I try to hold back the sudden, ridiculous tears welling up in my eyes. Because his hesitancy to answer tells me what I need to know. How stupid of me to ask.

“Katniss, honey,” he breathes and moves through the dark, pulling me into his arms. “You will always be as radiant as the sun to me,” he tells me and I snort, wishing I’d never told him that phrase or how I’d once used it. “No, I’m serious. Katniss, you take my breath away.”

“But I’m still not particularly pretty. At least not as pretty as Neroli Lassiter, am I?” I poke and I can feel his frame stiffening besides me.

“No. Oh no, no, you can’t believe what I said that day, Katniss.”

“But you were right. I’m not very big.”

“And we both looked like shit that day because we’d been through too much shit. That doesn’t mean I meant it, Katniss. You have to know I was… I was trying to hurt you that day. Hurt you the way I thought you’d hurt me. Because I thought you’d used me, chosen Gale and the rebels, and left me to die or worse in that arena.”

“I know,” I say and finally manage to turn over into his embrace, burying my face in his chest as he caresses my back and whispers a hundred apologies for his careless words. I inhale his scent and let his hands soothe me.

So when he slips his fingers beneath my chin, I let him lift my face to his. I close my eyes and savor the brush of his lips against mine.

“You once told me that I had a weakness for beautiful things,” he whispers. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” I answer without pause. I can smell the horses and feel the warmth of Cinna’s glowing ember costume. I can see Peeta in front of me, radiant and beautiful, and smiling in amusement at my assessment of him. “But you don’t have a weakness for beauty. Only an eye for it,” I remind him.

“So yes, Neroli Lassiter is a beautiful woman--”

“And her sisters?” I prod and I can feel Peeta smiling against my lips as he kisses me once.

“And her sisters are, too. But you’re the only beautiful person I have a weakness for. No one else has left a lasting impression the way you have.”

I can’t help but smile stupidly at the repetition of his words from the cave. The reminder that somewhere amongst the acting for the cameras, we always had at least a sliver, a taste, a fraction of or at least the roots of something real.

“I’m still a goner for you, Katniss Everdeen, real or not real?” he whispers, and I already know the answer. I know what he wants me to say, because it’s true.

“Real.”

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The Smile of Misfortune

Alone by the lake, the girl watches the moon. It glitters against the rippling water, swaying in a grand waltz. The night is cool, wind ruffling the trees, cicadas and fireflies abuzz. 

Cold water laps at her sneakers. If there had been light, the water would have been stained. But it is not, and so the truth is hidden. How fortunate for the girl. 

Her fingers dig into fluffed up soil, dirt and worse caked beneath her nails. It is almost the witching hour, she thinks to herself. What magic shall she see then? Centaurs? Fairies darting between the trees? Some ancient god of the forest meandering down a deer track?

She lies back, staring up at the stars. How unfortunate of them to be trapped up there, she thinks. How unfortunate of her to be trapped down here. She smiles a secret smile, thinking of misfortunes.

They say there is a star for each person who has died. The girl searches and searches, but she cannot find a new twinkle in the sky. They lie, but she does not mind that. She rather likes lies, as a matter of fact.

Her clothes are a mess, encrusted with filth. When she returns to her little cabin, no amount of scrubbing will save them. She shall have to burn it all. The girl thinks that is a shame.

Oh, but what does it matter? She laughs, a deep bubbling sound that rushes through her chest and escapes her mouth like a pistol's bullets, splashing into the air like blood's fine splatter, soaking into the very earth and staining it blood red. The sound reflects what the light will not, the girl thinks to herself.

She gets up from her seat. The upturned soil is flattened there. Regrettable that she had not thought to preserve the grass, but no one could be perfect. At least, not by telling the truth.

The girl does not look behind as she walks away, skipping through the meadow. If she had, she might have seen the fairies, red and blue against the darkness of the trees, and the siren that was no fairy at all.

She hums cheerfully to herself, trailing her fingers against the weathered bark of the trees. The fireflies dart out of her way as she passes, ever-wary of the great beast that brings death. It only serves to make her spring more boisterous.

She stops by her fateful clearing. It's her favourite, always flowering and fruitful. The trees still slightly wet from her previous fun, and the girl makes a note to bring a bucket. Darkness only lasted so long, after all, and she had no wish to go out with the dawn like a vampire. 

Her cabin is deep in the woods, isolated and lonely. It is no place for a girl to live, and she considers moving out. It would be fun to see more of the world, she thinks. Perhaps she could sail a boat out upon the deep blue sea, where secrets sunk like corpses, never to be seen again. Perhaps she could stay in the suburbs, the home of a thousand prosaic serial killers. Perhaps-

The sirens finally reach her ears, and the girl startles. The witching hour is over, she thinks. It is no longer evil's time.

She runs.

