#thank you so much for the prompt!! i really appreciate it!!

[little-jana]

“Perfectly Thought Out”

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Words: 1.15k

Summary: Finding the perfect gift for Spencer was not easy, but you did it.

It had taken you weeks to figure out the perfect gift for Spencer Reid. Weeks of mental back and forth, second-guessing, and doubt. Because really, what do you give someone like Spencer? A man with an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and an endless well of knowledge? Someone who could rattle off obscure facts about obscure things before you’d even finished your coffee?

You’d been desperate to give him something thoughtful, something that wouldn’t just end up collecting dust on a shelf in his apartment. And you think you’d finally nailed it. Or at least, you hoped you had.

Now, standing in the BAU’s break room with a carefully wrapped box tucked under your arm, you felt your nerves kick in. This was the first chance you’d gotten to give him his present, and the anticipation was eating you alive.

“Hey,” his voice broke through your thoughts, soft but warm.

You turned to see him standing in the doorway, a slight smile tugging at his lips. His messenger bag was slung over one shoulder, and his scarf hung loosely around his neck, a hint of the autumn chill still clinging to him from outside.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “I, uh, have something for you.”

“For me?” His eyebrows lifted in surprise, his curiosity immediately piqued.

You nodded, holding out the box with both hands. “It’s… kind of a late birthday gift. I thought you might like it.”

Spencer set his bag down on the counter and took the box from you with the kind of care you’d use to handle something fragile. His long fingers brushed against yours briefly, and you tried not to think too much about the way it made your heart flutter.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said softly, his gaze flickering up to meet yours.

“I wanted to,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended. “Just… open it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, his movements methodical and deliberate. When he lifted the lid of the box, his breath hitched.

Inside was a leather-bound journal, hand-stitched and worn just enough to give it character. But it wasn’t just the journal itself that made it special. On the first page, you’d written a small note explaining that you’d already filled some of the pages with questions and prompts—things you thought he’d enjoy pondering or writing about. Things that would challenge him or make him smile.

And tucked into the back pocket of the journal was a collection of vintage fountain pens you’d spent weeks hunting down online, knowing how much he loved handwriting notes and letters.

He stared at the journal in stunned silence, his fingers gently tracing the cover. When he finally looked up at you, his eyes were wide and glistening.

“This is…” he trailed off, clearly struggling to find the words. “This is incredible.”

“Do you like it?” you asked nervously, biting your bottom lip.

“Like it?” he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. “I love it. This is… I don’t even know what to say.”

You laughed softly, relief flooding through you. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I wanted you to have something that felt like you. Something thoughtful.”

He opened the journal to the first page, his eyes scanning over the note you’d written. You watched as a small, almost shy smile spread across his face, and your chest tightened at how beautiful he looked in that moment.

“This is one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me,” he said, his voice quiet but full of emotion.

You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze. “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you. You’re always so thoughtful with everyone else, Spencer. I figured it was time someone returned the favor.”

He set the journal down on the counter and stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Really. This means so much to me.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. And then, just when you thought you might drown in the tension, he reached out and pulled you into a hug.

It wasn’t just any hug, though. It was the kind of hug that made you feel safe, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

“Thank you,” he murmured again, his voice muffled against your hair.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to savor the moment. “You’re welcome, Spencer.”

When he finally pulled back, there was a softness in his expression that you’d never seen before. It made your heart ache in the best way.

“Would you…” he hesitated, looking almost nervous. “Would you want to come over tonight? I’d love to show you how I use the journal. Maybe we could talk about some of the prompts together.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. But the hopeful look in his eyes made it impossible to say no.

“I’d like that,” you said, smiling softly.

The grin that spread across his face was worth every second of doubt you’d had while planning his gift. And as you left the break room, your heart felt a little lighter, knowing that you’d made Spencer Reid feel as special as he deserved to feel.

[look-back-month-challenge]

This is the prompt list for the Look Back Challenge 2025! See this Post if you want to know more about the Challenge and it's Rules.

You do not need to use the prompt list to participate, but if you'd like ideas, this list is here for you!

Introduce your newest toy to the one you've had longest.

What is your oldest toy? (Chronologically)

A toy you love, but rarely, if ever, photograph.

Do you still have any toys from your childhood?

Any buying regrets?

Any you're thinking of getting rid of?

A toy you like, but don't want any more of that type/line/style.

One that came to you at a special time in your life.

A toy that was gifted to you.

What is your sibling's (or bestie's) favorite of your collection?

Which one would your friends/family guess if your favorite?

What would your followers guess is your favorite?

Show your favorite toy.

Valentine's Day

Have you ever made a custom?

Do you have any customs made by someone else?

Most interesting or unusual toy.

Have any cool accessories?

Do you have any playsets?

Ever keep any packaging or other bits not part of the toy itself?

Do you have any non-toy merch related to a toy line? (Shirts etc.)

Favorite color scheme.

Least favorite color scheme.

Most expensive toy.

Most sought after toy.

What line/type of toy do you own the most of?

Toy that surprised you.

Any toy you regretted letting go of?

Thank you to everyone who suggested ideas for prompts! You all helped me so much in putting this list together, and I really appreciate it. I hope everyone has fun!

