#i loved this prompt

[thenotsofantasticlifestory]

Day 2: Intertwined Fingers

[sophiacloud28]

Requesting a fluffy Rise Leo fic with female reader. Suffering through a three day migraine with no ending in sight, so maybe one where Leo finds our reader in a similar state and takes care of them? Along the way feelings are confessed and sweet kisses and cuddles are shared. No spice, just sugar please. 💙🐢

As a fellow migraine sufferer, I hear you! Goodness, friend, I hope it's not hurting too bad and that you're able to rest soon. If you welcome hugs, I offer them to you. If not, that's okay, too. Either way, let's see if I can't make something happen. All sugar, no spice.

Also, I might have gone overboard? This went on for so much longer than I thought. 🤣 And thanks to @justalotoffanfiction for the nickname and @milykins for checking if the story was, indeed, cotton candy.

One-shot, pure fluff, Rise Leo, reader has a migraine

You don't disappear that easily. He's known you long enough to know that's not a thing that happens. You're far too dedicated to just abandon anything that you want and being with them, at least during non-pressure moments, is something you want.

... He thinks. He hopes. With everything that's happened, he can't help but doubt that you're anywhere near safe with them but he still can't...

He looks up and catches the glint of metal on his shelves. He gets up and goes to grab it, a clink ringing in the air as he looks at the key resting in his palm. And he closes it before going to the back of his train car, not going for his katanas but for the tantō before staring at the black-wrapped tsuka.

He needs to change it. He'd been thinking about it as of late, but now… he needs to. Later though, when he knows what's keeping you.

He swings the knife into the open air and steps through the portal. He takes a breath when he notices there's no light, lips pressing together and heart seemingly ready to hammer its way out of his plastron. He still takes the key and slides it into the lock before grabbing the handle and twisting it, letting himself in.

No sound. Not a peep. The entire place is dark and the curtains are drawn. The smell of food is faint, meaning nothing was cooked or reheated. The only thing that reassures him, that tells him you haven't gone running is your coat and boots at the entrance… and your scent.

It's not faint. It's recent. And it's leading to…

He knocks carefully and quietly. He hears shuffling behind the door. But before he can even reach for the knob this time, he blinks as it jiggles and the door opens, revealing you.

"Leon?"

You and your cracked voice and blanket-covered head. You and your weakened state and, no doubt, reddened eyes.

He can smell medicine, now. Tea. Peppermint. He even hears a quiet moan of pain that tells him more than he wants to hear and nearly has him make a horrible mistake as you speak.

"If this is about me not coming down, I'm sorry. I just — Leo?"

But he won't let it stop him from opening the door a little more and step inside before gently nudging you back, smiling when he starts getting protests before you hit the bed and sit on it. Hell, it definitely won't stop him from helping you back down and covering you.

He can do this. He's started doing this for both Mikey and Raph. He can do it for you. He just… has to stop his hand from tangling itself into your hair as he hears you settle without protest.

"How long?" he whispers, unable not to smile when you pick up on his cue.

"Wednesday."

"You didn't think to call me?"

"I thought it'd be done by now. And I had work."

"That a reason to skip dinner?" he admonishes, chuckling when he catches a flinch, although he’s not quite sure what to make of you hiding under the covers a bit more than you already are. “Preciosa?”

“I’m not… really hungry.”

… Oh. Oh. It’s that bad.

He knows he’s about to give himself a headache with how fast his mind’s working but he knows he needs it to.

“Did the –?”

“Leo –”

“Answer me. … Please.”

“Hurts too much.”

Because he needs to be there for you. After everything you have offered him, he needs to.

“Got any ginger?”

“Ground?”

“Fresh.”

“… In my freezer?”

He barely hears your confused calls for him as he gets up and steps out. He then rushes to the kitchen to set some water to boil before digging through the freezer and finding the ginger, smiling as he sets two pieces aside to thaw. Finally, he sets a bowl in the sink to fill before going to the bathroom and grabbing one of the hand towels.

