#prompt: synapse

[trickstersaint]

adam opens his eyes in the laboratory // april 8 2023

[tangirlisfangirl]

this is very hetalia kin of me to say (never watched it) but there should be some father-son story about america and england that explores the trend of imperialism the struggles of interpersonal relationships between both men and parents/children in general and perpetuating cycles of violence .3.

[emilyrosebug]

Insektober Day 31 - Spooky

"FUNNNNGGUUSSSS!!"

Happy Halloween! It's time for a spooky drawing. Greeb is running from the kruds after they've been turned into fungus zombies.

After that, Insektober has come to a close. I want to thank those who took part during this month. Next year is a big one because it will be the show's 30th anniversary, YAY!

[wisteriagoesvroom]

For the trope mashup thing whatever: arranged marriage and neighbors 👀 - CX

again not one i would've picked but thank you for prompting it !! this also uh, got longer than i thought.

(from the prompts mash up - still taking submissions)

--------

“What do you mean your visa’s running out?” Lando asks.

“I’m Australian. Not a magician. Commonwealth only gets you so far.” 

“I thought you were here on a scholarship.”

“Well. Yeah. But scholarships stop. Once you graduate.” 

Lando toes the doorway rug. It feels weird to be talking about this in the middle of the hallway, though the only other person who would be listening might be Mrs. Kapoor, and half the time it’s only because she sticks her head out to ask if Lando or Oscar would take one of her mystery vegan curries. Lando is neither a huge fan of vegan food nor curry, and he trusts Oscar’s word for it that it’s good because they eat it while playing Gran Turismo at Lando’s place. But Lando always accepts the curries nonetheless, because his parents raised him to be polite, and he wasn’t raised in a barn. (Even if he technically grew up in converted farmhouse in the countryside, but that was besides the point.)  Either way, this is slipping away from him much quicker than he’d anticipated. Late night hangouts, dropping mail and post-it notes, text messages about the community garden. The most inane smalltalk about things big and small from the origins of moths to whether aliens were out there or just chose to ignore the +44 area code. Oscar always laughing in the right places when Lando regales him about tales of his terrible online dating stories, Oscar always picking the pickles out of the roast beef bagels before he passes one to Lando. The corner of Lando’s sofa that Lando has started to think of as Oscar’s because he’s there so often, reading one of his books or trying to speedread a JSTOR article about the lifecycle of urban pathogens while Lando worked on artwork for his upcoming store launch. 

Lando’s synapses are firing too fast. His brain did that most days, and that was what made him exceedingly good at his job, and today in particular - it doesn’t feel like there’s any logical way out. 

Lando remembers that movie they watched once though. As a joke. The one they both pretended not to enjoy, with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds in Alaska. The one they watched when Oscar sat next to Lando on the sofa, and they both pretended the entire night that their knees weren’t touching. 

His therapist said he had a tendency to get ahead of himself when under stress. But it’s a joke, it’s not serious, there’s no way—

“We could just like, get married.”

Lando shoves his hands in his pockets. That came out way more calm and cooler than he thought it actually would.  And to his credit, Oscar doesn’t drop his mug of tea. Lando knows that’s his favourite one, because Lando got it for him, and it says Science is my superpower. Oscar does, however, slightly shift his grip on the mug.

“I feel like it’d be complicated to explain to my mum why I randomly married my upstairs neighbour?” 

“But it’s not a no.”

Oscar tilts his head. There’s a glimmer of something focused, maybe even hungry in his eyes. Oscar gets like that when his mind turns, when he’s working on an especially difficult thesis, when the pieces are forming and he can lock into the crucial details.

Lando is a little alarmed at how much he already recognises it, and how much more often he’d like to draw that reaction out. 

“If the facts don’t fit the theory, then reexamine the facts. Right?” Oscar says.

And Lando is there, in the doorway. Conscious that Mrs Kapoor might’ve heard everything, but all the more conscious that there’s a hammering in his heart that he can’t tell is nervousness, or anticipation. 

What’s the stress limit for a joke you’re probably already pushing too far? Lando thinks.

He isn’t sure.

But maybe it’s a thesis worth testing out.  

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

(and ok maybe i cheated a little on arranged marriage but i think this is the closest i could get with the contemporary context. thank you @cx-boxbox for the prompt <3)

[bullet-prooflove]

Prompt 22. I’m going to spend my last days loving you. Request for Terry Silver please and thank you.

Tagging: @volumesofforgottenlore@kmc1989@somethingdarkside17@noonee333

When Terry dreams of you, it’s the scent of oil paint in his nose as he chases you through that tulip field in Amsterdam, the sound of your laughter in his ears.   

You’re easy to catch, you always are. He has a longer stride, a relentless gait, years of running have made him lithe, agile.

The wind flows through his loose silver hair as his arm wraps around your waist, drawing you against his firm body. Your skin is flushed, your eyes bright. He ducks his head, his lips brushing over yours as he pulls you down into the grass with him, his fingers threading through your unruly locks.

Your thighs straddle his hips, the white sundress pooling around his hips as he kisses you, his mouth covering yours with an urgency he feels deep down in his bones. Your teeth graze his lower lip and a wildfire chases through his synapses as you reach between the two of you, freeing his hardening cock from trousers. He helps you out of your panties, fingers hooking on the pretty lace as he tugs them off you.

The sun warms your bare skin as he draws the straps of your dress down your shoulders before he makes love to you amongst the tulips.

You’re an angel, he thinks as he fucks you. His beautiful angel, so perfect, so sweet.

You say his name when you come, your voice raw, your tight, wet heat gripping him as he spills his release deep inside you. He buries his face into the curve of your throat as he holds you close, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sprinkles light kisses across your shoulders and chest.

“You make me do the craziest things.” You murmur as he guides the straps of your dress back up your shoulders.

“You think I’ve fucked in a tulip field before?” He’d asked with an amused smile as he drew you down on top of him.

The two of you had spent the rest of the afternoon tangled up in one another, watching the clouds pass overhead and dozing amongst the flowers as they swayed in the breeze.

