#thank you sky for the prompts!

[ariadne-mouse]

For the combination of two prompts:

"headache relief" and "a truly abysmal cup of tea"

Shadowgast, rated G, hurt/comfort, 833 words

-

Essek's visits to Caleb's cottage in Rexxentrum were brief, and precious; despite their shared expertise in dunamancy, there never seemed to be enough time. And so when Essek arrived one windy spring morning, but could not concentrate on their shared research, and shied away with a wince from the meager light filtering through the shuttered windows, Caleb felt even more urgency to remedy whatever ailed him. Not just so that Essek would be well, but because these narrow hours were all they had to express the full spectrum of anything and everything they might have to say to each other.

There was Sending, yes, and Essek was talented in layering many things into few words.  But Caleb found he yearned to make and share space, and to see the gallery of Essek’s expressions play across his sharp-toothed mouth, his elegant brows, his clever eyes.

This pained, stubborn expression was a new one on his dear friend, and Caleb cataloged it feverishly in his memory even as he sought its antidote.

"It's nothing," Essek demurred, when Caleb pressed. "A slight headache." 

"Do you need to rest? You are very welcome to--" 

"I did not come here to sleep," Essek cut him off, then shook his head at the suggestive implication, waving it away as if it was a bothersome fly, then winced at both sudden motions. "I am here so we can revise the second runic config-" he broke off with a hiss and rubbed his temple. 

"Essek," Caleb half-chided, half-pleaded. "What can I do? I have healing potions. Or do you need Jester?" 

"Oh, no — please, no."

In fairness, he was probably right.  Despite her capacity for healing, Jester might very well simultaneously increase the headache in some other way, bright and loud and well-intentioned. 

Essek reached for a quill and a spare parchment from their research and jotted down a list, and a set of notes, his eyes squinting, his shoulders a scrunched line of weary tension. He offered this to Caleb, ink still wet, letters running rudely together. "If you can procure these herbs and prepare them as written, that would be a great help. This... issue... has a particular root cause, and a particular solution." 

Caleb burned two teleportations and ten minutes in the city, and another ten minutes in his small kitchen fussing with hot water and dead plants. While he'd been gone, Essek had curled up in an armchair with his feet tucked childishly under himself and his forehead resting on the upholstered arm, eyes closed, breathing slowly and deliberately, flinching when the metal pot clanged on the stove. 

The resulting brew was enough to fill one of his homely porcelain teacups, and dark enough to look like it might leave a stain. The smell was cloying, bitter. Essek looked at it with a combination of relief and revulsion. After cooling the steam off it with a curtly-gestured prestidigitation, he lifted it to his lips — markedly hesitated — then downed the whole thing in a few rapid gulps. 

"Water, please." He thrust the cup back at Caleb, his face an open snarl of disgust. 

The water, quickly procured, vanished with the same hurry and lack of decorum as the tea. Essek slouched back into the overstuffed armchair like he’d just fought a battle. His expression twitched a few more times, nose wrinkling and lips smacking, aftershocks of the taste of the tea. 

"And now?" Caleb pitched his voice low.  Essek sighed, eyes closing once more. "I wait for it to kick in. Always slower than I would like." 

Caleb said nothing, only waited there, his continued presence itself the question. 

One of Essek's eyes cracked open, a sliver of violet picking up the dim light. After regarding Caleb blearily, he extended his arm off the edge of the armchair, palm-up and limp, like it was not attached to him. "Press your thumbs to the heel of my hand, if you like." 

A simple task for a clever man. Caleb sat leaned forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees, Essek's hand in his, making gentle pressure points and soothing circles, over and over. Over the next quarter hour, the tension in Essek's shoulders and neck eased, and his breathing slowed, and the wrinkle between his brows ebbed away like a ripple of cloud erased by the wind. At some point Caleb moved his ministrations to Essek's other hand, as gentle as the first.  It was quiet in the cottage.

"Stop," Essek finally said. "That's enough." 

Caleb stopped. "Better?" 

"Yes. A bit." Essek sat up, very disheveled still.  He did not untuck his feet.  He was a cozy lump on the armchair, like a cat woken from a nap.