Behind her, she can hear the pounding of feet against the forest floor. There is a chopper overhead, cutting the air up with the same ease of a butcher preparing a hunk of meat. The girl thinks that perhaps she might make it, though her breath comes in great shuddering gasps. The girl wonders if this is how the pigeons feel when she chases them through the forest, if this is how the ants cry out as she crushes them. The girl knows she will not make it.

And so she turns around and raises her hands in the air. She knows how to deal with the Fae. Do not give them her true name, do not take what is offered, do not meet their gaze. She smiles the smile of the misfortunate, and curses the flashlights they brought with them.

They scan the clearing, light betraying her precious secrets with the red of sin. Cold iron burns her skin in clinking cuffs, and the sirens wail their song all the while. 

She bemoans the cold water that has lapped at her sneakers, for it has stained her to the bone,  and the truth is unhidden.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[theladyyavilee]

we were running out through the storm (through the night)

Or the one where Buck almost kissed Eddie at Chimney's bachelor party and Tommy was there to witness it.

read on AO3

„You almost kissed Eddie last night.” There is no trace of accusation in Tommy’s voice and somehow the words still hit Buck like a slap to the face. The hospital staircase is empty and quiet now in the middle of the night, the bright artificial light giving the moment a surreal quality, and somehow, with everything that happened after, Buck did not see this conversation coming.

(The fear and worry of the last 15 or so hours made it so easy to push the memory down and away, something for future Buck to deal with.

Something for future Buck to figure out how to fix, maybe.)

It’s only been maybe an hour since Buck watched Maddie fall asleep curled into Chimney’s side on his hospital bed, her and Chimney’s hands with their matching gold bands interlocked right over Chimney’s heart and with Chimney looking down at her like he was unable to look away. Clearly feeling like the luckiest man in the world, no matter all the horrors he had to walk through to get here to this moment.

(Only maybe an hour since Buck caught himself thinking this is love, this is what love is supposed to be.

Only maybe an hour since Buck caught himself glancing over at Eddie – curled up in one of the horrible hospital chairs and looking smaller than he should, deeply asleep and with an equally conked out Chris leaning into his shoulder – first, instead of searching out his boyfriend’s eyes and the guilt flooded back into him.)

Looking back he knows there was something in Tommy's eyes when he helped Chimney out of the helicopter and found Buck’s eyes over Maddie’s head as she rushed towards them. A slight hesitation when Buck kissed him in front of everyone that Buck thought was just surprise at the public display in front of Buck’s parents. A flicker of sadness on his face when they swayed to the soft sounds of Islands In the Stream from Hen's phone loudspeaker in Chim's hospital room, before Tommy pulled him close enough to hide his face against the side of Buck's.

But Tommy wasn’t supposed to know, not yet, not until Buck figure out how to tell him.

Because that had never been in question, only the when and how.

Only apparently Tommy already knows.

And Buck feels like there suddenly isn’t enough air in the room to form words.

“I—I didn’t—I didn’t though, Tommy, you have to know I—”

“I know, hey, Evan, I know,” Tommy reassures and his voice is so gentle it makes something ache deep inside Buck’s chest. Maybe this would be easier if Tommy was angry. “I saw your face right after, I know you wouldn’t have done it knowingly, but for a moment there I don’t think you remembered.”

everything else, is—has been—stuck in that space between one breath and the next, flipping through every single visceral snapshot memory impression.

How he had felt terrifyingly sober for just that one moment, before letting himself fall even harder into drunkenness to forget.

That lightning strike realization when he caught on to what he was about to do, when he realized that for a second he had completely forgotten where he was and that he had a boyfriend.

(It had been so different from when he kissed Lucy, because then he had remembered Taylor for every single second of it and kissed Lucy anyways and he’s not sure if that was worse or this is.)

The fact that apparently Tommy was right there and saw that moment play out over Buck’s face? Yeah, that is definitely worse, even if Buck was immediately disgusted at himself.

Because he still almost did it and Tommy saw that too.

read the rest on AO3

[mister-eames]

Borrowing the word generator fic prompt challenge from my friend @roosterbox!

Todays word: sausage

----

"Well, look who it is," is what Ariadne begins with when Eames arrives at the office that morning. She turns her head to exhale a plume of cigarette smoke downwind. "Trouble in paradise, I take it?"

Eames pauses at the door, loosely grasping the handle.

"Pardon?"

She points her thumb somewhere over her left shoulder. "You know, with the whole ---" she balls her hands into fists and mimics a series of tiny explosions, "---thing."

He casts a wary look at the door, suddenly unsure of the contents within, then back at Ariadne, perplexed.

"Maybe give him a wide berth," she suggests.

He's far too hungover for this.

"I'm... not following," he blinks. "Give who a wide berth?"