[crescenthistory]

Cariiiiina, love!

Congratulations on this amazing milestone, I am so so so proud of you! It’s a well deserved achievement and I really love your celebration event. (So sweet like you!)

I love your writing, your ideas, your thoughts! Just as I love the warmth of your blog and how sweet the insights about you and your wife are! Truly lovely people here! And that’s why so many lovely people gathered here!

A toast to you, and for the next deserved milestones on the way!

I wanted to ask if I could request a domestic Argue? With 49 family photos + 74 vhs tapes? With precious Remus Moony Lupin?

I thought of f!reader, and something along the lines of „as happy as the photos make it seem, the times weren’t happy. It was sad / hard and hurtful“ (could be applied to both/ one of them, whatever you think suits best!)

Thanks for considering! Lots of love, and congratulations!

- Lel

hi lel!! thank you so immensely much<33 you are just such an angel, i appreciate your enthusiasm and kind words so much 😭🤍 i'm glad my blog comes across the way i hope, big hugs to you xx loved this prompt:,)

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 49 "family photos" and prompt 74 "vhs tapes" with remus lupin

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: established relationship, references to the war but not canon-compliant, melancholic, sweet fluffy hurt/comfort, referenced fertility struggles (hope&lyall) remus' self-loathing, lycanthropy

wc: exactly 1.6k

The Lupin Cottage was quiet in a way you had never experienced before.

Sitting cross-legged in a plush armchair in the reading room on the second floor, you stared out the window. You could see how harshly the wind was treating the trees and you knew the walls of the narrow home were not thick, yet you couldn't hear a thing. You wondered if Lyall had set up a spell of some kind.

Despite the silence, the house was talkative, always alerting you to the other inhabitants' movements. The creaking by the doorway made you turn your head over the shoulder to see Remus leaning against the doorframe with a wistful smile.

"Hi, cariad," you greeted cheekily, smiling around the nickname his mother calls him. "You found me."

Remus huffed a laugh as he looked down, pushing off the doorframe and leaning on his indoor cane as he moved to sit in the chair across from yours. "Was wondering where ya ran off to. My mother hasn't scared you off already, has she?"

You shook your head with a small smile even before you could think of what to say.

This was your first time meeting Remus' parents properly – you had seen them in the passing on the platform or in doorways over your years at Hogwarts, but with the way the war immediately picked up after graduation, you were unable to spend an extended period of time with them. To be with them for the month of January now felt like a blessing; one you didn't take lightly.

"Hope is lovely, she could never scare me off," you assured Remus, holding his gaze to ensure he knew you meant it. "I just wanted to look through the house and found this room. It's sweet, I really like it."

You looked over the room, the shelves on shelves filled with worn out books, seemingly passed down over generations. There was a small fireplace and an even smaller television, beyond outdated but with a few VHS tapes and movies stacked beneath it that indicated it still worked. It was cozy, the exact thing you would have imagined the Lupins having.

When you looked back at Remus he was still looking at you, a deep look in his eyes. A bit haunted, but no less loving. Loving. You counted your lucky stars that you got to keep the man you loved.

"I'm glad you like it," he all but whispered. "It was my favourite growing up. It was actually supposed to be a bedroom for any potential younger siblings, but, well, that didn't work out, did it?"

There was more guilt than grief in his voice and you furrowed your brows, reaching out across the small space to give him your hand. He took it with a small smile, intertwining your fingers and squeezing.

You already knew why he didn't have any younger siblings; his parents struggled with even conceiving him and kept trying after he was born. They gave up the day he was bit.

"I can tell it's been well-loved. That's a good thing."

Another squeeze of your hand. "It is."

A look came over Remus' face, as if he remembered something. "Mum wanted us to keep our sentimentals in here, to make sure it remained a room of love. If you want, there should be a box over by the television. You can bring it over.”

Anyone else might not have been able to read the vulnerability in Remus’ voice, but you knew him better than that by now. “I would love to,” you said reassuringly, letting his hand go in favour of placing it on his shoulder as you passed.

The wide TV stood on top of a small shelf filled with DVDs and VHS tapes – some of which had handwriting on them, you could barely make out words like WEDDING and REMUS BIRTHDAY. Beside them were compartments with boxes of various contents, but you understood which one he meant by the look of it. There were tracks in the dust on top of it, showing that it was taken out semi-frequently, and you could see some pictures through the holes near the top.

Sliding it out of the shelf was no problem, but it was much heavier than anticipated, causing you to laugh at yourself as you carried it over. Remus was looking at you bemusedly and you just flashed him a bright smile and climbed up onto his chair, sitting on the armrest and placing the box in his lap by your feet.

“Show me. Please.” Your voice was quiet and earnest, laden in love and smiles as you looked at him.

You could swear you saw the tips of his freckled ears grow red at the attention, turning his head down towards the box abashedly. 

He brought up a thick photo album with dark brown and gold details on its outside. If the books on the shelves were worn, then this album was well-loved, with fraying edges and some pictures almost falling out. Your fingers itched to cast a preservation spell over it, but that was far from your place. For now, you just wanted him to show you every little detail of who he was and who he became. 