“Marry me.” He had whispered, his fingers threading lightly through your hair. “Let me spend the rest of my days loving you like this.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[vicsy]

chalex / care ❤️

"Oh my god."

Alex hears Charles before he spots him sidestepping Fernando's ridiculous scooter, weaving through the Saturday paddock crowd and beelining towards the entrance of the Williams motorhome, which had just enough luck not share the fate of McLaren's. The weekend promises to be shit on a stick but something's gotta give. Alex is grateful for small miracles like the one he's currently trying to prevent from jumping out of his rather capable hands.

"Found him chewing on a plant in catering," Alex quips and as soon as he does, Leo finally wiggles his way out, leaping into Charles' waiting arms. "Little guy gave you quite a heart attack, yeah?"

Charles can't really respond, busy being under the merciless attack of puppy kisses all over his face and Alex can't help a smile, endlessly endeared. It's the cute puppy factor, he half-convinces himself, shirking his hands into his jean pockets. Charles yelps when Leo bites him on the chin and Alex's heart wraps itself in fondness. Definitely, it's just the dog, not the one enduring all the slobbering. Sure.

"Oh my god, Leo! I don't know how he got out," Charles says, breathless with relief. He tucks Leo into his chest and Alex notices how much the puppy's grown, no longer fitting in the palm of Charles' hand. Leo starts bumping his snout at the chain Charles wears around his neck. Alex stares at the picture perfect for entirely too long. "I almost lost my mind looking for him before you texted me. Thank you so much, Alex. You're my hero. This could have been a disaster."

"Well, I do have a zoo," Alex enunciates and Charles laughs, so bright and open, his face all scrunched up as if he's looking at the sun but that's just Alex is front of him. Just the little ol' him. "Solving an animal related crisis is sort of a given. So yeah, any time, mate. If you ever need any help, I'm your guy."

An underdog for your dog, Alex's mind provides and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Charles looks like a dream in a white, baggy t-shit and those abysmal jeans, holding a puppy to his chest like it's the most precious creature in the world. And it's a dream catered specifically to Alex, wired straight to his synapses, and his mind veers dangerously close to the pits of yearning. Every week is a losing battle as it is. Alex can't compete.

He kind of freezes, momentarily stumped, when Charles goes in for a quick hug. Which is fine and super normal thing to do, he's high on emotion, whatever. Leo gets inevitably sandwiched between their chests. Alex eventually figures his way back into the basics of human interaction and wraps one arm awkwardly around Charles, then places his other hand on Charles' forearm in a makeshift attempt at a barrier. The usual hubbub of a race weekend passes them by and Alex hopes to keep his wits about him while he's got 'em. At the back of his mind, he registers the press of something cold and wet to the underside of his jaw.

Leo's sneeze goes off like a tiny bomb.

"Oh, Leo," Charles sighs apologetically, rocking back and out his embrace. Alex doesn't mind some dog snot. He lets his touch linger, fingers tucked into the crook of Charles' elbow, next to Leo's tiny paws. "Thanks again, Alex. For taking care of Leo for me."

"No worries, Charles."

Alex wishes he didn't need to let go but they've got to race and he can't keep staring at Charles' lovely, mole-dotted face all fucking day. He plasters on a smile that digs into his cheeks way too hard and his hand falls limply to his side in quiet surrender. Alex wishes for unattainable and watches Charles head back to his team, to his red car, to the people who worship the ground he walks on. Before he disappears around the corner, Charles turns, carefully grabbing Leo's tiny paw, and waves Alex goodbye with it.

Alex wishes it wasn't just about the dog.

Send me a ship/character(s) and a one word prompt and I will write a 5 sentence fic about it.

[eldritch-spouse]

Hello… Yeah, my boss wants me to *heavy sigh* “work late” again tonight… What choice?! ...*eyes water*… I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap at you… *wipes eyes*...Yeah, it is…*sees Pinter getting out of a meeting looking very irritated*...Sorry dear but I gotta get back to work… I love you too dear, bye-bye *hangs up phone and sighs*

[Mansplain manipulate manwhore time.]

Pinter exits the meeting room with a fiersome scowl.

Some saps just don't quite have the synapses to pick up on what the slime is putting down. Sometimes they're smart enough to realize they need to play along to keep even a shred of their earnings, other times they like to wave their little policies and evident breaches of contract in his face. Like they have a modicum of a choice here. Usually, this amuses the business shark, today it's just irritating him, if you had to guess.

The man who walked in with Pinter is waved away by the fuming monster, likely ordered to get him a drink. And fast.

His eyes scheme the room, and for a sliver of a second, you dare hope that he misses your presence entirely. You even settled by the water dispenser, like some kind of sad decorative plant.

No such mercy.

The slime's whiskers perk and he moves towards you, prompting you to shove your phone away.

" Get me that cunt's profiles again. " Pinter grumbles, adjusting his tie.

" Y- Yes sir. "

He sighs when the poor dude tasked with getting his coffee shows up, taking it and making yet another dismissive flick of the finger to let him know he should leave.

" That your boy calling you just now? "

Boy. Tch.

" No... No, it was just- "

" Don't lie to me, girly. " Pinter chuckles. " I knew you were going to call him when I told you to stay. "

He pauses enough to let you open your mouth but not to let you actually speak.

" You ever notice he always makes you feel like shit when you have to work late? Look at that little frown, hm. You didn't look like that before you called him. "

You huff. " N- No sir, he just cares for my health- "

Pinter laughs. " Oh, you're so cute. Sweetheart, he acts like a manbaby. I bet he got snappy about it again. What's he doing for you? Is he putting in extra hours too? No, I bet he's spreading his ass on the couch and muttering about his bitch of a girlfriend. "

Well, he did start bitching... And that gets on your nerves honestly. Wanting the conversation to end, you simply shrug and look off to the side, waiting.

Your boss beams out of you, jostling you to stand straighter than a plank when he claps a hand onto your shoulder.