The tiny woman makes a circle out of her pointer finger and thumb and winks exaggeratedly at him. "O-kay. That's how we're playing it then."

Righteo.

With a yank to the metal door Eames enters, shaking off the weird interaction, leaving Ariadne outside in the fierce, chilly Berlin winds. The youth these days, honestly.

"Hallo," Eames loudly greets his colleagues, unwinding his scarf from his neck as the sauna-level heating immediately hits him. "Guten morgen!"

"Eames! Hello," their chemist greets, appearing out of nowhere.

Sandeep is nervous young man on the best of days, looking particularly rattled on this perfectly ordinary one. He wrings his hands together as Eames makes a beeline for his desk, eyes darting about.

"Sandeep," he nods, then again, over to the desk furthest from the entrance. "Arthur."

"Yes, hello," Sandeep says again, trading increasingly worried looks between Eames and Arthur. There is sweat on his upper lip.

It sure is hot in here. Eames removes his coat too, hanging it on the back of his chair.

It takes several minutes for Eames to extract all of the field data he'd managed to retrieve the day prior from his bag. Receipts, pin locations, recorded messages, even discarded newspapers; all minutiae, and all utterly vital in composing the pigment that paints the broad strokes in forgery, as it were. He's shadowed the marks twin for all of five hours and knows his lunch order, his favourite cafe, political leanings, preferred brand of cigarettes, and the exact, saliva-soaked, smacking noise he makes when he chews his peppermint gum, open-mouthed, which he did all damn day.

A quirk Eames is going to have to momentarily adopt. Ugh.

Nothing to be done for it, he supposes, even if he is already cringing so hard he's developed a minor tic. He slides his glasses on and starts to make sense of his notes.

It takes him a solid hour to realise Arthur hasn't acknowledged him. Not even once.

---

Ariadne keeps shooting him worried glances. Sandeep has dropped three beakers and left the office an hour ago after a... verbal incident... and hasn't yet come back.

And Arthur -- well.

He seems very, very preoccupied in sharpening the same three 2B pencils, is the thing. Not that Eames is one to judge. Especially not after the time he saw Arthur utilise a sharp pencil as a weapon in a dream one time. Very resourceful, that man. Utilitarian.

Lovely.

Arthur slaps down one of his newly sharpened pencils on his desk with a frightening amount of force and an equally frightening grimace on his face.

Ariadne looks at Eames again. Perhaps because Arthur does not seem to be doing any actual work.

Well, Eames can help him with that. Collecting his notes, Eames rises and ambles over to Arthur's desk, stopping short as he takes in the peculiar state of it. Paperclips, bent out of shape to the point of irrevocable deformity, litter the surface, alongside several scrunched up balls of paper.

The aforementioned pencils sit primly in the centre amidst the chaos.

"Can I help you?" Arthur demands, wielding one.

"Notes," Eames tentatively holds his folder out, somewhat taken aback by his tone and the force in which Arthur snatches it from his hands. "On the forge."

Eames catches Ariadnes eye, finally. She mimics another explosion.

"Err...alright, Arthur?"

With a wave of his free hand, Arthur dismisses Eames in lieu of an actual response, flicking through Eames' paperwork with jerky, agitated motions.

"Right," he says, Arthur's silence becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "...Good. Is there anything else you --"

The pencil in Arthur's grip snaps clean in half.

"Never mind," Eames, alarmed, gestures to his desk, inching away. "I've got to...."

He retreats.

---

Arthur, exuding a downright hostile, malefic aura, ignores both Eames and Ariadne for the most part; except to snap at them like an agitated crocodile whenever one ventures too close to his desk or 'talks too loud' or 'breathes like a congested bovine', which is a shame, because the kitchenette is right behind Arthur's set up and Eames loves a good tea-break chat.

Speaking of. Eames isn't sure what crawled up Arthur's rectum and perished, but it is now mid-morning and Tetley's waits for no man.

"Can I get you a cuppa?" Eames offers, magnanimously.

Directing a glare at Eames that could wither a sequoia, Arthur slides on a pair of midnight black headphones.

"Err..."

It's as clear a statement as any. The death metal he plays is so loud that Eames can hear it through the headphones and over the screech of the boiling kettle.

"I'll have a coffee," Ariadne yells to be heard over the din. "White, two sugars, please!"

---

After some internal deliberation, something clearly seems to be the matter.

---

Once, in their early days of working together, back when Eames was young and impulsive and quick to take things to heart, Arthur's professional ire rubbed him the wrong way at the wrong time. Took his poor mood personally. A blow to his ego.

So, Eames did whatever any young lad who had never held a real job would do - he nicked a tampon out of their extractors bag and presented it to Arthur. Eames had told him, "here, you're clearly on the rag," thinking himself so damn clever, puffed up with his own satisfaction and the sound of his team-mates laughter.