“Leon.”

Only to near jump at the sound of your voice behind him making him turn and grip the counter.

He knows what you’re about to say, though.

“Leonardo, you don’t have – Leo!”

And he’s not impressed with the amount of protest you’re giving.

You’re strong. You’re so strong. He just… wishes you didn’t use it to fight him off.

Then again, it’s you. It’s… you. You fight… because it’s the only thing you know.

He brings you to your living room couch before heading back to the kitchen for the bowl and cloth. He wets the hand towel and wrings it before setting it on your forehead, grateful for the sigh he hears. He breathes as he gets up once more, going back to the kitchen one more time to put the hot water into a mug he puts the ginger into before bringing it over and setting it on the nightstand.

“Did you really just make ginger tea?”

He’s also completely unable to help the smile at the incredulous question. “What? Got something against it? Or do you need a reminder of my specialty?”

And the groan at his comment only makes him snicker as he goes to remove the cloth only to freeze when you grab his hand.

“Pre –”

“Sorry, just… your hand’s colder.”

… He wishes he had it in him to refuse you. He wishes he was back at the beginning, where he could tease you with what felt like no consequences, even if he later discovered there were. He prays he’s got the strength to hold strong as he sets the cloth back up and puts a hand on your forehead.

It's a little warm. Something he should have guessed at with the way your head’s been hurting. But he’s not ready for you to slump against his shoulder even though he knows it’s because you’re seeking comfort and cold.

He breathes and settles his head atop yours. He doesn’t even notice he’s churring until you shuffle against him and he stops. However, the urge to kiss the top of your head remains, haunting him as the smell of your shampoo invades his mind.

… He wants to bring you closer. He wants to protect you. You are the biggest star in his sky and to see you this dim…

“Leo?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Says the girl with a migraine.”

“Leo.”

“What? I’m not allowed to worry about you, now?” he asks with a smile but glad that there’s no lights because you’d catch his offended gaze.

“You were mumbling.”

Not that you almost don’t catch him anyways, making him freeze.

Perceptive, observant, and not afraid to say something once you’re almost sure. It reassures him and terrifies him all at once that nothing can hide from you, that he can’t hide from you.

… Not true. He’s kept this hidden for months. He can do it again.

“You sure you’re not hearing things?”

“Leonardo.”

“Herm –”

“Don’t call me beautiful. Not when you’re avoiding me.”

And when he feels you flinch and hears you groan after your call out, he can’t help but think he’s doing the right thing. You don’t need this, not right now, not after –

“Hey.”

“S’up?”

“Can you stay?”

… He wishes he were stronger. He wants to say no, ask you if you want April instead. But he knows, realizes how much courage it’s taking you just to ask him.

“How long?”

“Until it leaves… Or the weekend ends, whichever comes first.”

"Sure."

"Really?"

"What? You expect me to go back on my word?"

So he lets himself have it.

It's just a weekend. Two days where he's gotta help you and make sure you eat and sleep. Two days during which he can not only pass time with you and you alone but he's got the perfect excuse to send to his brothers for not being home. Hell, they all approve, although Mikey is a bit too enthusiastic about all of it, and he's left to take care of you until Monday morning at the latest. Something he does not only to the best of his abilities but beyond them as he tries his best to pick up where you have to stop due to the pain.

He learns how to half-make soup. He starts recognizing the moments when the migraine gets worse and pauses everything to drag you to the couch and hold you against him to ride out the storm while holding a hand to your forehead. And nothing quite equals the moment when he playfights with you for you to take a shower after a few hours of you taking one because of a nasty flare-up, which helps tremendously just from the look on your face, and you both settle on the couch after he serves dinner. There's just… one thing that ruins it.

"There you go, mi solecito."

His goddamn mouth and the way it tends to run itself before he can stop it.

He blinks as you do. He clears his throat and tries to smile as he sets a bowl in your hands before sitting down with his. And he can't help but worry the longer the silence lasts.