" Jeez, you're going to put me in a bad mood like that. " You're pretty sure he's still fuming from that meeting. " How about we get something sweet from that pastry we passed by earlier, hm princess? "

You can't bring yourself to feel offended when that same hand moves to comfortably grab onto the meat of your waist.

[rosewaterandivy]

omg, imagine actor!steve! being spotted at rockstar!gf show (kinda like people are spotted at ts era tour in vip tent) and getting cute little bracelets from fans & him showing her them afterwards.

In honor of a follower milestone, here, have some modern!actor steve x rockstar!gf. Took the prompt and ran with it; enjoy! 💜

tender charm

🎶 baby the way you move me, it’s crazy, it’s like you see right through me and make it easier, you please me, you don’t even have to try 🎶

Steve’s not the type.

Sure, he understands these sorts of things. And for most of your fans, attending a concert of this magnitude will be a defining event in the course of their lives.

He simply was not prepared for the sheer amount of people wanting to give him bracelets. He’s much more used to your fans showing off their ink and tattoos of lyrics or your handwriting. And, as always, he felt ill prepared because he didn’t have anything to offer them in return.

Luckily, they didn’t seem to mind. He was, however, bombarded with shouts of, “Take care of our girl, Harrington!” or “Tell Cherry we love her!” and the occasional, “We’ve got our eye on you, don’t fuck it up!”

Steve didn’t intend on fucking it up. Well, not if he could help it anyway.

So when he gleefully shows you the haul on his arms and shoved into his pockets at the end of the show, breathlessly recounting fan messages he’d promised to relay, Steve doesn’t necessarily catch the mischievous gleam in your eye as you nod along.

“I ended up with a ton of these,” his fingers pinch the moody teal and emerald beads at his wrist, black letters of SHRIKE contrasting against the bright white plastic, “I guess they assume it’s about me, or us.” He concludes with a shrug.

“Yes, because I never write songs about you.”

“Oh yeah, that’d be career suicide.” He laughs and settles back against the banquet seat of the tour bus.

“Hmm, that’s weird.” You say with a twist of your lips, “You’re missing some.”

Steve furrows his brow, confused as you turn to rifle through your bag. Prizing the bracelets between your fingers, you roll them onto his wrist before letting your hands fall into your lap.

He reads the newest acquisitions quickly, eyes widening in realization.

Something simple and to the point. Had cost you all of a ten dollars and maybe an hour of your time. An understated color palette of earthy tones for each bracelet, accented with black text printed on white beads.

The first proclaims DADDY. The second declares 2 B. The third is simply a chord of leather adorned with a singular gemstone in the center.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you—“ Big hands cup your hips and drag you closer to him.

“Yes,” you squeak, clambering into his lap and resting your forehead against his. Eyes growing misty, you blink to clear the haze and get a long look at him.

Under your gaze, he attempts to duck his head and nuzzle into your neck and shoulder. Your hands, cool against his heated skin, cradle his head while your thumbs rub in soothing circles against his scalp.

“You happy?”

Steve nods, at an utter loss for words. Can’t imagine trying to speak without his voice breaking or, god forbid, bursting into tears.

“Good,” You sigh with a sweet smile. “Me too.”

It was touch and go after the shower incident, which ended up being a false alarm anyway. And then there was really no time for discussion between your tour and his filming schedule.

It wasn’t something you’d sat down and discussed, not really. Steve’s always wanted kids, but never quite let himself believed that it would happen.

Not until you barreled into his life, a whirlwind of talent and genetics with a tendency for entropy.

One look at you and he was a complete goner. Started ring shopping after your visit to Palm Springs, as a matter of fact.

So to say that he’s happy is an understatement. Overjoyed, yes. Bowled over, definitely. Synapses and neurons firing in rapid succession, far to fast for him to keep up.

All he knows is this: the brush of your skin against his, a cool balm to his fevered flesh. The scent of you—musk and salt and home— surrounds him, blankets him in comfort. Everything he could possibly want, right here in his grasp.

“We’re having a baby,” he says with a shudder. Because now he’s said it, now it’s real.

You gnaw the swell of your bottom lip, pearly white and plush pink accented by the delicious curve of your smile.

“You can say that again.”

Steve jerks up helplessly. “What—“ Sets you back a pace and eyes you up and down, “Is there—“

A slow nod as happy tears clump your lashes together. As if you can’t take his torment anymore, you smile wide and radiant.

“Twins,” you rasp, “We’re having twins.”

He fumbled with his awkward limbs, drawing you near once more, hands tentative and hesitant with newfound knowledge. Logically, he knows you won’t break— you’re built of sterner stuff, as you like to remind him. But he can’t help treating you with tenderness at a moment like this.

Graciously, you allow it. Soft hands and watery smiles, sweet murmurs that fall from your lips and pierce him all the way through—“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

A kiss planted on the tip of his nose as your hands stroke his form. Sliding smooth up his side and stoking heat into his arms and shoulders, up his spine, down his chest.

Steve’s eyes slip shut when your mouth returns to his neck. He takes your advice to heart, not that there was much convincing that was needed anyway.

It’s only then, your eyes both sharp and steady peering into the once empty parts of him, housed in the tender safety and warmth of your arms, does Steve bow his head and weep.

[peachsayshi]

Heyya! I saw your First Kisses post, so I'll be participating. I didn’t know which to choose out these 4 prompts, so I'll let you decide ^^ I'm fine with any, I'm just really indecisive lol

Satoru Gojo + (a surprise kiss, catching one of them off guard, smiling while softly kissing, finally showing their love, kissing as a distraction, or laughing while kissing)

➳  minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

⥽ notes: fluff; mutual pining; just a sprinkle of angst

you're trying so hard not to smile but you can't help it -

you can't help it because you're too busy watching satoru kneel his obnoxiously long body before you, and use his long yet, delicate fingers with careful consideration to wrap the roller bandage around your ankle.

"too tight?" he asks, glancing up at you from underneath his frosty locks, and firing all your synapses within a second.