Sure, it led to a barny of almighty proportions that led to Arthur freezing him out for a year, but they were young and dumb then.

Eames would like to think they've grown since.

With that in mind, after an entire morning of weathering Arthur's potent animosity, Eames thinks he's finally narrowed down the problem.

The audible stomach gurgling is what tips him off.

Perhaps Ariadnes' never seen this side of Arthur before, but Eames has, enough to put two and two together. The snark, the twitchiness, the bitchiness; this is Arthur at hangriest. A situation easily remedied.

Ariadne would know, if she knew Arthur like Eames did. Perhaps placated him with a danish or a bagel. A succulent hot chocolate, maybe, like that one time, in Ohio, where Arthur got whipped cream on the corner of his lips, licking them over and over, his countenance softening in a haze of glucose and a chocolate-y scent had permeated the office. He'd smiled at Eames, then. There had been dimples.

"I'm getting lunch," Eames announces suddenly, standing.

He knows just the place.

---

The only thing that fills the office now upon Eames' return is the sound of Arthur's plastic knife scraping against the polystyrene tray as he cuts, no, hacks into the potatoes and variety of wurst that Eames brought back for him.

It's worse than the pencil-sharpening.

Even Ariadne winces as Arthur forcefully stabs a sawed-off portion of sausage and eats it.

Eames watches, transfixed, mouth dry, as Arthur seems to take great satisfaction in mutilating the food in a manner that can only be described as savage.

"Alright, Arthur?" he dares to ask again.

Instead of answering, Arthur locks eyes with him and, very slowly, chews a chunk of wurst.

---

At four-o'clock on-the-dot Ariadne packs up her bag and departs without so much as a goodbye, discomfort writ visibly all over her face.

Eames can commiserate. He too has seen the shredded remains of Arthur's lunch in the kitchenette bin.

"Penis jokes," Arthur says as soon as Ariadne's out, voice as hard as his steel-eyed glare. "Nice one, Eames. How old are you?"

Eames pauses.

"What?" he asks dumbly.

"The lunch," Arthur gestures. "Really? I thought we'd moved past that."

"I'm not... following."

"The sausage."

"The wurst?"

"The sausage. You really are an asshole."

"Because of... lunch...?"

Arthur tuts darkly, standing too, placing his laptop and papers into his messenger bag with gentleness despite the rigid line of his spine and shoulders.

"Because I'm sick and tired of your stupid jokes, alright?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The--the lunch," Arthur repeats, voice rising with fervour as he secures his bag across his torso, "the text last night!"

"Are you fucking on something?"

"Are you? You sent me a photo of your dick!"

Affronted, Eames says, "I did not."

"You did so." Arthur affects a poor imitation of his accent, "Come over, Arthur. I need your help, if you catch my drift. Wink-ey face." Arthur shakes his head. "Fucking worst pick-up line ever."

"I swear to you, I didn't send you a --" he fishes his phone out of his pocket, thumbing through his recent texts for evidence, opening up his log with Arthur, "-- look, hang on a tick..." where is the damn---

---oh.

There it is. Erect and proud like a flag pole.

Hazy memories of getting drunk in his hotel room come swimming back to the fore. He'd gotten back to his hotel room tired, cranky, aching to loosen up. So he took a shot of vodka every time he remembered the sound of his marks disgusting chewing. At some point he blacked out, but he does recall thinking it was a good idea to send something flirty and subtle to Arthur. But he always thinks that.

Although, to be fair, he did think it was rather odd that he woke up in the bathtub with his pants around his ankles this morning.

"Looks like I did."

Arthur huffs. "That's what I just said..."

Eames stops listening as a rare feeling of shame washes over him. His stomach turns. Jesus Christ, good one Eames, now you've gone and done it. Of course Arthur would be livid over such a thing. Eames can hardly blame him.

Of course Arthur would raise hell at the very thought of such a lewd come-on, especially from Eames of all people. Of course he'd be repulsed; it's Eames after all and Arthur has never seen him that way. Arthur has never -- Arthur would never want that with --

"...and then I went to your hotel room and you didn't even answer the door! What the fuck, Eames?"

Eames stills.

"Back up. You did what?"

Drumming his fingers on the bag-strap, Arthur averts his eyes somewhere just past Eames, mouth twisting to the side. The stern lines of Arthur's body sag with heaviness.

"Just another joke at my expense, right?"

Eames feet are set on a path towards Arthur before he can command them otherwise. "It wasn't a joke. I must have fallen asleep."

"Great," Arthur rolls his eyes, still refusing to meet Eames eyes. "Passing out before the punchline. Excellent."

"So...you came to the hotel room?"

"Yes."

He steps closer again, ducking his head to catch Arthur's gaze. "You wanted to... 'help' me."

"And now I want to shoot you."