"Gut,” Caleb smiled.  There was a faint imprint of the upholstery on Essek’s cheekbone.  “Now, how would you like a cup of tea that doesn't smell like an alchemical mistake?  I have many offerings, courtesy of our friend Caduceus." 

"Yes," Essek replied, with a ghost of humor returning. "Please."

[disgracefulthings]

Modern Day Platonic Cumplane AU where Shen Yuan meets struggling author, Shang Qinghua. He realizes that Shang Qinghua is the author of his most hated story, and rips into him. After he is done, Shang Qinghua explains how he currently can't afford to write a good story, and Shen Yuan, a rich kid who has done nothing with his life at this point, decides to help fund his story in exchange for being his editor, and Shang Qinghua agrees

After seeing the state of Shang Qinghua's apartment and all of his possessions, Shen Yuan decides 'hell naw', and has Shang Qinghua move in with him (he had an extra room) and replaces all his stuff. They end up becoming close friends, and Shen Yuan learns that being an editor is fulfilling for him

While those two get along, their friends think something else is happening. They believe that Shen Yuan has become a Sugar Daddy, and Shang Qinghua is his Sugar Baby, and they are NOT happy about that

It does not help when they go to Shen Yuan and tell him that Shang Qinghua wants his money, Shen Yuan replies 'I know, that was part of our arrangement'

Hearts are broken and many people want to break them up for their own selfish reasons (whether because they want to be with Shen Yuan or Shang Qinghua, or in Shen Jiu's case, doesn't want his baby brother to date a freeloader)

Meanwhile Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan are oblivious and are having the time of their lives working on their masterpiece

[tanglepelt]

Dpxdc 181

Danny really shouldn’t have let his fight with skulker get out of hand. Sure they didn’t cause any destruction. But they left amity.

Which annoying. He’d have to find a way home.

Then. He just had to get launched at some dude in a red helmet from above the clouds. Sure he phased through the guy.

But… Danny, Danny was not okay.

He was now covered in rancid ectoplasm. He felt like he was going to puke. And skulker came flying down to attack him. But when he got close.

Skulker gagged. Then immediately turned around. Going off about he would not mount a diseased ridden hide. Telling Danny to get to frostbite before he is no longer fit to be hunted.

[chocochococoffee]

cumplane au where after too many drinks, shen yuan "proposes" that he will let Airplane eat his fucking pussy as a bet if he sees him buying yet another chapter of that filthy flaming hot garbage called PIDW because last episode had been so horrendous he would seriously stop losing money on That. Of course, Airplane, drunk and with his dick in hand, accepts. He even raises the bets. "Then I get to eat you for each episode bought then!!" That sounded unfair, but SY was too busy bitching over how terrible the newest episode had been. Fine, see if I care. Take my address, enter this apartment, if it happens, HAHA.

It happens, of course. Shen Yuan wakes up, curses loudly at having too much drinks, buys the newest PIDW episode and goes to shower.

When he finishes his bath Airplane is already there. He sees Shen Yuan in just a towel.

He takes it as an invitation.

(By the Extras, Shen Yuan is the one willingly sitting on Airplanes face)

edit: take it as you might but i like to think that sy is just programmed to buy sqh's shit story at the moment. he bought 500+ eps of trash fire, whats one more? and then after fucking up he found out :)

[skyloftian-nutcase]

(Dumps this in your ask box and runs away) ♥️❤️🫂 the HC boys have been on my mind, k bye

“I'm sorry. I took up space in your home for months and did nothing to help or even thank you and...” The frustration built within him. Time was a married man, had a wife to be with, had a career. He'd likely put so much on hold taking care of Sky while the slump had left Sky barely more functional than a zombie from one of Wind’s video games. A brief image shot though his mind of himself stumbling around incoherently like the shambling corpses from the screen. All because he couldn't drag up the strength to function. And Time’s wife? She'd put up with the invasion of her home. She'd never said anything about... any of it. Not while Sky was sick, not while he was too dysfunctional to care for himself like the hylia-damned adult he was supposed to be. He'd been nothing but a burden on everyone.

“Sky, Honey, look at me.” Malon’s soft voice cut through the increasing vehemence of the thoughts in his head. She gently braced his shoulders to encourage him to look her in the eyes. “Ain't no shame in needing support for a while.”