"no-no...it's alright," you reply softly.

your fingers catch onto the end of his oversized tee that he allowed you to borrow for the night, snuggling you in a comfort of amber wood, pepper, and bergamot.

he's still holding your foot with one hand, but the other is carefully tracing up the curve of your calf.

"maybe you'll think twice the next time you chase down a pestering curse..."

"it's a sprain, 'toru..." you respond with a teasing roll of your eyes, noticing the red burning the tips of his ears from the way you his nickname left your lips. "I'm stronger than I look, you know?"

"oh, I know," he admits with a gentle squeeze to the back of your leg, and your heart nearly climbs up your throat when the corners of his mouth twitch into a playful grin. "I'm the one who trained you after all..."

you shake your head with disbelief, tapping into your flirtatious energy as you slowly slip your leg away from his touch.

you can see him forcefully maintaining his gaze with yours, holding onto every ounce of will to stop himself from dropping his attention to your thighs being exposed from underneath his shirt.

those blue irises are warmer than any other flame, and the heat that emanates off them washes over you instantly.

you nip at your bottom lip when your mouth goes dry.

you know better than to jeopardise what you already have with him. you're aware that the roots of his feelings for you have practically taken over the veins in his heart. you see it every time he looks at you, every time he speaks to you, with every lingering touch...and you'd be lying sinfully if you tried to say that you didn't reciprocate those feelings tenfold.

satoru sees the thoughts running through your eyes, and leans forward to rest both his arms on your legs, bringing his face far too close than your stomach can handle.

"thank you letting me spend the night," your murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

he taps the tip of nose lightly against your own, "my home is yours, you know that..."

just this once, you think to yourself as you cautiously close in on the space separating you from the man you yearn for.

you're looking deeply into his eyes, your lips just a fraction away from brushing over his but you smile and pretend like everything is still perfectly normal.

you carry on that facade while you cup his face in the palm of your hands, before leaning in to to capture his mouth for a kiss.

satoru's body grows still for only a second, until he responds by extending his arms to circle them around your waist. the kiss starts off chaste, gentle pecks before he finally slips his tongue. you immediately melt into his arms as he sighs with gratitude, both of you feeling a tremendous weight dissipate off your shoulders. your fingers tangle between his hair, while his own hands sneakily slide underneath the fabric of his tee to travel up your back.

he doesn't want to pull away, and neither do you...but when the moment finally happens you're both trapped in a haze of desire that has you seeing stars.

satoru swallows hard as he outlines your bottom lip. "you should get some sleep..."

"yeah," you nod in between trying to catch your breath, "it's getting late."

your body sinks into a deep ache when he stands up, taking his warmth along with him as he makes his way out the door.

once you are left alone, you bring your fingers to the tip of your lips and press them while thinking about the magic that you just received. what you don't see is satoru standing just outside the room door, one hand still on the handle with his back pressed against the frame.

he grins foolishly and licks his lips, before closing his eyes for only a minute to briefly taste how sweet you are once again.

⥽ requests?

[jamesunderwater]

Jily Microfic: An Unexpected Ally

@jilymicrofics - mar 31 prompt: irritable - words: 910 - AO3 link Summary: When James gets outed as trans by Snape, everyone starts treating him differently. Everyone except Sirius, Remus, and Peter, of course -- and, to his surprise...Lily Evans. Written in celebration of Trans Day of Visibility <3

James would never have expected Lily Evans to be one of his greatest allies.

When Severus Snape spread “the truth about who James Potter really is” across the entire Hogwarts student body, James had at least been sure that his fellow Marauders would have his back. The jeers and threats he received from Slytherins, unsurprising and unoriginal, hardly broke the surface of his thick skin, but the other boys hexed every single one of them all the same. When Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws he’d never even spoken to before started watching him more closely, their eyes invariably falling to his chest in search of something they wouldn’t find, Sirius would step forward menacingly and growl, “What’re you looking at?” while Remus or Peter gave James’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. The three of them could see his veneer slipping, no matter how much James tried to hide it. What broke him, though, were his teammate’s reactions. The two other boys on the team besides himself and Sirius, both seventh years, who had only ever treated James as an equal now hardly made eye contact with him. Meanwhile, the girls on the team seemed confused, somehow, about what they ought to call him or how to refer to him, as though his name and pronouns hadn’t been the same as long as they’d known him.

It seemed no one knew what to do with him anymore, no one but Sirius, Remus, and Peter – and, for some reason, Lily Evans.

Returning after a particularly frustrating practice, James collapsed onto one of the couches, ignoring how his wet uniform stuck to his skin. He didn’t have the energy to make it up to his dorm and into the shower. 

Sirius came to sit beside him, his uniform much drier than James’s. “So we’re just taking a quick five minute break before facing the stairs, then?” he asked, amusement in his tone.

“I can’t move, Pads,” James groaned.

“Yeah, running an extra twenty laps will do that to you.”

“I just couldn’t stand the thought of going back into the locker room with everyone,” he said quietly. James could sense the way Sirius’s shoulders fell without having to look at him. 

“Want me to kill ‘em? You know I’ll gladly commit fratricide for you.”

James snorted. “No. I can deal with their rubbish if it means we win the house cup.”

“Godric Gryffindor,” a voice cursed from behind them, and suddenly the unmistakable fiery head of Lily Evans appeared beside him. “Potter, you smell absolutely foul. Is there a reason you’re down here instead of showering? Or is it your goal to torment the entire common room?”

James blinked up at her, briefly speechless. It had been nearly two weeks since anyone other than Sirius, Remus, or Peter had spoken to him with any amount of normalcy. “Er–”

“Actually, nevermind – as your Prefect, I insist you go take a shower.”

This snapped James out of his confusion, the synapses in his brain brought back to life by the familiarity of their bickering. One of his eyebrows lifted and he snorted flippantly. “I don’t think forcing someone to shower is within your purview, Evans.”