"Arthur, I've been trying to be very subtle," Eames says softly, trying to not get his hopes up, feeling as if his heart, beating with the bass of a djembe, is teetering on a tightrope, on the verge of flight or failure. "About my feelings."

Arthur's mouth twists even more, pursing unpleasantly. "Yeah. I got the message loud and clear."

"I'm not sure you do." Tentatively, Eames places his hand on Arthurs upper arms, grateful when Arthur doesn't immediately punch him in the face. "I bought you lunch because you were hungry."

"And?"

"And I took a job in Germany in the middle of winter."

"You wanted a job."

"Yes; with you."

"...Oh."

"Yeah."

"You..."

"I don't need the money. And let's face it; this is the worst job. Possibly ever."

"You do hate the winter," Arthur says, voice small.

Eames nods. "And Germany."

"That's why it's so hot in here," Arthur says, gesturing to the wider office. "The heater. I know you hate the cold."

Eames has been sweating in here for two weeks.

But there isn't anywhere else I'd rather be.

He admits, helpless, "I would never leave you locked out on purpose. I've wished to woo you properly."

"Oh," Arthur blinks, a sudden smile unwinding his lips. He steps forward and looks Eames right in the eye with none of the flint from before, but all of the fire. "I mean, I appreciate it, but..."

Arthur forcefully tugs him in and kisses him.

[iamthecomet]

what if what if slice of life aether in the infirmary. what does he get up to all day? what are his little quirks? what does he do when there arent any sick siblings to help? does he have to shoo away (nicely) the ones that come in pretending to be sick just to spend time with him? does he actually like when they do that???

thoughts comet, pls give them ♡♡

Oh ABSOLUTELY I can share some thoughts! Not quite a ficlet, not quite headcanons, about Aether and his infirmary "job" under the cut.

Aether likes the infirmary best in the middle of the night. When he first got summoned he ended up on night shifts--better for training according to Omega. A good way to be eased in.

Aether knows it can get chaotic any time of day. And that he's lucky that this infirmary is relatively low key. They're not juggling trauma after trauma. Instead it's a lot of flu outbreaks and broken bones and stitches. The occasional childbirth. The rare devestating injury. But for the most part, it's quiet. Especially at night. Aether feels at ease on a night shift. Espeically now that so much of his pack is off on tour and he's back here--he doesn't have to think about his empty bed if he's here. The part of him that hasn't gotten used to it yet can just pretend everyone else is still here--asleep. It's sad he knows, but he's doing what he can. He makes his rounds. Smiling warmly at the siblings who also work nights. He's the only quint ghoul on duty. It makes the infirmary feel like his. It's not something he ever though he'd want--but now...now it's good. Feels right. He goes from room to room, peeking his head in. Checking vitals of sleeping patients, smiling easily at the ones who are still awake. Slipping into their rooms and talking to them. Doctor questions and regular questions. Where they grew up. What brought them to the Abbey. What they do and who they are, all while he digs into himself to lessen their pain, or their fear, or their insomnia. Allowing them sleep. When everything is quiet, and there is no drama, no chaos, no blood. Aether sits at the nurses station and reads a book. Scrolls on his phone. Texts his packmates. Shooting Dew and Mountain messages asking about their show tonight, what the crowd was like, where they went to eat after. Are they sleeping on the bus? In an hotel? Mountain responds with words, answers to his questions. Dew just sends him pictures. One of the crowd just before he walked on stage. Another of his burger and beer after the show. And then him in his bunk, dimly lit, sticking his tongue out at Aether from hundreds of miles away. The time differences make it easier, the further they get from him the more he talks. Aurora sends him pictures of every strange attraction she begs to stop and see. Swiss complains about Dew. Rain complains about Swiss. Dew complains about Aeon. Cirrus swears she's going to strangle Mountain. It makes him feel like he's with them. It makes him miss them less. Sometimes Sunshine comes and sits with him. Either at the beginning of his shift--or the end. Sitting down in the chair next to him and resting her head on his shoulder and taking in the quiet sounds of the infirmary. Machines whiring. Soft snores and sleepy breathing. A muted cry of a very new baby from down the hall. Aether is grateful for her. For the company, and because without fail, whenever Sunny shows up, so does someone else.

A bleeding sibling. A sick cardinal. Sister Imperator herself with a headache so bad it could wake lucifer himself. And sometimes, a sibling who just wants to sit with Aether. To know him. Who claims a belly ache, or a sore throat, just to feel the touch of his quintessence. He's not sure why. Doesn't think his magic does anything special to humans, but Aether isn't stupid. He knows a fake illness when he sees one. And if he was Dew he'd tell them to shove off. He'd scold them. But he isn't Dew and he doesn't. Aether likes people--humanity especially. So even though he can smell the lie on them, he helps. Always.