"What? Don't like being a ray of sunshine?"

Even trying to salvage it with a joke misses its mark as you stay quiet, making him realize that it's not the nickname, but the…

He can't think it. He can't. Even that feels wrong. God, he screwed up. He screwed up. He screwed up. Hescrewedup. Hescrewedup. He —

"I gotta go," he mumbles while scrambling up only to stop when he feels fragile fingers around his wrist.

He could pull himself away so easily. Break your hold, pull out his tantō, and leave. But he can't. Not when his heart begs for him to trust, to hope, to believe.

"Mi?"

"Slip of the tongue. Happens. Doesn't happen to you?"

"Only when it's habit."

But he can't. Not when –

"Do you mean it?"

"Does it matter?"

You pull. Make him turn as you get up. He closes his eyes as warmth and softness greets his cheek. And before he can even think, before he can even realize what he's doing you're in his arms. Held tightly against him with one arm and a hand on your cheek while his breath fans your forehead.

He shouldn't. Your head is hurting and the last thing he wants to do is hurt you more by sending it spinning. But he can at least…

He feels you stiffen as his lips press against your forehead. He folds to swing your legs over his forearm, smiling at the surprised gasp it gets him. And he brings you in, putting you into his lap as the arm around your waist readjusts so his fingers can tangle with your hair as his lips find your temple.

He wants to kiss you. He wants nothing more than to confirm what he's just witnessed. He can't. Not yet.

"If you're not better after tomorrow, call in sick."

"Leon."

But if just him whining and nudging your head with his own is enough to make you concede, then chances are your heart sings with his.

"You are so demanding."

"And you give in too fast."

Something he's certain the pillow you smack into his cheek just confirms, certainly when he can grab your hand, get you to let go of the cushion, and put his cheek against said hand only to watch you blush while not pulling away.

Your touch. It's so warm. So welcoming.

"Leon," he hears you whisper. He feels your hand trying to bring him closer. And he smiles as he obeys, but aims for your nose instead of your lips before bringing your foreheads together.

"Get better first," he murmurs before he kisses it gently.

"Dare I ask why?"

"Do you wanna faint?" he asks only to chuckle as you try pushing him away.

"You are so full yourself."

"Am I wrong?"

And your pout at his words only has him snorting to hold back laughter.

… Maybe it's a good thing you didn't come to the Lair. He doubts this would have happened otherwise.

taglist: @silverwatergalaxy, @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos, @thelaundrybitch, @luckycharms1701, @thepinkpanther83

@avery73, @the-cauldron-witch, @redsrooftopprincess, @iridescentflamingo, @ninnosaurus

@yorshie

[suchawrathfullamb]

will makes a midnight snack and its chicken nuggets and he makes hannibal try one and hannibal loves it but tries to hide it at all costs then the next day he makes them fancy chicken nuggets

Padding into the kitchen in his sweatpants and an old t-shirt, he rummaged through the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen chicken nuggets. The oven felt like too much effort, so he dumped them into the air fryer, leaned against the counter, and scrolled through his phone while they cooked.

Five minutes later, the smell of fried food had begun creeping through the house, and, like a well-dressed demon summoned by the scent of sin, Hannibal emerged from the shadows.

Will, without looking up, smirked. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Hannibal made a faint noise of disapproval, stepping into the kitchen as though his presence was purely incidental. “You’ve chosen an… interesting midnight indulgence.”

Will side-eyed him. “I don’t wanna hear one word about processed food, industrial farming, or how these nuggets probably contain three different species of chicken.”

Hannibal clasped his hands behind his back, expression unreadable. “I would never.”

Will snorted and pulled the nuggets out of the air fryer, tossing them onto a plate. He grabbed the ketchup bottle and squirted a messy pile next to them before plucking one up and biting into it. It was scalding hot, which only made it better.

Hannibal had not moved.

Will smirked, held up a nugget, and waggled it in front of him.

Hannibal narrowed his eyes.