But I was a useless lump for months!

As if reading his thoughts, she continued. “And it's not a burden when we want to help. I’m glad we could be a home for you, be a safe place for you to land.” Her choice of words made him laugh just a little, even if it was choked. She continued talking. “My husband talked about his Lost Boys with so much adoration when we were dating. He was heartbroken when he was sure you’d been killed in action. It was such a joy for him to find out you were still alive and even more when we found out you were here in Castletown.” She smiled. “More than that, I got to meet you, get to know you, and come to love you as much as my husband does. Besides, it’s been good for him. All of you boys have been… but you, Sky. I actually need to thank you. You got my Fairy Boy to come home on his birthday. You get him to take better care of himself. You have a place here as long as you want to stay.”

AOAIWBEOFCU WAHHHHH AJ THIS IS PRECIOUS ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Thank you for sharing ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Malon’s such a good mom figure aahhhh

[lemonlokkich]

Writing prompt idea: the Chain is in Skyloft and Sun is being mischevious and encouraging the Links to do daring/risky things like paraglide off Skyloft or catch and ride a wild loftwing

Thank you for the prompt! Hope I did the vision justice.

Divine mischief:

When Legend met Sun he had expected her to be the picture of grace and patience. Perfect in every way as Sky had eagerly described her.

As perfect as a goddess and as wise as any Zelda.

Legend had realized that this rosey view of the girl was quite false as he watched Sun shove Sky off of the floating island right In front of their eyes upon their sweet reunion.

Sky had screamed.

Sun had laughed, no, not laughed, cackled.

It was a terrifying few moments before a streak of bright red shot through the sky and caught their chosen hero, who apperantly had forgotten to mention his loftwing could catch him on command.

Apparently the direct incarnation of the goddess Hylia had quite the mischievous streak to her, and Legend had no issue sitting back and watching it all unfold.

The first victim after Sky had surprisingly enough been Time. Sun had a talent for convincing, and convinced she did.

Their sort-of leader stood on the very edge of the skyloft, a padded tunic wrapping around his body to keep him warm against the harsh winds instead of his usual armor, there was no need to be armed to the teeth in such a lofty place.

The one eyed man had been conversing with Sky's sweetheart (much to Sky’s jealous grumblings) not even a moment before, and now they seemed to be watching the bland open expanse of sky like hawks.

Time seemed suspiciously tensed, as if preparing for something-

Sun shouted something, pointing.

Time jumped.

Nearby, Legend heard Warriors scream.

Legend would never admit that he tensed, sitting up slightly from where he had laid in his appointed lawn chair watching it all unfold.

What was Sun thinking?

Better yet, was the old man thinking?

Time didn't have a loftwing like Sky did.

Not even a few moments after, something giant, feathered and brightly coloured shot upwards and beyond skyloft, a certain blond man seated firmly on its bare back.

He met Sun's eyes and she winked at him before jumping off of the sky islands herself and flying after time on her own purple loftwing.

Legend shuddered, wondering who the next victim would be.

. End .

If you're in the mood to read more silly stories of mine don't hesitate to send me a funny Lu prompt in my ask box or visit me over on my AO3 account: LemonLokkich!

Thanks for reading!

[hero-of-the-wolf]

Ooh let’s do the word drip!

-Sky Floor

Sky closed his eyes, listening to the drip, drip, drip of some distant source of water. It couldn’t be much farther now.

He opened them again and pressed on, stubbornly ignoring the way the imposing stone all around him seemed to press in at every side, threatening to swallow him whole.

Just a little further.

@skyward-floored

[majorproblems77]

Pencil

"Hey Sky, what you doing?" Wild hovered around the Skyloftian bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Sharpening a pencil." He responded, not looking up from the project in his hands, carefully carving as shavings of wood fell to the ground.

"Why?" The champion tilted his head. Watching as shavings fell to the ground. Crouching nearby.

"I needed something to write with and I'm out of ink for my quill, Loftwing quills only take pumpkin ink." The skyloftian continues his ministrations before raising the pencil to his eye. Seemingly happy with its sharpness.

"Im sorry did you say pumpkin ink?" Wild's eyes sparkled with wonder. "You can make ink out of pumpkins?"