She crossed her arms and stared at him defiantly. “Well, I certainly have the power to dock you points for making other students suffer.”

He let out a loud laugh. “By refusing to shower?”

“Yes – it ought to be a requirement for every teenage boy to shower twice a sodding day, with how you lot reek. But this is just egregious.”

James paused for a fraction of a second, trying to determine if she’d slid that comment in for his benefit – a pity present. He had a difficult time believing she seriously cared all that much about his odorous presence, but found it even more unbelievable that she’d have come up with all this just to boost his confidence.

No, that would be far too out of character for her. He decided her disdain must be genuine – which was just too rich not to toy with.

With a smirk he asked, “Well, how many points is my showering worth to you, Evans?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re so obsessed with getting me to shower – how bad will my punishment be if I don’t?”

She started to fluster, and he grinned. “I’m not obsessed with you showering, Potter.”

“Mm, you seem a bit obsessed with me showering,” he replied.

“You do seem a bit obsessed with him showering,” Sirius commented.

Lily huffed, and James thought he noticed a slight blush appearing on her cheeks. “Fine, then. Fifteen points from Gryffindor.”

“Fifteen?” James gaped.

“Merlin, Evans, you’re right desperate for him to shower.”

“He’s foul!” she yelled back, and the ‘he’ settled like a comforting blanket across James’s chest. She hadn’t hesitated for a moment. “That’s the only–!” She stared at them a moment, then muttered irritably, “Actually, nevermind.” She took a few steps over to the table behind them and started to gather her things. “I’ll just vacate the area.”

James laughed, rolling his eyes and standing. “Bloody hell, Evans, fine. You win. Keep the common room. C’mon, Padfoot.”

Lily glared at them as the two boys passed her. “Thanks for the lingering odor, Potter.”

“I’ll be thinking of you as I’m scrubbing clean, Evans!”

His head buzzed happily as he climbed the stairs with screaming thighs. 

Lily Evans had yelled at him, just like always.

Who would’ve guessed she’d be such an ally.

[thegildedbee]

Apology/Imperfect: May 23 & 24 Prompts from @calaisreno

This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. ..................................................................................

In and of itself, the passing of time had not yet begun to blunt whatever was continuing to tear at him in losing Sherlock; in and of itself it had not offered a pathway forward. His impulse to revisit the beginning had surprised John –.he had no idea if this flight of fancy (and of his feet) would worsen his situation; although he’d wager that "worse" was not a possibility. But the impetuosity had sparked his synapses, and as he buys his ticket for the train, he knows that it is the right thing to do, even if he cannot put words as to why.

On the day after Sherlock had come into his life, the “pink lady,” Jennifer Wilson, had traveled from Cardiff to London; nearly two years later, his remembrance of her existence had prompted John to travel in reverse, allowing the train to carry him further back in time the nearer they drew to Wales. Six minutes from Paddington, as the train accelerates to its running speed of 125 miles an hour, he realizes that he has no idea what he will do once the train pulls into the station. He takes himself to task, wondering if what he’ll do is to step out on the platform, consider the whole journey a folly, check the timetables, and turn around and head back to London. He decides that he doesn’t need to decide, not yet. In two hours’ time, when he steps off the train, he can exit the station, sit down in the nearest pub, and then work out what comes next.

Already he feels as if he is more free to breathe, outside of Harry’s home, beyond Baker Street, increasingly distant from the Diogenes, and Bart’s Hospital, and Scotland Yard, moving further and further away from Charles Magnusson’s corporate high-rise and the street where Irene Adler had lived, and the Tower, the Old Bailey, and Sherlock’s grave. Within the neutral space of the moving train, within the in-between of departure and arrival, John thinks he can let go enough that it will allow him to begin to make a reckoning, loosening knots that bind him to what has been, by thinking new thoughts.

The day that Sherlock had solved the pink lady’s murder was the day that John had thrown in with him. It was the start of them being . . . something . . . to each other. A something that would become something more over time. Two mates? Best friends? A pair? A duo? Twinned? A merger? A team? A partnership? A match? A couple?

It's a complicated question, he admits to himself grudgingly, because there are two sides to it, right? Knowing the answer for one side does not automatically reveal the answer for the other. From one angle -- his -- it’s simple, because whatever it is, it just is. But the whole bloody mess is full of multiple dimensions isn’t it, tenth Doctor timey-wimey stuff. He starts to feel irritated at this line of thought, and throws up his hands. Best put this off until he gets to the pub. Best put this off until he’s been at the pub for a while – and after he’s a few pints down.

But it wasn’t just two of them, was it, he and Sherlock, although they wouldn’t know that for a while. There was a third, right at the start, although the third had thought that he was one of two. He had thought that he was at the start of . . . something . . . with Sherlock. Nothing as simple as mates or best friends or a pair; what he was after was more complex than these: A duo? Twinned? No, it would be closer to a merger, although that wouldn’t be emotionally true enough, would it?

Sherlock had been on Moriarty’s mind ever since he discovered him in the aftermath of Carl Powers’ death. He had been planning a courtship through all these years, the trainers his Rosebud, that he would lay at Sherlock’s feet. He wanted, at least early on, to be a team, a partnership – yes, that would be closer. It might have even been satisfactory if that was all that was possible from Sherlock's end; or might be satisfactory as a way station, until Moriarty could bend him to his will. Moriarty had already raced ahead: his something was as a match, as a couple.

Moriarty had been writing himself and Sherlock into a twisted fairy tale from the start. He didn’t know Sherlock as well as he might have thought; he would need access to Mycroft’s brain, and memories, and his expressive tells to compensate for both his lack of data, and his lack of a soul, unable as the psychopath that he was to feel the emotional connection that his lust for power over Sherlock craved. In the aftershocks of Jennifer Wilson's death and the Yard's summons to Sherlock, Moriarty had sent Sherlock a setpiece from The Princess Bride to play, to test his mettle: to see if he died -- and that his brain had been made of inferior stuff, and playing the game wouldn't have been worth the candle; or whether Moriarty’s hypothesis that Sherlock was worthy to be one of two with him was proven, by his staying alive, demonstrating that he possessed a mind that was laced with iocane powder.