“C’mon, just one,” Will coaxed. “For science.”

Hannibal sighed, long-suffering, and reached out, plucking the offending nugget from Will’s fingers as though it were evidence in a crime scene. He turned it over, examined it, and then, with great reluctance, took a bite.

There was a pause.

A long, excruciating pause.

Will watched, fascinated, as a flicker of something almost rapturous passed over Hannibal’s face before he locked it down immediately, resuming his usual look of detached superiority.

Will grinned. “You like it.”

Hannibal chewed, swallowed, and adjusted his cuffs. “It is… palatable.”

“Oh my God, you love it.”

“I do not—”

Will pointed at him with another nugget. “You’re a changed man. That’s it. Game over. Next thing I know, you’ll be begging me to take you to McDonald’s—”

Hannibal turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Will doubled over in laughter.

The next evening, Hannibal vanished into the kitchen.

Will, sprawled on the couch, smelled the scent of golden, fried breading, laced with hints of fresh herbs and some kind of reduction.

He sat up just as Hannibal strode in, carrying a platter.

Will blinked.

Hannibal set the platter down, smoothing his sleeves. “Poulet de Bresse en Croûte, with a Dijon aioli and black truffle honey.”

Will stared at him. Then at the plate. Then back at him.

“…Hannibal.”

“Yes, my love?”

“These are chicken nuggets.”

Hannibal bristled. “It is a delicate preparation of heritage poultry—”

Will grabbed one and took a bite.

It was, undeniably, a perfect chicken nugget. Light, crispy, seasoned to absolute perfection.

He slowly chewed, locked eyes with his husband, and said, very solemnly, “You have made gourmet chicken nuggets.”

Hannibal sniffed. “I have elevated an otherwise pedestrian dish.”

Will bit into another nugget and grinned. “No, babe. You made chicken nuggets.”

Hannibal said nothing.

But he also did not deny it.

[sunfloweraro]

Prompt: Chores

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

“Why do I have to wash the dishes?”

“Would you prefer to dry them, Blue?” Vio asked, raising a brow.

“Or perhaps you’d rather wash the clothes?” Green offered, holding up a particularly filthy tunic. “The Champion went shield-surfing yesterday.”

Blue made a face and turned back to the disgusting dishes. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t see why Red gets to be on watch duty.”

“Because,” Vio drawled, as if they had had this conversation a dozen times already. Blue’s eye twitched with irritation. “We’re on a rotation. You just had your turn.”

“I can always help out,” Red offered, his tone a little too sarcastic for Blue’s liking. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it when someone walks in on us like this.”

“Why, you—” Next to him, Vio snickered, and Blue scowled, dropping the dish he was cleaning in favour of splashing the soapy water in his brother’s face.

Vio spluttered, the bowl he had been drying falling to the muddy shore and rolling into the lake. “Blue! Do you want to draw this out?”

“Maybe,” Blue said, if only to be petty.

“So be it,” Vio said, and Blue had a brief second to experience the horror dawning on him before his brother dumped the entire bucket of soapy water over his head.

“Vio!”

“You asked for it!”

Blue growled, latching onto his brother’s arm and shoving him into the lake. Anticipating this, Vio grabbed Blue in turn and they both went tumbling into the water in a heap of limbs and curses.

Green sighed, turning to give Red a tired look. “See what you’ve done?” he asked.

“Who, me?” Red batted his eyes innocently. “I’m just keeping lookout.”

Green huffed, turning back to his task and wondering why he had ever thought four sets of hands would be better than one. At least watching Blue and Vio fight in the lake offered him some entertainment through the chores.

[creativesplat]

Eve of Battle.

[salovie]

Spotlit between elms, I sweat in the sunlight;

long deprived, my skin weeps for vitamin D.

I stick to the black mesh beneath us,

suspended over too-long grass

and the bugs that thrive there.

The clouds are cirrus—my favorite kind,

though they aren’t enough to ease our eyes,

squinted straight up at bright blue

and leaf-shine. You close yours.