[justcommander]

So Tiffany now has a harem with Gary, John and Lisa?

. . .

Are there application forms I can sign to join?

i can't believe this thing is still going--

Unfortunately Anonymous. She's being a real bitch to Gary, pretty much taking ANYONE he might be focusing on. Either he wants you first or she isn't interested.

[nothinghappned]

dongsik takes juwon home after jung cheolmun's death. stays with him with an excuse of "discussing plans" because he's very aware juwon is not fine and shouldn't be alone. juwon's hands are shaking, the usual bite from his answers is entirely absent and he's way too quiet. he offers to make some tea and there's some sluggishness in his movements.

dongsik waits. he already feels the impending trainwreck, but there's nothing he can do to stop it because han juwon is fine and he can make tea and he doesn't need help. so dongsik waits.

he waits until the train gets derailed by a tiny rock and crashes right into a wall, then erupts in flames a second later. the tiny rock in this scenario being a teapot, that tips over, it's deep red content spilling all over the floor and onto juwon's hand. the wall is a panic attack, that reaches juwon step by step. first, it's the pain that registers, he pulls his hand closer to his chest. then he sees his white rug stained with red and he takes a staggering step back. dongsik sees the exact moment his brain takes him back to jung cheolmun's house, because his remaining composure crumbles. his face falls just as fast as his breathing quickens and he's already far away.

dongsik does two things at the same time. he steps in front of juwon to block the tea-stained rug from his vision, and pulls his hands away from each other so he can't scratch on the already irritated skin. because juwon thinks there's blood on it and he needs the blood off.

then in a blur juwon is pushed backwards toward the kitchen, his hand placed under the stream of cold water. there are words said, calm and softly spoken. juwon rests his forehead on dongsik's shoulder, breathing together until his breathing eventually goes back to normal.

"are you back with me?"

"hm"

"okay" (...) "how's your hand? does it hurt?"

"a little"

dongsik then goes to find the first aid kit in the bathroom, but there's nothing in it for burn. going back out he finds juwon sitting on the floor right where they were standing seconds ago. "let's sit somewhere more comfortable, juwon-ah."

"I'll go to the shop right in the corner to see if they have anything for your hand, okay? do you want something else?"

"I'm okay here"

(...)

and that's how they end up eating a whole cake while sitting on the floor in the middle of juwon's kitchen. bickering about unimportant things, because juwon's fighting spirit came back (to dongsik's absolute delight) sometime after dongsik started to talk about how good raw ramen noodles are, and how he'll make sure juwon tries some later. then he went on about talking some more nonsense just so juwon can call him ridiculous and they can smile about it.

the tea from earlier needs to be cleaned up, and they'll need to go back talking about a plan soon, but juwon's smile needs a bit more working on. so there are still 4 slices of cake to be eaten, and about 5 ridiculous stories front dongsik to be told and listened to.

[l-in-the-light]

(Mis)adventures of Law with the Strawhats [fanfiction snippet, part 1]

"Torao!!" he cries out way too loudly. "Let's play that game again!!"

Law turns towards him, but doesn't answer immediately and it's not even because his mouth is full at the moment, he doesn't care about that.

"Again…?" he finally voices out, looking at no one in particular.

"What game?" asks Chopper. Usopp also curiously looks between Law and Luffy.

"We played that funny thing yesterday when you zoom up and down and throw a stone with dots on it!" Luffy exclaims.

"Is that why you missed breakfast today?" Usopp asks and Luffy nods fervently.

"I wish I didn't. Sanji, can you make me a breakfast now??"

"Breakfast after lunch, huh?" Sanji muses from behind the counter. "Sure"

"Thanks, you're the best!!"

Law frowns. "Just play it by yourself this time" he grumbles between bites.

"No way! You said it can't be played alone! Also I already forgot the rules…"

"There's no way you already forgot them!" Law protests, takes a look at Luffy, then his eyes dart to completely opposite direction. "Fine, but gather more people. It's boring with just two. Get four more"

"I didn't think it was boring with just the two of us" Luffy beams at him, takes bigger bite and shouts "So who wants to play with us??"

"You didn't exactly tell us what type of game it is" Usopp frowns, while Chopper is already shouting back "Me, I want!!"

"It's just a regular snake and ladders board game" Law answers despite the question not being directed at him.

"It's yours?" Robin asks. "Didn't take you for the type to keep board games around"

"My crew often dragged me to play with them"

"But isn't Snake and Ladders a game for kids?" Franky butts in. "It takes me back… Tom bought it for us once, but Iceburg was a party pooper and said he's not a kid anymore and in the end I had to teach Yokozuna to play with me instead"

Law has no idea who all those people he mentioned were, so he just ignores that part.

"It is. It's not like he would be able to understand any more complicated game" he says while gesturing towards Luffy, who just laughs in answer and says with his mouth still full: "That's right. Can't wait to play!"