How disappointed Moriarty must have been when he realized that Sherlock hadn't understood the reference! John smiled, wistfully, remembering: the inevitable glitch in the operation of genius, yes? That there’s always something.

But Sherlock hadn’t needed an iocane-laced brain; he had John: John could act that night as the antidote to the poison, and he had. He had played a role in the fairy tale, although not a part that was written by Moriarty, but the part that was appearing in letters across the London skyline, like magic ink when it becomes visible, written by the two of them: John and Sherlock.

Their once upon a time, which had begun the day before, ended its first chapter with John saving Sherlock by slaying a dragon.

The train surges ahead as the landscape outside the window greens, and a young mother and her son make their way down the aisle back to their seats, hand-in-hand. She listens to him with an intent expression as he waves outside the window and then to his mobile, explaining something or other about the Pokemon he’s captured. Outside, the long stretch of empty track behind them leaves evidence of the miles that have disappeared during that moment.

John had seen himself as Sherlock’s protector from the start: a soldier to protect him from harm, harm from others and harm from himself, even as Sherlock set out to protect London, with all the recklessness, brilliance, abrasiveness, arrogance, imperfection and exuberance that was embedded within his being.

But John had not been able to protect Sherlock in the last days of his life. Something had gone wrong, and while there were more contributing factors than he was sure he could count if he counted until the end of his days, he knew that some of that wrongness had been down to him. He catches glimpses when he remembers those times when he was at Sherlock’s side during the tumult of the photo calls that began with his retrieval of Turner’s Reichenbach Falls painting. He senses deep inside that he owes Sherlock an apology for the condescension he had indulged in, which obscured his view of the field of battle, leaving Sherlock alone to try and overcome the curse that Moriarty had spun around him. There's more there he needs to think about it, if he's ever going to understand what happened. He can't just skip over it; he has to go through it, and hope that he emerges on the other side.

........................................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

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[runninriot]

for @steddielovemonth

February 2

prompt: love is bodies touching... by @eyesofshinigami | rated: T | wc: 1160 | post S4, everybody lives, dealing with post UD trauma, Eddie takes care of Steve, Steve is bad at feelings, emotional hurt/comfort, open ending

Healing

Eddie can’t take it anymore. For days now he’s been watching Steve suffer in silence. He doesn’t know what happened but something has been weighing him down. He looks tired, exhausted. Like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever. Like maybe the nightmares are back and with them the fear. Like maybe he’s seeing the monsters again, whenever he closes his eyes.

Eddie knows Steve doesn’t like to talk about it, about his worries and fears. That Steve likes to pretend that he’s strong, tougher than the rest of them. That he isn’t afraid of the dark. That years of fighting monsters and surviving literal torture have not taken their toll on him.

It’s bullshit. And Eddie tried so many times to get him to talk about it or even just to make him listen. Tried to tell him that it is normal to feel helpless, and weak, and small sometimes. That it is okay. That he’s allowed to be scared just like the rest of them. But Steve never gives in, always says he’s fine.

Eddie knows he is definitely not. Can see it in the worry line between his furrowed brows, can see it in the way he hunches his shoulders, can see it in the dark circles under his eyes. He can see it in the way Steve flinches at loud, unexpected noises or the tiniest flickers of light.

He decided to try and take Steve’s mind off the horrors in other ways. That’s why he invited him over to spend some time talking shit, drinking beer, doing things young adults are supposed to do – be silly, live life; not fighting monsters. Not real ones, not those haunting their dreams.

They’re sitting on Eddie’s bed with their backs against the wall. Eddie is playing a song on his guitar that took him ages to learn because his body still hasn’t fully recovered, is still stiff and achy in so many places. But he’s doing fine, knows it’ll take time but it won’t be like this forever. Healing takes time, he’s come to accept, wishes Steve would too.

Steve sits beside him, faraway look in his eyes. Like he’s not really there, like his mind is trapped somewhere else. And Eddie wants to shake him, wants to crack open his skull and push his fingers into his frontal lobe, rearrange his synapses or whatever is in control of his reasoning and behaviour. He wants to tear down the walls Steve has put up to protect those vulnerable parts of him he doesn’t allow himself to have.

Eddie has had enough.

He puts down his guitar, the sound of the instrument connecting with the hardwood floor snaps Steve out of his trance-like state, brings him back to the here and now where the real monsters are gone forever but the ones in your head remain.

   “Steve, can- can I hold you?”

The question obviously catches Steve off-guard. He looks at Eddie with big eyes, honest confusion written on his face.

   “What?”

   “Can I hold you?”

It takes every ounce of courage to repeat his own words; his brain only now catching on to what he actually said.

He expects Steve to laugh or maybe even get angry at the sheer audacity to ask something like that. But Steve just looks at him, sadness in his eyes paired with something else, something soft.

And then without a warning, Eddie feels something slump against his chest, feels arms wrap around his middle, a face buried in the crook of his neck. Steve clings to him like a lifeline and Eddie instantly catches him in his arms, holds him tight against his own body. Envelopes Steve in as much of himself as possible, forming a shield, a barrier between Steve and the world.

Eddie tightens his embrace when he feels something wet on the side of his neck, hears the muffled sound of heart-breaking sobs, feels Steve break and crumble within his arms.

   “It’s okay,” Eddie whispers, hopes Steve hears him, believes him that it is.

   “You can let it all out. I’m here. Just let it go.”

Steve does. Cries, and cries, and cries, like he’s unable to stop. Buries himself deeper in Eddie’s hold as if he wants to crawl inside him. His fingers digging almost painfully through the shirt into Eddie’s back but that’s okay. Eddie lets him, doesn’t care if he’ll end up with bruises, doesn’t care about the collar of his shirt being drenched in Steve’s tears. It’s okay. It feels good. To have Steve’s body so close to his own, to give comfort and offer protection, offer the safety of his arms for Steve to let himself fall into.