"Yeah!" Sky placed the pencil and his carving knife down. "You can mix pumpkin juice with water and a few other things and it makes a form of ink. It's a nice orange colour, here let me show you..." The Skyloftian pulled his bag out from behind him. pulling out a letter, it was decorated with orange patterns. "Here see." He pointed to the page "This is the pumpkin ink."

"Thats pretty cool! You think you could show me how to make it sometime?" His eyes lit up, a hopeful look across his face as he fiddled with his hands excitedly.

"I'd love too!"

[heavywoolcoat]

[arecaceae175]

“Connect” with ANY of your blorbos!!

(Characters from @heroesspirit)

"And then you connect it there." Piper pointed to the middle of the pile.

Four blinked at the pile, then at Piper, then at the pile again. "You're pointing to nothing."

Piper huffed and adjusted his glasses. "To the center of the metal, there-"

"Ugh!" Four threw down the chain and jumped to his feet. "This is pointless!"

"It's not pointless, it's a trap. It'll alert us if anyone's coming-"

"Fine, then you do it! I have more important things to be doing anyway, like actually guarding the camp." Four grabbed his sword and stomped away.

He didn't let himself turn around until he was seven paces away, which he thought was a very reasonable amount. Piper was frowning down at his little contraption and his shoulders were hunched self-consciously.

Great, Four thought. Another person to hate him. It wasn't like he needed friends here anyway. The journey would be over soon enough, then everything could get back to normal.

Movement drew him out of his thoughts. Sky was kneeling down next to Piper. Four could visibly see Piper's mood lighten as he began explaining the contraption to Sky. Sky glanced up and made eye contact with Four, glaring angrily. Four glared back until Sky looked away.

Send me a prompt!

[zarvasace]

ur au is very cool and I love it so thank you for sharing and making the things u come up with it helps keep people like me going

also do something nic to take care of urself

i know how hard it can be to like

get creative stuff out in the world, and ven if u don't feel like its hard im still grateful

This is a very nice message, thank you. :) I'm not sure which AU you're referring to, but I do have a lot that I enjoy creating for!! Creation honestly is my downtime, I do it for fun and to relax, so when you see a lot coming from me, it's because I'm doing a lot for myself! XD I've been struggling with some health stuff for the last few weeks, so it's been harder to write and draw, but I don't think I'll ever truly stop.

---

It is no secret that Sky likes his sleep. He naps during what seems like every break, he sleeps the longest in the morning, and he's often first to doze off around a campfire.

But, without fail, he always somehow manages to wake up during the night whenever Twilight has a nightmare.

Twilight doesn't know if Sky does this for everyone, or if it's quite the same, but right now, with phantom pains shooting up his bones and laughter ringing in his ears, he's grateful for Sky's warm, tight hugs and willingness to be hugged back. There's nothing quite like getting comfort from someone who knows what it's like.

[sichore]

Also 23 for the otp prompts!

tagging @nightklok because they asked for this prompt too! it got away from me a bit... like 2K words a bit.

23. Write about your ship supporting each other through a hard time.

MagJam | mention of MagCharles | 2271 words | post s2. ep. 19 Black Fire Upon Us | non-explicit sex

Mordhaus is attacked and the first thing Magnus feels is worry, sick and gnawing in his gut as he tries to go about the shop as usual. Are they okay? Did they make it out? And the anchorman goes on to say no, they did not. 

All the money and fame in the world didn’t stop them from being infiltrated, invaded like the micronation of shit that they are, and now Charles is dead.

Charles is dead.

Time passes in a haze, swirled and blurred images of life moving on regardless. Nairi notices and asks what’s wrong and he can’t bring himself to tell his daughter the truth. “Nothing. I’m fine. How was class?” And Nairi’s furrowed brow is a mirror of his own, but eventually she stops asking, her hands no longer hesitating as she tells him about her day.

Charles is dead and the hate and resentment that’s built up over the past decade is numbed by a wave of grief so deep that Magnus finds himself visiting the liquor store more and more because he can’t bring himself to touch the bottle of arak in his cabinet. He’s far from sober, but he usually doesn’t let beer bottles collect in his recycling bin this fast. They gather like his regrets and dreams, empty and dusty and sometimes broken before he tosses them out, and then the pile grows all over again.