“This one is from when I was quite young – think toddler,” he narrated as he began to flip it open.

Any further explanation he might have had was cut off by the massive coo that escaped you at the sight of the front page. Remus John Lupin, aged 2, wearing a paper crown with his name on it and grinning at a  piece of cake, chocolate frosting on his nose and chin. 

You leaned forward, almost burying your face in the book to see, fighting back tears at the absolute sweetness that was baby Remus. “You were such an adorable baby,” you cooed, tracing the air just above the picture, scared to damage it. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen baby pictures of you before.”

“I was just a normal babe,” he tried to brush it off, redness now creeping from his ears and into his cheeks.

When you turned your face towards his, you were much closer than anticipated, only furthering your grin as you regarded his flustered expression. “No, love. You were adorable.” A quick peck. “Still are.”

You laughed and leaned your head on top of his, encouraging him to continue flipping through the album and showing you. If he was bothered by your teasing, he didn’t show it – on the contrary, one of his hands came to rest around your hip, steadying you, and his thumb traced loving, absentminded circles there. 

As he whispered commentary about the various pictures – Remus in his rain boots, Remus with sheep that wandered into the garden, Remus playing in the sand – and you kept gushing over how adorable he was, you felt gratitude settling comfortably within you. 

He stopped short when he flipped a page; no comments, no reactions, just regarded what he saw. It was an image of Remus, now around the age of 7, back to the camera as he decked the table in a new living room. It was dark, but you could just barely see Lyall in the background, working in the kitchen.

Eventually, he cleared his voice and spoke. “This was when they started taking pictures again.” 

Your grip on him tightened, giving him time and space to feel. You knew what he referred to. Humming in approval, you began pressing kisses to his tawny hair, making sure not to shy away from his touch, but instead lean into him. Show him you were there.

Remus began flipping through again, though his comments were much more sporadic now. You didn’t hold back on your cooing, commenting on his beautiful dimples and his cute I-got-dressed-by-myself-today outfits. His thumb kept going at your hip.

At the sight of an up-close picture of 8 year old Remus smiling awkwardly, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to smile with teeth yet, he stopped once more to trace the line of the scar on his nose. “You know,” he whispered. “Seeing pictures like these is so odd. It was such a painful time, but it didn’t really translate to camera. Sans the scars, I almost seem like a normal kid.”

You drew out the kiss to his hairline so you had time to think of what to say. “You were a normal kid, though. Even with everything, you were always just a sweet boy. Still are.”

He breathed through his nose in a half-laugh, tilting his head up to look at you. “Of course you would think that, you’re in love with me.”

You hummed happily and leaned down to press a sweet kiss to his awaiting, soft lips. “I’m glad you’ve got that right at least,” you murmured before you pulled away, caressing his cheek as you watched him. “I like seeing pictures from then; both before and after. It’s a part of you and I do love every part of you.”

His smile was melancholic but no less genuine. “I will never understand that, I think.”

“You don’t need to, my love. You just need to let me.”

Remus huffed through a smile once more, dragging you closer to him by the arm around your hip and breathing you in. “I’ve never been one to deny you anything, have I?”

“Are you good for looking at more pictures or is it time to go help Hope with dinner?”

Remus regarded you for a second, smile growing. “Look through a few more, my love.”

[writingdevil]

Hii! Hewwo!!! Finally got the courage and an idea to get here haha. First of all I wanted to thank you for Tongues and Teeth. Like, really, big thanks. This fic got me through a pretty bad illness, and I found myself waiting for every new chapter. And, well, of course, it was an indirect reason for me even being here... I really enjoyed reacting on your fic in tags, and that, in fact, gave me the courage and impuls to post my own stuff. As for a prompt... Slay the Princess is happening at night, but rarely someone appreciated the stars. But they still were there. And in post-Tongues and Teeth they are there, too. I just thought it would be interesting to touch some voices' feelings and opinions when they are just stargazing. It could be about any voice really, or any group of voices, maybe you'll even explore them all - I would love to see it anyway :> Have a great day!!!

(Oh my God,you're so sweet!Thank you for liking my fic that much-I never expected people to actually be invested in my story.I'm really sorry that you were going through that illness,but I'm so touched that my story helped you get through it.I always love seeing your reaction to my fics-it's one of the things I look forward too!I love your idea and I hope you enjoy this,and that you have an amazing day!)

(This is post Tongues and Teeth)

It wasn't often that Contrarian liked to be still.He much preferred to be doing something that pissed one of the others-mainly Oppy-off.He liked keeping everyone on their toes,not knowing what he was about to do next-and no,he's definitely still not bitter from Oppy calling him predictable.Why would you think that?

But tonight,Contrarian was honestly happy to just relax with his flock,and stargaze with them all.

He couldn't remember who's idea it had been, probably one of the softer ones like Hero or Smitten,but eventually they all found themselves sitting out on the roofs of their bird houses at night, gazing up at the stars.

Contrarian never noticed how pretty the night sky was.Or did he ever even get the chance to,back in the Construct?Either way,it was nice to just chill out,take it easy,and look up at the stars-

"I don't see the appeal of this."

Well,not everyone felt the same way.