"You still miss three more people" Law reminds him.

"Oh, right. Guys, who wants to play? It's gonna be fun!!"

"I guess I could make you the honour of God Usopp joining in, just so you have enough people. Know my mercy!" says Usopp while his nose extends all the way up to the ceilling.

"ME!" repeated Chopper.

"I already counted you in" says Law which made Chopper exclaim some loud, possibly not malignant noises.

"I would love to try!" Yamato exclaimes after swallowing a whole plate of food at once.

"Great! Then we have everyone!"

"You're one person short" points out Law and smirks when Luffy grumbles at that.

"Come on guys, Robin, join us! Nami? Zoro??"

"I want to relax reading a book" Robin replies, smiling.

"I have plans already. I need to catch up on my map drawing" Nami exclaims as she gets up from the table, already having finished her meal.

"I'm gonna train" answers Zoro shortly.

Luffy frowns, looking around the table again. "Franky? Brook? Sanji? Jimbei?"

"I'm too old for that" Jimbei answers. "I will leave you youngsters to that"

"Same here" Franky adds.

"I will be busy making desserts for the ladies" Sanji chimes in.

Brook looks around the Sunny's kitchen back and forth, till finally answering as well. "I will gladly join"

"GREAT! Now we have everyone, you can't say no anymore!!" Luffy turns to Law and extends his hands high up, like in a victory pose. Law eyes dart to him for a second, but he doesn't say anything, just gets up and walks towards the door.

"Torao?" Luffy asks after him.

"Gonna go fetch the game"

-----------------------

"So, how do we play it exactly?" Usopp asks. "Not that I don't know already, mind you, I'm just asking because there's no way Luffy remembers the rules!"

"It's true, I don't" Luffy says.

"We all start from this place" says Law, pointing his finger to the starting position on the board. "We take turns rolling the die till we reach the goal, which is here" his finger moves all the way up on the board. "Whenever you land on a field with a ladder, you go up, till you reach the top of it. When you land on snake, you slide down instead. That's all there is to it"

"What's a die?" asked Chopper. Law looks at him, then looks at all of them looking back at him, he pauses and closes his eyes for a moment, and then takes a square-like object in his fingers.

"This is a die. You roll it like that" he says and flips it in his fingers and lets it fall to the board, the die making a short wooden noise when it meets the surface. Everyone stares at it before the object finally stops, showing five dots on top.

"So that's the legendary die… Of course I already knew that. I had a dozen, no, two dozens of them back in the village. It's the first time I see one made out of wood" Usopp blabbles.

"So what do we do? Do we just add all the dots on each side of it?" asks Chopper, inspecting the square and poking it with his hoof. "It's kinda hard to see all the sides though"

"No, wait, Chopper, that wouldn't make any sense" said Usopp, putting on his serious face and poking his own nose. "It wouldn't matter then to roll the die, because the sides never change, so the result would be always the same"

"Oh" Chopper comments.

"I think I get it. It must be the result on the top that counts. So, five dots!" Usopp concludes his deduction.

"Ooooh, you're so smart, Usopp!!" Chopper cries out.

"Of course" Usopp exclaims, smashing his hand to his chest. "After all I played many games before and flipped dozen of dies"

"Dice" Law corrects him.

"Right, this one is actually special, because it's wooden and called a dice. I knew that" Usopp says, raising his voice just a bit. He looks at Law, moves his eyes from left to right, and finally makes some random gesture of flipping his fingers. Law turns to Luffy instead. "Choose the order"

"Order?"

"Of who goes first, second, and so on, all the way to the last person for the round"

"OH. Easy, I'm going first, because I'm gonna be the King of the Pirates and I'm the captain!"

"Unfair!" Usopp protests immediately. "Let's decide by luck, we can draw lots"

Luffy makes a face, but before he can say anything, Yamato already extends scraps of paper in their direction. "Let's do it! That's how you do it, right??" he asks.

"When did you manage to get that?" Luffy exclaims. "You're so fast!"

Yamato snickers at him, quickly scribbles something on the papers, and holds the pieces in her fist, so that whatever is written can't be seen, only the tops of paper. "Choose one!"

Everyone but Law extends their hands to draw one. Yamato looks at him expectantly.

"You draw first. Whatever will be left is mine" he explains.

"I can?? Really??" Yamato chirps, eyes sparkling. "Thanks!!" pulls one lot out. "Oh, I have number 2" and looks apologetically at Law. "Yours is six" and shows him his number. "I can trade with you if you want!"

"I can trade with you too, Torao!! Though I think I got the worst number…"

"It's fine, I don't really care"

"You're so kind!" Yamato cries out over everyone shouting their own numbers over each other.

Law just quickly proceeds to put down pawns on the starting point.

"So, who is the first?" he asks no one in particular.