The breeze carries a shiver;

my damp shirt becomes a cold compress.

I draw your sticky body closer as

the field below us whispers.

Someday this moment won’t exist

even as a memory.

[thatsnotmygunflash]

oohh i guess either "i'll choose you always. no matter what" or "i love the idea of growing old with you"

Who says we can't do both? 😉 I'm in the mood for some fluff so why not.

"You're late," Len said as soon as he felt the air shift in the kitchen, not taking his attention off the dirty casserole dish he was viciously scrubbing.

"I know, I'm sorry, Hal was-"

"Taking up all your spare time again." Len cut in with a too-casual tone, scrubbing at the stubborn specks in the corners with a single-minded focus. "Yes, I'm aware."

"You're jealous," Barry huffed.

"I don't trust him," Len said quickly in response, using the nail of his thumb to scrap off the black spots the brush couldn't seem to get off.

"Because you think he likes me." Barry accused with a tired sigh. Len didn't reply for a long moment, rinsing off the soap still sticking to the surface and setting the dish down in the drainer with a harsh clank of glass against metal when it knocked against the saucepan.

"He does," Len said with finality as he shut off the water. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he reached for the towel on his shoulder, using it to wipe down the water splashes around the sink.

"Lenny," Barry whispered gently, laying a hand on his shoulder as he came to stand directly behind Len. "You know Hal is just a friend."

"Like how Kara is just a friend?" Len bit out against his better judgment. He hated himself for being like this. For letting his overwhelming feelings for his speedster to cause such ugly emotions to stir inside his chest. He had never been like this before. He didn't want to start a fight, but he also hadn't wanted to sit in his empty kitchen feeling increasingly more neglected with every passing minute, the food he cooked for their weekly date night growing cold waiting on the counter for Barry to show up. His text message sent in the first half hour went unanswered and the phone call at the top of the first hour got the same treatment.

"Lenny, I'm really sorry, okay?"

"Why were you three hours late?" Len asked, finally turning around to pin Barry down with a harsh eyebrow raise.

"I needed his help with something," Barry replied hesitantly, his nervous hands twitching at his side. It made Len bite the inside of his cheek, keeping the first harsh response that popped into his head to himself.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Seriously Lenny, I'm sorry, okay? I swear I just needed his help with something."

He was lying. Barry was actually trying to lie to him. He thought the hero knew better by now, you can't bullshit a bullshitter.

"That's not an explanation," Len said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared the younger man down with an accusing frown.

"Lenny, you know you're it for me, right?" Barry rested both hands against Len's biceps, giving a reassuring squeeze to the tense muscles. "It doesn't matter who flirts with me or how well I get along with my friends. I'd choose you, always. No matter what. In fact, I intend to prove it."

"How do you plan to do that?" Len asked, narrowed gaze stuck on Barry's devoted smile.

"Lenny, baby, do you wanna know what gets me out of bed most days?"

"What?"

"I love the idea of growing old with you. Of retiring from the hero business and living on a ranch outside of the city. Having grandkids begging their parents to let them stay at our house every weekend. I love the idea of buying a house and living with you for the next fifty years. Of growing our family as big as you’ll let me. I love the idea of you and I old and gray and even more in love than we are now. I love the idea of us, forever. I want you, Lenny, I'll always want you." Barry reached into his back pocket, coming out with a clenched fist and an adoring shine in his eyes. "I was late because I was having a hard time deciding what you would like best. I wanted it to be perfect. Something you could look at every day and still love even fifty years from now."

Barry held out his hand, opening his palm to reveal the shining silver ring.

"I want you in my future, Lenny, I want you to be my future. Will you marry me?"

"Six."

"What?" Barry laughed in nervous confusion, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Len continued to stand there staring unblinkingly at the offered ring.

"My cut off for kids. It's six."

"Is that your idea of a yes?" Barry questioned hopefully, holding his breath when Len slowly reached a hand out towards the ring.