Contrarian chuckled,looking down at Cold,who was lying on his back and staring up at the sky in boredom.Cold hadn't seen the point in stargazing, but had still allowed Contrarian to drag him up here,and he had been silent ever since.

Contrarian had a feeling that Cold wouldn't particularly like this one activity,even if everyone had come out.He leaned back on his hands and asked,"No?You don't think the stars are interesting and cool to look at?"

"They're lights in the sky."

"Yeah,but do you think they're pretty?"Cold hummed in thought,before looking away as he replied,"You could certainly call them mesmerizing, if you were poetic enough."Contrarian snorted, knowing for a fact that Smitten has definitely described the stars as exactly that before.

"Mesmerizing doesn't equal interesting though," Cold quickly added,and Contrarian sighed,sitting up properly to tuck his knees under his chin."Yeah,I thought you'd say that,"he said,hoping to hide his disappointment in his voice.

He wasn't sure if Cold caught it or not,but he shrugged and looked back up at the sky."It was nice for a few minutes,but it doesn't make me feel much."

"Well not everything has to be about feeling something grand and overwhelming."He caught the flash of surprise on Cold's face,and then Contrarian's smile fell into a regretful frown.

This felt like a weird conversation to have,especially considering that himself and Cold were the known mischief makers of the flock.Contrarian just liked to do things that were fun,and his realm of fun had gotten a whole lot bigger now that they had their own bodies.

Cold was in that same boat,in which he could freely got out and find things to do that could potentially get rid of that numbness in his chest.The two of them spent most of their days discovering every fun thing that they couldn't before,not with that annoying Echo keeping them trapped.

He glanced back down at Cold,only to find him staring up at the sky with an empty look in his eyes. To anyone else,you would think that that was just Cold's natural expression,but Contrarian's been around him long enough to pick up the slight bitterness in his eyes,and he immediately felt bad.

He knew Cold had trouble with going about life without wanting something to make him feel something.He knew that in some ways-getting their own bodies had been harder to achieve that, because now Cold was responsible for everything that his body did.

What he chose to do,to hear,to experience,was all up to him,and sometimes his body and mind couldn't handle it.But the only reason it was difficult,was because the Decider wasn't here anymore.It was easier to want to feel something new,and block out anything that he deemed unimportant,when the situation involved whether to slay another person or not,and the horrifying consequences of it-all while hiding behind another greater being.

Contrarian sighed,then looked around at the other houses near them,and said,"I know this isn't your usual brand of fun and excitement."Cold just hummed in response,still not looking at him."But I think taking a moment to chill and relax is nice too."

"Easy for you to say,"Cold said,"you can be entertained by anything,and boredom can be easily fixed.You're not as...rigid as I am."Contrarian shrugged,looking back up at the stars."You never know until you try."

Cold huffed in quiet amusement,and Contrarian watched as his wings twitched and spread out and in-a surefire way to tell that Cold was getting restless,and was about to leave.

But Contrarian didn't want him to go.He wanted to be able to enjoy the loud and the quiet moments with Cold,without Cold feeling like it was pointless.

So he squinted up at the starry sky,until he grinned playfully,scooting closer and leaning down to whisper into Cold's ear.He pointed up at the sky and quietly said,"You know,if you squint,you can kinda see Skeptic's grumpy face in the sky."

Cold was confused for a few seconds,before he chuckled lightly,and Contrarian grinned in victory. Cold now had a soft smile on his face as he gazed up at the sky."You'll turn anything into a joke,won't you?"

Contrarian giggled,leaning away from the other bird now."Yeah,why not?Nothing's fun if everything's so serious all the time."

"But eventually even clowns get tired at telling jokes all the time."

Contrarian froze at Cold's empty words,before quickly turning to face him,and his heart twisted in guilt-something that didn't happen a lot,at the subtle sad look on Cold's face.

He thought Contrarian was getting bored of his own ways?He thought that stargazing meant that he was getting dull?

Contrarian would be offended if he didn't think this wasn't deeply hurting Cold,no matter how much the icy one would try to deny it.He thought that he was losing the one flockmate that could understand the way he thought and operated, leaving him an outcast in his own flock.

That wouldn't do.

Contrarian sighed loudly,then casually threw an arm over Cold's shoulders,which meant that his body was half bent down to even manage that,and even then,his arm was actually just circling the top of Cold's head.

He stayed in that position for a few minutes,until Cold eventually asked,"What are you doing?"

"I'm just-taking the moment in."

There was a small pause,before Cold then asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well,"Contrarian began,"it's such a nice night out, and it's rare that we're all doing something that isn't eating or having a meeting.I just wanted to take this moment in."

"Why would you bother with 'taking it in'?You could have moments like these all the time,and they'll just replace the last memory."

"Yeah,"Contrarian agreed,"but nothings gonna beat the first time you went stargazing with your whole flock." There was a fondness in Contrarian's voice that had Cold looking up at him curiously,but Contrarian took that moment to look up and around at the rest of his flock.

"There's just something-special,about moments like these,and it makes you want to stay there for as long as possible."