"God Usopp!" says the man, flashing his teeth and showing off his scrap of paper with number 1 on it.

"Good. You will be yellow then"

"Wait, I don't get to decide?!"

"Nope"

"Why?! Who gave you the right?! This is important, the most important decision to make, the colors will change everything about the gameplay!"

"I'm the last one to go, the rules say I get to decide the pawns for everyone"

Usopp looks at him and narrows his eyes. Finally he says, while pointing his finger at him. "I will still sue you if I lose because of that"

"I will sue you too!!" Luffy exclaims, pointing his finger at Law as well.

"You? What for?"

"I don't know!" Luffy frowns. "Why should I sue Torao?"

"I dunno-" starts Usopp.

"For not trading with you" Brook says instead, trying to be helpful.

"Thanks Brook! I will sue Torao for not trading lots with me!"

"Do you even know what that word means?" Usopp asks, just in case.

"Nope! Shishishi!"

"I also don't know!" Chopper says, raising his hoof high in the air.

"Then you won't know" Law butts in which earns him another loud cry from Chopper.

"It means to force a person that has treated you unfairly or hurt you in some way to give you something or to do something for you to make up for it" Brook explains, which earns him a sideway look from Law.

"Eh, then I don't want to sue Torao" Luffy says. "It doesn't sound fun. Forcing people isn't fun" and Chopper shouts "I also don't want to!", just a heartbeat too late to be in unison with Luffy.

"Said someone who forced me to play" Law counters, leaving Luffy speechless for once and immediately looking away.

"It's all Usopp's fault anyway!" the captain finally says, showing a tongue in sniper's direction.

"How is it my fault?! Keep me out of it! I know nothing of it!!"

"Are we playing guys??" Yamato butts in, quickly moving his arms up and down and looking from the board to everyone.

"YES" Luffy, Usopp and Law answer a bit too loudly in unison, and Chopper just a moment too late, while Brook just laughs.

tbc.

(I guess? Should I?)

[bubbarnes]

“... you can see me as a secret mission”

the winter soldier getting ready at hydra quarters to go and meet captain america

[halfagone]

Ooh! I've got an idea of how the Anti-Ecto Acts could be stopped from ratification. Let's say it's a DPxDC crossover universe, for the sake of this argument. The GIW and Fenton parents- as well as plenty of other anti-ghost people, I'm sure- are trying to lobby for the Anti-Ecto Acts only to find out that the law doesn't pass because there's this one single House of Representatives member that doesn't believe in ghosts. And therefore! The Anti-Ecto Acts must be for something else that they're hiding from the public, and ergo, he refuses to sign off on it. He had been on the fence, and he was the last vote needed for it to pass on to the next stage. And because he chose not to, he is the only reason it doesn't pass.

So the Fenton parents petition him and try to explain to him the scientific 'evidence' they have on ghosts, and the HoR member still thinks it's bullshit because ghosts have to be magic, if they do exist, so there's no way any of this scientific baloney is true. But the Fenton parents don't give up, and keep presenting him evidence and information in any way they can after he continuously stone walls them or gets them kicked out of his office (and really, they're lucky he hasn't gotten a restraining order against them), but then! One day, he actually starts to listen to them. He sits there and looks at all the evidence contemplatively, and they think they've finally won him over.

📢

WRONG

From their list of evidence, he points out every single ectoplasmic entity that came to Amity Park that was not a ghost or even human shaped. Like Cujo or Wulf or even Undergrowth. He argues that these guys can't be ghosts! Even the ones that are human-shaped surely can't be ghosts; Kryptonians are human-shaped but they aren't biologically human! And therefore, these guys must not be ghosts of any sort, and they must be a whole other species of being! And we all know that alien or extraterrestrial species are protected under the Metahuman Rights Act and- gasp, have you been trying to convince me to ban an entire species, OUT OF MY OFFICE!!

And that's how the Fenton parents get banned from Washington D.C. And that's why Danny picks out a political science major when he goes to college!

Win-win for everyone.

[unhingedlesbear]

I wanna go back to making little textposts like this out of discord messages

[ilredeiladri]

Bin überzeugt, dass Julia bei ihrer Verliebtheits-Feldforschung mal besser Noah und Colin hätte beobachten sollen...

[msharmonycobel]

Fandom: The Gilded Age (TV 2022)

Relationship: Bertha Russell/George Russell

Characters: Bertha Russell, George Russell (The Gilded Age)

In what can be no more than a few seconds, she's become so sure that her husband will be lying dead in the foyer that her heart gives a sickening thump when she sees him standing upright and clearly irritable, trying to wave an attentive Church away from him and… dripping blood all over the marble. 

[fullg4sly]

@f1blrcreatorsfest: week 1 - literature — charles leclerc x richard seiken + vita sackville-west