   “I’ve got you,” Eddie says, feels his own tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. It feels liberating, somehow.

Eddie doesn’t recall when it happened, at what point they went from sitting to lying next to each other. But it doesn’t matter, just feels right to hold Steve like that. Their bodies so close Eddie doesn’t know where one ends and the other begins; legs tangled, arms wrapped around each other, chest to chest, Steve’s face still pressed against Eddie’s neck.

And even when the crying has died down and his breathing slows, Steve refuses to let go.

   “Sweetheart, can you look at me?”

The pet name comes easy, rolls over his tongue so naturally it should be worrying but Eddie can’t concentrate on that right now.

He feels Steve shake his head, once again tightening his grip on Eddie’s body.

   “C’mon, Stevie. Please?”

Eddie gently tries to pull back, not letting go of Steve, just giving him some room to breathe and move.

   “I’m sorry.” Steve’s voice is frail, trembling. His eyes are red and glassy, so pretty even when he looks so defeated.

   “Don’t be.” Eddie brushes a thumb along the other boy’s cheek bone, gently wiping at the invisible remnants of already dried tears.

His heart beats a funny rhythm when Steve leans into the touch, feels like breaking and stitching itself back together all at once.

   “Thank you,” Steve says, smiles wearily up at Eddie from where his head still rests on his shoulder.

The silence that follows doesn’t feel awkward, feels more soothing than anything. It’s the calm after the storm, like the moment where dark clouds finally make way for sunshine again after days of never-ending rain. And there’s a shift in the atmosphere; Eddie is sure Steve can feel it too. There’s something evolving between them, something that might change the course of their future together.

Something that has too much weight to be called by its name, to be said out loud. Not yet, not now. They just keep holding each other, feeling each other.

And that's okay because sometimes, love is bodies touching. Just two people finding refuge in one another’s embrace.

It is enough, for now.

Healing comes first, anything else can wait.

[emilyrosebug]

Chromaverse Daily Challenge - Day 5: Prank

Flynn and Wasabi pull up their Dare Box and their latest dare or sort of a prank is to replace the shampoo with hair dye, Verdi Green hair dye. Which was the right time as Synapse was about to enter the shower before he started his routine. They take out the shampoo and replace it. As Synapse started showering, his blue hair started to turn green and by the time he dried his hair, his reaction was quite shocking and disappointed. Now he was spending the entire day with green hair.

Full Story

The green hair was based on Synapse's animation error from the episode, FrogbuKket where he had unfinished textures.

[verfound]

Cutting Room Floor Fic: Alternate Merch Take (MLB; Lukanette)

So the fic I just posted was actually the second run of that fic? 😂 And I wasn't going to post the first take, but I posted it in the disco & got the friendly encouragement of but you have to? So. I was trying to match this up to the "locked in" prompt, but I wasn't really feeling it.

Still going more off @rierse's prompt of someone wearing their own merch than "locked in/out".

Cutting Room Floor Fic: Alternate Merch Take

Luka Couffaine was not having a good day.

It should have been a good day.  He was finally back home in Paris after weeks on the road – close to three months on a summer tour – and that in itself would normally have him giddy with excitement.  He could finally sleep in his own bed, see his family, his friends, his Marinette…it should have been an awesome day just for that alone.  They had months to make up for, and theoretically the first place he was heading should have been their flat.

Except the bus had rolled in late, and by the time he’d gotten to their flat she had already left for the day.  And he had lost his keys at some point, and their neighbors – the nice elderly couple that had taken a while to warm up to the rock star next door – had also been out for the day.  So.  He was essentially locked out.

He was exhausted.

He was also in desperate need of a shower.

…the plumbing at their last venue had been on the fritz, and the shower on the van hadn’t worked in over a month (and Penny refused to have it fixed until Jay learned to stop trying to wash Fang in it), and they had rolled out before he could grab a shower at the hotel.  He was also out of clean clothes – there had been another accident with Fang, Crusher, and a bowl of curry that had ruined his last clean shirt, and without his keys he was reduced to wearing his own merch until Marinette came home and let his sorry ass inside.

God, he needed some coffee…

He found himself ambling, unable to sit still outside their door while he waited for someone to come home.  He found himself wandering towards the bakery – maybe Tom and Sabine would let him use their shower? – but with his mind on coffee, he ended up wandering into the first coffeeshop he stumbled upon.  It wasn’t his favorite – Marinette claimed the croissants were too dry, and he thought their coffee always tasted a little burnt – but he was desperate and it would do.  The queue was fairly long, so he made his way to the back, content to wait to order a crappy cup of hot, black coffee.

He was starting to fall asleep when the patron in front of him decided to engage.

“I love that artist,” she said, a hint of something in her voice.  He hummed, his eyes still closed, and rocked back on his heels.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding groggily.  “Me, too.”

She giggled.  She had a nice laugh, his tired mind thought.

“Is that from the summer tour?” she asked, sounding a bit farther away.  He blinked bleary eyes open and saw she had taken a few steps ahead of him, moving with the line.  He sighed and shuffled forward, his hands sinking deeper into his pockets.  “I missed the show when he was in Paris.  My boss wouldn’t let me off work – she’s such a bitch that way.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Work can be im…important,” he said, the words interrupted with a yawn.  He shook his head and reached up, scrubbing at his face.  “Lets you buy coffee.  Helps keep the synapses firing.”

“Yours are having trouble with that, I take it,” she giggled again.  He nodded.

“Long day,” he said.  He frowned, glancing out the window, and bobbed his head.  “Night.  Morning.  Look, I’m sorry, I just…”

He paused when she stepped closer, her fingers skimming along his before threading through them.  He blinked his eyes back open, and then he squinted as he stared at her.  She wore a big, floppy hat, and her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but…he’d know that smile anywhere.  His eyes widened as he pulled her hand up, pressing their palms together.

“Asshole,” he breathed, a huffing laugh escaping him as he shook his head.  Marinette giggled and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close as she laid her head on his chest.