Contrarian's gaze went straight to Hero,who was giggling as he watched Hunted preen Stubborn's wings,and the preening appeared to be making Stubborn sleepy,to the point that he was struggling to keep his eyes open while laying on his chest. Hero smiled at them fondly,and started to pet the feathers on Stubborn's head.

Contrarian smiled at the sight,then his gaze drifted to the far left of them,where Smitten and Skeptic seemed to be utterly transfixed by the display of stars in the sky.Contrarian watched as Smitten excitedly pointed up at the sky,blurting out what was sure to be some sappy,poetic mess,looking over at Skeptic with pure glee in his eyes.

Skeptic actually looked quite calm and relaxed in this moment,matching Smitten's passion with a more calmer enthusiasm,gesturing up at the night sky and talking just as much as his counterpart was.

It was funny to imagine the conversation they must be having-a mix of lovey-dovey mush and innocent curiosity-but it also sounded very sweet.

"What's the point of dragging out something special?"Cold asked,"It's just going to make the moment boring more quickly."Contrarian made a noise of uncertainty."I don't think so.There's always something interesting to pick out."

He glanced over at their right,where Paranoid and Oppy were huddled close,talking quietly to themselves-probably the most unexpected and fascinating friendship to come out of this whole thing.

Paranoid-or Jitters,as Oppy loved to call him-was hugging himself for comfort,and had an anxious look in his eye as he spoke to Oppy,who was giving him his full attention,completely ignoring the illuminating sky above them.

Then Oppy smiled,in a way that Contrarian knew was hard for the other to easily do without fear,and softly draped his wing around Paranoid's shoulders, who's tense body instantly melted at the gesture, face wiped clean of stress,as he instead smiled and gave Oppy a grateful look.

Contrarian's attention was quickly snatched by the duo not too far away from them-Broken and Cheated.Broken had tucked his knees under his chin and looked to be in complete awe at the stars above him,and Contrarian wondered if he had found a new love to worship and submit to.

But then he saw the way that Cheated's attention was in no way on the stars-but instead on Broken. He was resting his arm on his knee,his cheek in his hand,and he had the most fond and lovestruck look that Contrarian has ever seen-that he truly believed that Cheated could give Smitten a run for his money.

He giggled and finally looked back down at Cold, who didn't seem so upset anymore,but instead was struggling to understand Contrarian's words."I don't get it,"he finally admitted,and Contrarian made a quick,sweeping gesture at their flock and said,"I'm just saying that-maybe this moment isn't for right now."

"What?"

Contrarian sat up properly again,and Cold was quick to copy him,determined to understand. Contrarian looked back up at the twinkling stars and said,"Maybe this moment is purely to look back on,to remember the soft times that made you happy.Maybe-maybe these are moments to make you feel warm in the future,whatever that may be."

Contrarian quickly glanced at Cold,suddenly feeling embarrassed at having talked so much without it sounding like a joke."I-I just like the thought of that as well.At being able to sit still,and still have good memories to look back on,with the rest of you weirdos."

He refused to look back at Cold,just waiting for the other to poke fun at or dismiss what he said.He couldn't decide what would be worse.

But then Cold hummed softly,scooting closer to nudge him with his wing."I suppose,"he quietly said, and Contrarian risked a quick look,"that you can sort of see Skeptic's grumpy face."

Contrarian froze,before he burst out laughing,and he even heard Cold's light laughter join in.

It ended being a perfect memory for Contrarian to cherish forever.

[supermarine-silvally]

💜 Yara

Thank you very much for the prompt, dear Anon!! <3 I hope you enjoy it!

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss

This fucking Marine would not leave her alone. 

“And so there I was, surrounded by forty of the nastiest, ugliest pirates in all of the South Blue! They were pointing their weapons at me, creeping closer and yelling curses far too crude to repeat in front of a lady. Bunch of disgusting savages.” The man took a swig of alcohol, pounding his mug against the counter.

Yara’s teeth gritted, staring down at the bottom of her glass as if it had gold in it. If it wasn’t for this ridiculously overpriced beverage-- some kind of pomegranate-flavoured thing that didn’t taste half as good as it looked on the menu board-- she would’ve been out of this shithole bar ages ago. 

It was the first day that the Moby Dick had made shore in almost a month, and she had somehow managed to spend far too long of it stuck next to this loser who had just spent the last hour bragging about his impending promotion to Captain of the 453rd Branch or whatever. The shit-eating smirk on his face told her that women were usually fawning over him by this point, and the fact that she wasn’t apparently meant that she needed a little more persuading. 

The Marine leaned closer to her, his breath reeking of cheap liquor. “So you know what I did next?”

“I couldn’t care le--”

“I grabbed hold of the steering wheel and swung the ship around! The bastards were so surprised, they didn’t even have time to grab hold of anything, so they all ended up tumbling into the ocean!!” He roared with laughter. “Can you believe that? See, the thing about pirates is that they’re all so hopelessly stupid.”

“Are they now?” Yara said flatly. She was increasingly tempted to push the edge of her dress back, fully revealing the tattoo that adorned her left leg. The only reason why she hadn’t so far was because she was loath to make the man think she was trying to entice him. 