"Yes," Len confirmed softly, taking the ring between two fingers and holding it up to the light to look at it properly. It was a simple silver band, at first glance, but as Len moved it from side to side it looked almost like it was shimmering blue in the right light.

"Yes?" Barry repeated, a blinding grin stretching across his face when Len slipped the band onto his ring finger. It fit perfectly. The weight settling against his skin just enough to be present but not enough to bother him. He could see why Barry had chosen it.

"Yes, Barry,"

[bvckbiter]

I've come to ur askbox bearing percybaster and also trans!al

Alabaster doesn't like swimming bc gender dysphoria so Percy makes it a mission to find a lil secluded spot in the forest that nobody visits and makes a lil pond type thing for them to swim in 👁👁

took some liberties by making the lil forest pond a lagoon cave thingy instead but here ya go hehe

--

The little cave is beautiful, with columned walls and jagged domes of limestone embracing the glinting turquoise waters, which are so clear that Alabaster can see the bedrock several fathoms beneath them no problem. Hanging over the cave's northeast side is an eye to the sky, letting sunrays provide them natural light as Percy beaches their little kayak on a flat area next to the mouth of the cave.

It's beautiful, and trepidation cloys in Alabaster's throat. Percy has just barely managed to hammer into his head that all this care wasn't just a way to somehow fatten Alabaster up before he's offered up to a slaughter for the gods. Now, it was just a question of whether said care was out of pity or remorse.

Alabaster likes neither option. Even moreso now that they would make his discomfort look very, very bad. He doesn't wanna be ungrateful.

"C'mon, Torrington! Get in!" Percy yells, whooping as he leaps in headfirst. When he surfaces again, the water rolls off tanned skin in rivulets. "It's the perfect day for a swim!"

"For you, maybe," grumbles Alabaster, toying with the bottom of his shirt. "Any day is a perfect day for you to swim."

"Tsk, don't be so hotheaded. The sun today is oppressive enough as it is."

"Well, don't put the fault on me. Contact your rhyming fucker of a cousin and tell him to tone it down, since you're so chummy with the family."

Still, Percy is right; the day is hot. The crevices of his inner compression shirt are uncomfortable with damp sweat, and the glimmering water looks horribly tempting. Alabaster settles for sitting down where the limestone drops off beneath the water.

Percy wades towards him. "Did I do something?" he asks.

"No." Alabaster slowly kicks out his shins, creating gentle whirpools underwater. "For once."

"What is it, then? Is this... Is this too much?"

"Is what too much? Talking like you sculpted this place into the ideal date venue," Alabaster scoffs.

There's a beat, and Percy awkwardly chuckles. "Not entirely. Just smoothed out the dangerous edges, put the skylight there, cleared out some sharp rocks... But the rest is natural. I just happened to find it."

When he receives no reply, Percy hoists himself halfway out of the water. Alabaster's face grows hot in a way that has nothing to do with the weather—and everything to do with the way Percy settles himself, sculpted forearms and lean torso and all, in the space between his legs.

Contrary to the seeming audacity of that move, though, Percy's next words are laced with uncertainty. "If I overstepped, I really didn't mean to. We can just forget about this and go back—"

Alabaster grabs the Camp bead necklace before Percy can continue, and the son of Poseidon settles. Then, seized by some strange urge, he flattens his palm against Percy's firm sternum.

"One day, when I'm not constantly at the risk of dying," he says, "I won't have to rely on the Mist or my binders anymore. I'll be able to handle being—being seen. Then maybe I'll swim."

Percy blinks at him. "Being seen by others? I can swim outside if you want privacy."

A bitter smile crosses Alabaster's face. "Some days, I can barely look at myself. Today's one of those days, apparently. Especially when you look like goddamn Little Merman, in your element and all. It's annoying."

"Oh. Sorry?"

"For fuck's sake. You were all too happy to give me a show, weren't you? Go on." Alabaster pushes him away with his fingertips, and Percy topples back into the water with bubbling laughs.