Two weeks go by. Maybe a month. And then Jimi comes back.

“Oh, hey!” She greets him in a scene like an echo of a time past and it takes his breath away. Jimi, standing in his kitchen with Nairi as they put away groceries, smiling as brightly as she did the first time they did this so many years ago when Nairi was much smaller.

“We were gonna make dinner, but we got a bit carried away at the store,” Jimi apologizes, shrugging, and holds up a takeout container. “How’s Italian sound?”

“Good.” Magnus swallows down the lump in his throat and hopes that eases in the hoarseness in his voice. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Some stuff came up at work, so…” Jimi shrugs, doesn’t exactly meet his eye. “Here I am!”

Dinner comes from a local Italian spot that Magnus and Jimi had gone to once, together, the evening they decided that no, this probably shouldn’t be a thing. The bread is still soft, the pasta exquisite, and the sun-dried tomatoes far, far sweeter than Magnus remembers.

“There were some changes,” Jimi says, once Nairi retreated to her room for the evening to leave the two of them to polish off the bottle of white wine Jimi had picked up ‘for fun’. Her gaze stays focused on her stemless glass, swirling around her drink. “So I’m finally back here for the time being.”

“For how long?” Magnus ventures, trying not to think about how much his world has shrunk since Jimi started spending more time away at this mystery job than her apartment. Since he was left behind, three times now.

“Mmh, not sure.” And Jimi sets her glass down on the coffee table, curls a leg up onto the couch so she can face Magnus. “How ‘bout you? How have you been?”

Terrible. “Fine.” Spiraling. “Same as usual.”

“You look tired, Magnus.”

He doesn’t have an answer for her.

Jimi is home a lot now. His home, which could have been hers, too. Magnus doesn’t realize how much he’s been slacking on groceries until he starts coming home to the fridge constantly being stocked with more than takeout, leftovers, and beer. Nairi is bright and cheery the following weeks after Jimi takes her on a shopping spree, and frequently sports a colorful jacket from one of her shows.

One evening, Magnus comes home after closing shop to find Jimi asleep on his couch, having been in the middle of folding laundry. She’s not even that good about putting away her own clothes from what he recalls.

He reaches down to brush an errant curl, stops himself, and instead moves her glasses to the side table. It’s enough to wake up the artist.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she says hastily, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. “I was just –”

“Jimi, what are you doing?”

The way she pauses and her eyes widen in embarrassment makes Magnus kick himself for his lack of tact, but he can’t bring himself to stop. “I mean, you’ve been –”

“Weird, ah, I know. It’s weird. Sorry. I’ll just go–”

“No. Shit, I’m sorry, don’t –” Don’t go, please. She starts to rise and he places his hand on her shoulder and the way Jimi looks up at Magnus makes him jolt. A dormant urge sparks to life and he’s not so quick to snuff it out. “I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you’ve done, really. I know I’m not great at showing it.”

And he pauses, the words sending him down a completely different train of thought. He redirects. “And Nairi’s been really happy to see you again.”

Ignoring the protest in his knees, Magnus kneels down to be more at Jimi’s level, and he sees the way she sucks in a breath, hands clasped in her lap. He tosses his hair over his shoulder with a jerk of his head. “You’ve just got me worried, is all.”

The way Jimi presses her lips together and her eyes harden, he expects her to challenge him right back, because he knows the bags under his eyes haven’t gotten much better since she first asked about them. That the recession is hitting everyone hard, the shop hasn’t been doing its best, and Jimi just seems to be biding her time while making sure Nairi has everything she needs.

And Magnus is grateful, even if his pride is wounded a bit. It’s really not a talk either of them wants to have. “Listen, if you need to come back to the shop for a bit, it’s not a problem–”

“It’s not that,” Jimi interrupts, then sighs, looking away. Her hands twist in her lap and this time Magnus doesn’t hesitate to take one. He watches Jimi’s shoulders sag, and the fight leaves her body, replaced with an emotion he can’t identify that’s gone as fast as a ripple. “I’ve just got a lot of time on my hands. Maybe I should go back to school. Actually finish this time.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Mmh.”