“You better believe it, sweetcheeks.” He winked. “And if you want my opinion, Gold Roger was the stupidest one of all. Some ‘King of the Pirates’ he was. I heard there wasn’t even much of a fight to bring the brute down.” Swallowing another gulp of his beverage, he turned to face her. “Now, enough about me. What’s a pretty little gal like you doing all alone in this part of town?”

“Who said she was alone?” a familiar voice spoke from behind them. 

Yara’s heart leapt, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she finally glanced up from her half-empty glass. 

Ace flashed the both of them one of his usual cocky grins before draping an arm over Yara’s shoulders. “There you are. I was looking everywhere for you.”

The Marine’s expression soured. He shuffled closer to Yara, his tone dropping. “What do you say we get out of here? A man of my rank can get a room at any hotel you fancy.”

Ace tsked. “Whispering isn’t polite, y’know. And there’s a big problem with your plan.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

A devilish grin spread across the young pirate’s face. He withdrew his arm and reached forwards, fingers brushing gently under Yara’s jaw as he tilted her chin up ever so slightly. “She’s mine.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaned in, his lips colliding with hers. Yara’s eyes widened, surprised by the sudden burst of affection, but they quickly fluttered shut. Ace’s hands had found her waist, pulling her in closer, the taste of pomegranate lingering between them as he deepened the kiss. Finally, he pulled away with a gentle nip to her bottom lip, leaving her breathless. Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around her midsection, he shot the Marine the most satisfied smirk Yara had ever seen.

The man’s lip curled as he slid off the bar stool and took a step towards Ace, trying to look menacing. “Oh, yeah? Who do you think you--” He stopped, his eyes landing on the ASCE tattoo on Ace’s arm. All the colour instantly drained from his face. “W-Wait a minute… I know you… You’re… You’re Fire Fist!!”

Ace tipped his hat at him. “That I am. Pleasure to meet ya.”

“But… that means…” His gaze slowly shifted over to Yara, finally noticing the tattoo poking out from under the hem of her dress. He gulped. “H-Hellcat Yara… It’s-- It’s the Whitebeard Pirates!!”

“And you say we’re the stupid ones,” Yara said disdainfully, watching as the man’s shaking hand reached for the sword strapped to his belt. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

His hand stilled for a second before grabbing the sword and whipping it out. “I’ll… I’ll capture you both! You have a combined bounty of almost one billion Berry, right?! I’ll be rich-- and a hero!!”

Ace and Yara looked at each other, then back at the quivering Marine. Yara let out a sigh, lifting up her glass.

Thunk!!

Before the man could move, she brought it down over his head. He slumped over, his sword clattering to the ground. The rest of the pomegranate-flavoured beverage splashed from the glass, dripping down his blank face.

“Wow.” Ace looked impressed. “That’s one way to solve it.”

Yara shrugged. “I’ve been wanting to do that for over an hour now. Besides, his flirting game sucked anyways.” She placed the glass down on the bar’s counter, sliding it over to the bartender who had apparently seen enough brawls to be completely unbothered by the situation. 

Side by side, the two young pirates left the bar, stepping out onto the sunny street. 

Ace’s stomach growled as they walked, making him chuckle. “All that excitement and I’m completely famished. Now whaddaya say I take you out for dinner? My treat.”

She laughed. “You say ‘treat’ as if you haven’t skipped the bill on every single date you’ve ever taken me on.” 

“That’s true,” he conceded, grinning sheepishly.

 Yara looped her arm around his, twining their fingers together. “I would love dinner. And to spend time with you as long as you’ll have me.”

Ace pretended to ponder it. “Well, if that’s the case, then… How about forever?”

Smiling, she leaned down and pressed a kiss against the crossed-out ‘S’ of his tattoo. “Forever sounds nice.”

tagging: @auxiliarydetective @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[sequencefairy]

do you have the extra scratch to bleach your pretty little asshole?