He wasn't lying; the next several minutes, he leeches off the contagion of Percy's joy. "Look at this weird seashell I found down there," "How long can you hold your breath, just dunk your face in—haha you look stupid underwater," "SPLASH FIGHT!" and Alabaster actually fucking indulges him. The last one in particular gives him an idea of how to use this place. Just so Percy's effort doesn't go to waste, of course. If there's one thing Alabaster can appreciate, it's a masterful use of one's powers.

That's all there is to it. Really.

"Hey, Jackson!" he calls out, getting to his feet. "Fuck you!" And predictably, Percy shouts it back and sends another mini-tsunami at him.

Alabaster grins. "Incantare," he mutters under his breath, so that Percy can't hear him, "Furit Mare."

Immediately, the wave erupts from the surface with a roar, reversing its momentum and crashing down on its original caster.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Percy's voice reverberates from underneath, and Alabaster smugly grins. The dark head pops back out. "WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"Well, I figured," Alabaster replies, "if I can't fight you in your element, I'll just have to learn how to work with it to beat you."

"Oh, it's so on," Percy growls, commanding the water to raise him to his feet.

"Oh." Another incantation, and when Alabaster steps onto the water, the surface holds. "It is."

--

Note: "Furit Mare" roughly translates to... "The sea is raging" .... ? But I am no Latin scholar so I make no pretensions of expertise here HAHAHHA

[scorchedmazes]

another fic for minewt weekend (i’m shocked at myself trust me)

prompt: it’s always been you

summary: minho confesses smth to newt one night in the glade.

@minewtweek

[all-the-bones-ever]

this hit me like a truck

[the-greatest-8]

Obi-wan can claim he is patient- Not only was he the Padawan to Master Qui-Gon 'The will of the Force' Jinn, but he also practically raised Anakin 'I eat bugs' Skywalker. He was also, and rightfully, dubbed the Negotiator- It was not arrogant to claim he had patience. Obi-wan would admit however; He was begining to feel, irritated, for lack of appropriate words.

Cody, his loyal Commander, and privately thought companion, was next to his right. Anakin standing a little bit away from Cody's side. Obi-wan felt the slightest hint of amusement at the fact it wasn't even Anakin bringing him a headache currently.

Obi-wan sighs, and pinches his nose as he attempts to release his tension into the force. "Cody," Obi-wan starts, "in your opinion, dear, what is the height of stupidity?" He finishes, not entirely expecting a response from the calm Commander.

He feels a flare of amusement radiating from his Commander, followed by a flurry of feeling Obi-wan can only describe as mischievous. Cody turns to Anakin, his face passive despite his amusement in the force. "How tall are you?" Cody asks Anakin, and Obi-wan; Obi-wan feels a bright burst of pure delight.

Anakin begins to splutter, agape at the quip. Obi-wan is no longer able to bite back the laugh that escapes him. Anakin glares at both of them, his betrayed expression morphing into fond exasperation. "Very funny." Anakin states with a pout. Obi-wan can only chuckle in response as he feels Cody flare with pride.

obi-wan, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose: in your opinion, dear, what's the height of stupidity?

cody, turning to anakin: how tall are you?

[keyotosprompts]

the look of love ೀ

how to describe a loving gaze

⇸ eyes darting all over your face, trying to figure out which part of you they want to set their eyes on the most (it's impossible)

⇸ gazing at you like you're miles away only when you're a few feet away, standing with another person. their stare is hard, intense, but also melting and blank.

⇸ a featherlight touch to your arm with their eyes softly peering up at you. they can't believe that you're allowing them to touch you like this—so innocent, so softly.

⇸ late nights where its just the two of you in a car. they turn over to look at you but immediately turn. for the safety of the both of you, they can't stare at you any longer

⇸ when you're teasing them, they have to bite down extra hard to not release that smile from their lips. their eyes are squinted more tightly than usual. still, they're glued onto you.