He forgot how small her hands were compared to his, long and knobby and weathered as they are. Jimi holds his hand much more carefully than he handled all those bottles he knocked back. She looks at him now and her eyes are dark as midnight in the summer. He can see the glitter of stars, feel the warm breeze in his hair, the blades of grass on his skin.

“... hey, Magnus…”

“Yeah?”

Jimi squeezes his hand, worries her lower lip with her teeth. Soft, plush lips that he remembers should be treated delicately. “... Lemme finish up here.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting. He should be used to disappointment. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

Weeks and months pass and Magnus remembers feelings other than grief and monotony and apathy. Even tragedy can’t stop Dethklok from flaunting their wealth before the world and that familiar sneer of disgust curls Magnus’ lip, before he changes the channel away from news of that damn statue.

Charles is dead and Jimi’s back and the need for revenge still burns in his chest and Nairi is healthy and well. It’s not exactly his normal, because he’s missing more than he usually is, and maybe some part of him really did believe that negotiating his royalties wouldn’t be the last time he spoke to Charles. It was the band, the rest of those selfish assholes who cast him out, and Charles wasn’t much better than himself, casting away his heart in favor of reaching his goals.

Magnus feels like he’s on the verge of waking from a dream, like maybe he’s getting to the acceptance phase, when Jimi turns to him and says Nairi’s gone for the weekend.

And he snaps out of whatever haze he was in. “Oh?”

“Yep,” Jimi chirps, shrugging. She’s more relaxed as of late, did actually take up classes again. Went to see her family. Said work had slowed down, but it was fine, apparently. “Told her and Haséyá to go have some fun.”

That would explain the text he got from his daughter. “I see.”

“She won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.”

Jimi smells really nice today. “Uh huh.”

“So… I thought we could watch movies, or something.”

“... Oh.”

She does not want to watch no damn movies.

It’s Friday night and Magnus is not alone and he doesn’t really need to concern himself with opening the shop tomorrow. Or for the whole weekend. Jimi is dressed simply in a shirt and sweats and what seems to be little else, now that he takes a good look at the dips of her chest. Jimi is turned towards him on the couch, same as the first night she returned, only this time she’s not asking how he’s doing.

The offer has stayed open all these years and now she gives him an answer. Yes, now, because if not, when? Magnus’ breath catches, and her fingers brush his knee, and the walls he had started building up again atop his mound of grief come crumbling down.

Jimi’s hand is small against him. Her skull, too, feels tiny cradled in his hands as he threads long fingers into her thick hair to draw her face near. Magnus only sees half as well as he used to, yet he plainly sees that beneath the care and sweetness that is Jimi is a pain he can’t identify. He asks if she’s sure and she nods her consent. The last time they kissed outside of the holiday season was on that doomed date. Kissing her feels like tasting the rain after a long drought, only it pours, and pours, and pours.

Magnus pulls back from the deluge and the whimper Jimi lets out takes the rest of the air from him. He takes her hands in his own, kissing her palms and fingertips, unsure if they are promises or apologies. Jimi accepts them all the same. She accepts his touch everywhere; rough calluses over smooth skin, a vice grip on her soft hip, and his longing into the aching core of her.

For her, he tries to be a gentle lover, but Jimi doesn’t let him. She doesn’t look at him much, but they both have a lot of hair in the way, and with him having only one eye, Magnus isn’t sure if he wants to glimpse anything other than whatever pain drove her back here. This, at least, is familiar territory to him, so when she claws at him and holds him tighter, closer, he ducks his head down, and gives it back tenfold.

He buries himself in her and with it he tries to bury that grief, that guilt, the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could be’s’ that haunt him every time he looks into the mirror and sees that pale ghost staring back at him. It’s far less than she deserves, but Jimi takes it all the same, and in turn does not allow him to ride the bliss that follows release. No, she drags more from him with biting nails and pleading cries, with a voracity that shatters any illusion of innocence he may have still held towards her.

Jimi’s arduous cries turn to shouts, turn to sobs, and eventually, their mingled, labored breaths. In the wake of the storm there is stillness, and silence, and for a while, there is no loneliness.