[ now available on ao3 ]

~~~

It's the second time that Shane goes blond that really does Ryan in. He'd been affected the first time, but who hadn't been? What a change! His friend, usually so conservative about his appearance even with the wild shirts and strange colour combinations, making such a change? Not something Ryan would have anticipated at all.

And then. And then Shane did it again. Went to the salon, asked for and received a colour treatment and Ryan just--well. He's lost the plot. He's not to be blamed for any of what happened after that, he's not. He can't be. Anyone would have done the same when faced with Shane and his blond hair and the attitude adjustment it came with.

So. Anyway. Not his fault, is what Ryan means. Definitely the ammonia fumes in Shane's hair colouring. Or something. Ryan doesn't know.

He should really stop thinking about this here, where he is balls deep in the hot clutch of Shane's body, his bare hand pressed against Shane's bare spine while Shane writhes under him, asking without asking for Ryan to move, to do something, to do anything. Ryan's not moving. He's already told Shane he won't. This is a non-negotiable part of the scene. Shane's gotta ask for it. He's gotta look back over his shoulders, pretty eyes wide, eyelashes clumped together, and open his mouth and ask for what he wants.

That's the deal.

Shane shifts and Ryan presses in, like he's not already all the way sheathed. The air goes out of Shane's lungs in a high wheeze, but he's nodding into the pillow so Ryan leans down further, covering Shane with his body, so he can put his mouth right next to Shane's ear.

"You want it, baby?" Ryan husks. "You know how to get it. You know all you gotta do is just tell me what you want. I can wait here all day, Shaney-boy, you and I both know it--"

Shane whines and squeezes his eyes shut tight. He clenches around Ryan, his body a ripple of sensation that makes Ryan have to bite his own lip and breathe through.

"Ry--" Shane starts, and stops.

"Come on," Ryan cajoles, sing song, "or I'll think you're holding out on me. Is that what you're doing? Getting off on the denial? Think you can come just like this? Keeping my dick warm in your pretty little asshole?"

Shane mutters something under his breath, but he hisses as Ryan shifts his knees. "Please," Shane says, finally, and it sounds like he's dragged it out from the soles of his feet. "Ryan--Da--" Shane stops himself and Ryan grins, wolfish.

"Who's gonna take care of you, baby?" Ryan asks. "Who makes sure you have the money for your hair appointments?" Ryan runs his hand down Shane's flank. Shane squirms both into and way from the touch. "Who gives you that extra scratch to keep your pretty little asshole bleached?"

Shane groans. "Fuck. Please, Ryan--fucking move, daddy, I need it."

"Good boy," Ryan says, leaning up and back and before snapping his hips. "Come on your daddy's cock, Shane."

And Shane does. Almost immediately.

[ratinayellowbandana]

Prompt: “I feel terrible.” And/or “I want you to kiss me right now.”

I love your fics 🥹 just yesterday I was thinking of your name while perusing ao3 and was wishing for another Imodna fic of yours

hi!! thank you so much for your kind words. it always shocks me when people, like, want to read my writing? so it really means a lot. i'm sorry this took me a little longer. i ended up combining your first one with another prompt and part of my wip so when i eventually publish a fic with an extremely similar scene from imogen's perspective.. dw about it.

anyway, here's some post-resurrection hurt/comfort. we're gonna all pretend they stayed in the castle for a couple days and sorted their shit out.

cw for feelings of helplessness and self-loathing

length: ~1.7k

some prompt lists if you're so inclined || my ao3

~~~

It’s been three days since they got her back. 

Three days since she woke on the worn wooden floors of Pike’s home to a small crowd of friends and strangers. 

Three days since she set foot in Whitestone again, a place she never hoped to return. 

And three days since everyone began treating Laudna as if she's going to shatter. 

The worst part is she feels as if she might. 

The world is too vibrant. Loud. The birds chirping outside the too-large castle window grate on her ears. The silky sheets on the too-soft four-poster bed cling to her in all the wrong ways. Her skin crawls and her bones grind and she can feel her teeth. 

The gnome who revived her said this is normal. She’d been dead, after all. The body would need time to recalibrate. Time they do not have if they want to have any hope of intervening on the solstice. 

Imogen dotes the best way she knows how. With soup and kind words and glares that warn the others to keep back if they don’t want a zap to the forehead. She offers furs from the trunk at the foot of the bed and cool cloths that do little to ease the ache of Laudna’s fragile joints. She brings pillows and keeps watch in the window seat as Laudna sleeps. 

It’s sickeningly sweet and thoughtful and lovely, and Laudna hates it just a little bit because Imogen has spent far too much time fretting over Laudna as of late when she should be anywhere but a stuffy old castle spooning broth to a dead lady whose hands won’t stop shaking. 

Laudna is fine. 

She’s fine. 

She is. 

Delilah is gone, they assure her. Imogen herself sent a bolt of lightning through the bitch’s strange conjured tree trunk in the twisting nether realm that left the smell of iron and marrow lingering in Laudna’s nose. Her limbs still sting with phantom wounds where she had thrashed against Delilah’s cage. 

Helpless. Weak. 

The others were there, too. At least, for much of the fight and everything that preceded. They had seen Laudna’s memories, as Fresh Cut Grass informed her. Learned the name she had taken care to hide all these years. Buried deep enough, even Imogen, brilliant as she is, would have to dig to uncover it. Delilah, it seemed, only cared for secrets when they were hers to keep. 

When her friends visit her chambers, their vivacity is dulled. They are tense, anxious, and trying and failing to hide the restlessness that they are all feeling. 

Orym regards her with new wariness, searching for lies and cracks, though he is kind as ever. It’s understandable, Laudna reasons. In this place, where the Briarwood reign harmed innumerable lives, she is a liability. A threat to be guarded against.

Fearne is delicate with her hugs, moves cautiously through Laudna’s space. She hasn’t even stolen any of the silver soup spoons or fine teacups, which might be most concerning of all. 

Ashton hovers in the doorway. They return her awkward waves with a nod and flick of their wrist. 

Chetney and Fresh Cut Grass seem the most unbothered. Chetney in a plush bathrobe that appears to have been hastily cropped to suit his stature, and F.C.G. chattering on about the importance of rest to the healing process. 

And Laudna hates them just a little bit because she cares for them all so deeply, but mostly, she just hates herself. Hates Delilah. Hates Otohan Thull. 

They’re losing time and they’ve already lost so much. Imogen has already lost so much. Her mother’s trail is growing colder by the day, and there is nothing Laudna can do but lay in this godsforsaken luxurious bed and wait until her body recovers. 