“Why didn’t you call me?” she asked.  “Wearing your own merch in public, Luka?  Juleka would have so many words for you.”

“So will my designer wife,” he said.  “Don’t tell her.  I’m gonna get in so much trouble.”

“More trouble for wandering around the city without letting her know you made it in safe,” she said.  He sighed and pulled her closer, kissing the side of her head.

“Phone died.  Keys are…probably in Fang’s stomach.  I’m trying not to think about it,” he sighed.  “I was heading to your parents, but I’m exhausted.  What are you doing here?  You hate this place.”

“Tonia’s is closed today,” she said.  “Her niece’s wedding.”

“Damn, Tonia,” he sighed.  “Doesn’t she know we need our fix?”

“She –” she started, but the patron behind them cleared his throat.  Marinette rolled her eyes and tugged Luka off to the side, out of the line.  She nodded for the man to go ahead, and he sniffed before approaching the counter.  Marinette looked back up at him, grinning.  “You know what?  My boss can suck it.  How about we head home and I make you some coffee?”

“Hey, I like your boss,” he laughed as she stepped towards the door, tugging him after her by their joined hands.  His eyes raked over her, and his grin turned a bit roguish.  “Hm.  Nah.  I love your boss.  Really knows how to fill out that skirt.”

“…Luka!” she laughed.  She tripped over the threshold on her way out, and he grinned as he tightened his grip to steady her.  Damn, he loved her…  “I love you, too, you jerk.”

…had he said that out loud?

It didn’t really matter.

Just…he really needed to sleep.  If he wasn’t aware of what he was saying.

She was laughing again, and she pulled him down for a quick kiss.  When he chased after her when she pulled away, she bit down on her lip and shook her head.

“Later,” she said.  “When I can kiss you how I want to.  I’ll call Joce when we get home and have her take care of things today.  I’ve missed you too much.”

He loved the sound of that.  He’d missed her, too.

“Come on,” she said, starting towards home again.  “We’ll worry about your keys tomorrow, but you have to tell me how Fang ended up with them.  You know better, Luka.”

…yeah.  He supposed he did..

[bullet-prooflove]

Can I request from the Taylor Swift Prompts

38) drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar

For Mitch Keller

And just incase you’re not feeling that one I also included

3) wanna see what’s under that attitude

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dolphs-darling @watermeezer @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

The One That Got Away - Mitch has been thinking about you.

Love Song - Mitch doesn't expect to see you in his bar after all this time.

Clean - Mitch asks you why you're back in town.

Home - Mitch gets an answer to his question.

Sunshine (NSFW) - You've always been the sunshine in Mitch's life.

When Mitch is with you he doesn’t remember why ever needed drugs, not when he’s got his own filthy cowgirl riding him like she’s on a fucking Bronco.

One of the girls he used to run with had made a play for him tonight, kissed him right across the bar and you’d almost smashed her head through the jukebox. The only thing that stopped you was him, hurling you into the back room and before he knew it, he was on flat on his back that sweet pussy gripping every inch of him as he held on for dear life.

“Fuck sunshine.” He hollers at the top of his voice because when you screw him like this, he loses every single sensibility he’s ever fucking had. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Say my name baby.” You tell him, your palm coming to rest on his throat, squeezing just enough to make him feel like fucking stars are about to shoot out of his dick. “I want her to know that I’m the only one that fucks you this good.”

“Sunny.” He yells, his head tipping back into the cushions, his fists gripping the light fabric of your summer dress. “Fuck Sunny, fuck!”

The climax hits him like a freight train, the ecstasy hurtling through his synapses setting every single one of his nerve endings ablaze as he comes in white hot streaks that paint your insides with his essence. You keep him pinned there underneath you, milking every last drop of him until he’s breathless and overstimulated.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about you know?” He tells you in the aftermath as he pulls up his jeans. “She was nothing to me back then and she’s nothing to me now.”

“I know,” You say lighting up a cigarette as you sit as pretty as a Georgia peach on that worn out leather couch. “I just wanted to make sure she knows.”

“Honey.” He laughs as he picks up his cap and sets it back on his head. “I think all of God damn Tulsa knows after the shit we just did.”

“Good.” You say with that ferocious little smile of yours as you blow out a ring of smoke. “Because that was exactly my point.”

Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[rexsterss]

absorb myself in it

Summary:

“It didn’t take that long,” The room’s quiet, the buzzing life behind these walls slowing down with the soft sigh Fives lets escape when those same lips brush against the skin under his eye. “We got what we wanted.”

Fives cracks open his eyelids, heavy with leftover sleep. “And?”

Echo’s still in armour, weight supported by the hand that sinks in the mattress, right beside Fives’s shoulder, body angled away just to prevent dirtying up the sheets. “It’d be better off being used in the medbay, but it’s a start.”

the clone wars. the bad batch. echofives. contains tbb s03e05 spoilers. rated T. 1.3k+ words.

Based on 50 A Softer World Prompts

We talk in the dark as we fall asleep, and we are objects in the night sky outside of time. (it is the exact opposite of alone.)

Fives wakes to dry lips grazing against his cheek.

He hums, blindly reaches for the touch with his eyes still closed, and wraps his fingers around an arm before he gently pulls it towards him. “Back already?”

It’s the reassurance, the worry in the act of waking each other up far away from their minds when they need to know, need to feel.

They’ve died once too many times; they prefer when the slightest stir will be enough to smooth over the prickling fear that still nestles in between the synapses of their nerves.

“It didn’t take that long,” The room’s quiet, the buzzing life behind these walls slowing down with the soft sigh Fives lets escape when those same lips brush against the skin under his eye. “We got what we wanted.”

Fives cracks open his eyelids, heavy with leftover sleep. “And?”

Echo’s still in armour, weight supported by the hand that sinks in the mattress, right beside Fives’s shoulder, body angled away just to prevent dirtying up the sheets. “It’d be better off being used in the medbay, but it’s a start.”

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