⇸ meeting their eyes from across the room, and the two of you have the exact same thought. you turn away first to hold back your laughter, but their eyes are pinned onto you.

⇸ a softened gaze in a random moment. there's no reason for them to be looking at you like that—with slightly hooded eyes and parted lips—except for the fact that they just love seeing you

⇸ you're twirling around in your new outfit, showing the 360 angle. their pupils look like they're completely taking over the iris of their eye. suddenly, breathing becomes a lot more faster than they remember.

⇸ tears run like thrashing rivers on your face, dripping onto your pants and soaking the sleeves of your shirt. but they don't care. even when wiping your tears, they still can't get over how you look absolutely angelic like this.

⇸ eyeing you in the middle of the night, feeling incredibly lucky that they are the only one who can look at you in this state. a smile dawns upon their face as they trace the shape of your jaw, press their fingers in your cheekbones, and kiss you on the cheek.

⇸ a make-out session that seems like it will never stop until they pull away, and the reason being, "i needed to look at you like this," with swollen lips and a red flush.

⇸ laughter dying down into silence. looking at each other and bursting into laughter again.

⇸ being completely bare in front of each other after a long night. shameless admiration where their eyes move up and down your face and body. there's a mix of lust and adoration in their eyes.

⇸ watching you storm off, and all they can do is stand there, focused on your fleeting figure. their face is contorted—not in an angry way—but a look of concern flashes across their features. did they just lose the one they loved the most?

⇸ getting food with the other person and realizing that this is all it takes for you to be content. this is what happiness feels like, you think.

⇸ a gripping hug that makes you feel so seen. that one second during the embrace where you two both look at each other, and time stands still. you want to frame the expression on the other person's face.

⇸ seeing you, and a beaming smile immediately breaks out of their face.

[spirkbitch]

one more opinion about star trek fashion

it actually shouldn’t look like stuff you would wear (or at least a lot of it shouldn’t)

i’ve seen a lot of praise for modern trek fashion being better than classic trek because ‘people would actually wear that’

look at what people wore as everyday fashion 200-300 years ago, would you wear it? probably not, maybe for the novelty of it, but definitely not every day.

like, yeah this stuff looks crazy

it’s 300 years in the future. some of them are aliens, makes perfect sense to me that they would wear ridiculous extravagant clothes that look strange to my 21st century eye

similar to how if you showed modern fashion (especially alternative fashion/runway fashion) to someone dressed like this,

they would probably think we’re crazy.

yet for some reason modern trek wants us to believe that hundreds of years into the future people still just wear zip up hoodies?

(idk if the spock fit actually is a hoodie or not but come on man, the zipper? nothing more futuristic than a zipper?)

or this dress that looks like i could buy it in a 21st century target?

(not to hate on chapel, she’s just the only one i can find decent pictures of out of uniform)

also why is everything so grey now? when was it decided that people don’t wear colors in the future? i can not find out of uniform pictures where any of these people wear color, all black, white, grey, and maybe a bit of muted green.

tldr

clothing design in star trek should be just as important as clothing design in a period piece. i don’t think a screencap from any star trek should look like it could just as easily take place in the 21st century, i should see some crazy outfits. the clothes can do a lot of the heavy lifting to remind us that this is supposed to be far in the future.

[glitzbot]

Stolas is thirsty from... working so hard

[oh-phoenixx]

“It’s no use, Regulus, we’ve gotta have it out,” James cried, “I have loved you ever since I’ve-”

“Stop quoting Little Women at me, James,” Regulus said through gritted teeth. “We are not getting married.”

“But-”

“I’m seventeen, you are eighteen. We are not getting married,” Regulus repeated.

“I have loved you ever since I’ve-”

“James.”

[chimchiri]

gideon & harrow OR rd and sf as cowboys please please please

It's the cowgirl necro and her gunslinger cav! Who is so damn extra she's got three guns: one left, one right, and one in pole position! (She swears the ladies love it!)