It’s been twenty years or more since Magnus has shared a bed with anyone through the night. He never did with Mari, and the last person he remembers doing so with is dead. But Jimi stays with him until morning and it’s not as strange as it could be when he wakes up and she’s smiling at him. Wearing his shirt. Pushing his hair from his face and chiding him for not tying it up.

He doesn’t ask if she was thinking of someone else, too, in the dark. In the morning light, she’s looking at him, kissing him, swinging her legs over his hips and sinking down onto him. Jimi moves like the waves and Magnus lets her pull him under.

Afterwards, once she’s cleaned up and he finally manages to rouse himself from bed and do the same, he finds Jimi in the kitchen. The tea she claimed she’d make is unbrewed. Instead, she stands at the sink, the water running over her fingers as she stares with an unreadable expression.

It’s the crack in the otherwise perfect image of her standing in his kitchen, in his shirt, still wearing his scent. Maybe this will only last the weekend. Maybe this is all he’ll ever have. But he had nothing before, has nothing with Charles dead, so he’ll hold onto what little he has, however long he has.

“Hey,” Magnus says softly, jolting Jimi out of her trance.

“Oh, hey.” Her smile is weary. “Sorry, I guess I just kinda zoned out there.”

Magnus says nothing at first. Just closes their distance and wraps his arms around her. With their height difference, her face presses to the center of his abdomen. “It’s okay.”

Jimi’s arms wind around him, too. For a moment, he feels the gravity of a collapsed star, and his raspy voice fills the void. “It’s okay.”

[Soft OTP Prompts]

[skyward-floored]

I’m unsure if you’re still doing the word game, or if this word just- wouldn’t fit anywhere, however.

Catapedamania (obsession with jumping from high places)

(Feel free to ignore this one, I’m aware it’s a huge word)

I’m still doing the word game! I’m just half asleep and also doing like three other things so my answers are slow 😅

———

“Sky what is with you and jumping off of cliffs?!” Legend yelled as Sky floated gently to the ground with his sailcloth, the skyloftian merely giving him a small shrug.

“He’s just a fellow catapedamaniac,” Wild said with a grin, slinging an arm around Sky’s shoulders. “And before you ask what it means I just know that Zelda keeps yelling it at me when I jump off of things.”

[puckingdisaster]

Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to deal with grief by writing about it, but otherwise how about the KAC guys and „cuddle“ for the prompt meme?

He burned. His insides were on fire, unbearable pain paralyzing him as he watched Raffl lift the trophy and couldn't look away. In a few minutes, they'd have to go through the motion of receiving their silver medals and do the handshake line. Then, in the lockerroom, he would tell his team that he was still proud of them, still proud of what they achieved this season, even if it didn't end the way they wanted it to. But for now, he continued to the joyful celebrations on the other side of the ice. He felt someone touching his shoulder, before he was slowly spun around to reveal a defeated looking Sebastian. For a moment, Thomas couldn't find the words on how sorry he was, that they left him alone and expected him to do the impossible for them. Without saying anything, the small goalie just pulled him in by the hips, face in the crook of his shoulder. Thomas had to resist the pull of losing himself in that hug, tears threatening to spill over as Sebastian softly stroked his back.

[cruxymox]

How about a poem about "the line where the ocean meets the sky"

i pick up the line where the ocean meets the sky, i wring it out, it starts fierce to rain

i wind quick the line onto a spool, the spool spins smooth, there is thunder ubiquitous

i tie a hook shining to the end of the line, i cast it out over the turbulent waters, i catch a bolt of sky-cracked lightning

the storm quiets, the sun outcomes

& she says don't do that again

[skyyguy]

6, 12

MUSIC ASKS these are actually pretty fucking hard but why not.

6:A song that makes you want to dance

Oh hm that's a good question. I don't dance, so it's hard... Usually I just imagine doing a jumping or dressage routine on horseback when I'm vibing to music 😅 A lot of musicals make me want to dance tho, like the Broadway Little Mermaid or like the movie Brave or stuff, y’know??

12:A song from your preteen years

As in that came out in preteen years, or that I remember from preteen years? 🤔🤔

I'll go with remember. My parents are old, so I listened to a lot of '70's, '80's, '90's music. So one I can really think of that was a huge favourite of mine growing up is Beauty Way by Eliza Gilkyson.