It’s all she can do not to break into a thousand pieces that she would scatter to the nooks and crannies so she wouldn’t have to see the pitying looks on her friends’ faces when Imogen has to help her up. 

She turns on her side and buries her face in an obnoxiously soft down pillow to muffle the sob that wells within her and wracks her body. 

She does a piss-poor job of that, too. 

“Laudna?” Imogen calls sleepily, roused from a sun-dappled doze. Then, alert, “Hey, hey–” 

She’s standing, Laudna can hear, and now she’s gone and disturbed Imogen. Bare feet pad across the cool stone floor, and the far side of the bed dips, ever considerate. She will not come closer, Laudna knows, unless given explicit consent because Imogen is wonderful and caring and lovely.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” 

Laudna shudders. “I feel terrible.” 

“Oh,” Imogen says, and Laudna can feel the flash of guilt and concern that radiates off of her. “Can I bring you anything? Is it your head?” She shifts her weight. “Do you need water? I can go get a pitcher. Or food, maybe?”

“Stop. Please, stop,” Laudna croaks. Imogen flinches, and gods, Laudna could be sick.

Imogen retreats. “Sorry, I’ll just– sorry,” she murmurs, sounding so small. 

Laudna lifts her head and darts a trembling hand to catch her wrist. “No!” she says. Her body betrays her, the word coming out as more of a roar than she ever could have meant. “No,” she repeats, softer, “stay. Please,” because if she frightens Imogen off, she fears what will crawl into the hole left behind. 

Imogen hesitates, glances down at the ink-tipped fingers clasped around her arm, and sits again. She doesn’t speak, leaving the path clear for Laudna to lead the way, and oh, Laudna could melt. 

Laudna sighs shakily, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…it’s not you.” 

Not Imogen. Never Imogen. 

The silence hangs heavy between them until Laudna can bring herself to speak again. 

“This is my fault, I’m afraid,” she states flatly, refusing to meet Imogen’s gaze. Refusing to see whatever reaction she may find there. Anguish. Frustration. Irritation.

“What?” 

Confusion.  

Laudna looks up, gestures vaguely to their surroundings. “This. All of us being… trapped here.” 

“Laud, what’re you talkin’ about?” 

Imogen’s hand comes to stroke the back of Laudna’s knuckles where they wrap around her other wrist. Her fingers are calloused and work-worn, the rough patches of them catching on the imperfect parts of Laudna. 

“You should be off tracking down your mother or finding out what you can about the moon, and instead,” Laudna’s voice catches in her throat, “you’re here.”

Imogen shakes her head, exhales. “Where I should be is for me to decide.” She says it gently. It is not meant to be a reprimand. It still feels like one. “And where I should be,” she continues, “is wherever you are.” 

Laudna’s eyes flit anywhere but Imogen’s face. 

“If you want me there, of course.”

Laudna’s response is instant. “Always.” 

She finally meets Imogen’s eyes and is met with a somewhat furrowed brow. She wants to ask something, Laudna can tell. Imogen’s head is tilted curiously, her lips slightly parted. Her jaw works subtly, muscles tensing. 

“It’s not your fault,” she settles on at last. “None of it, okay?”

Laudna opens her mouth to respond.

Imogen is steely calm. “You were gone, Laudna. And I couldn’t reach you, and…and you’re here now. You’re back, and that’s all that matters.” 

Laudna shrinks into the pillows, takes her hand back beneath the sheet, fist clenching and unclenching. “I feel like such a nuisance,” she confesses quietly. “I should have tried harder to break her hold on me. I should have–”

“No. Gods,” Imogen snaps, lacking any real bite. She inhales. “Laudna, you…you were dead. And I hate sayin’ it; I hate thinkin’ about it. You couldn’t’ve done anythin’ more than what you did.” She softens, throat tightening with emotion. “You did so much. And I’m so proud of you. And… I’m so grateful you chose to come back.” 

“It wasn’t much of a choice,” Laudna whispers, “I couldn’t very well leave you, darling.” 

“You could’ve.” Imogen bites her lip, ducks her head, fiddles with the hem of her vest. “We, um, I know F.C.G. told you, but we… saw some of your memories. And, and I didn’t really wanna bring it up? So I’m real sorry, but we only saw a couple moments, and we don’t have to talk about it, but,” she looks back to Laudna, “you’re so brave. I don’t think you get told that enough. You’re so strong, Laud, and so good, and I missed you. So much.” She takes a sharp breath.

It bursts out as though holding it in any longer might suffocate her, and Laudna’s hands cease their twitching. She hesitates. Imogen’s affection has split her open, and it’s odd, she thinks, to feel so vulnerable and so safe. That those two sensations can coexist as a tingling in her chest that extends into her tendons and ligaments to warm her all over. She can sense the discolored blush rising in her cheeks. 

She does not feel brave. Strength has always been foreign and abstract. That Imogen can see her that way is… incongruous. Absurd, even. 

“You’re very kind.”

Imogen looks as if she might protest but seems to think better of it. She sighs, a slight, sad smile crossing her lips. She moves to stand again, to cross the room back to her seat, and suddenly, the thought of Imogen being so far away is unbearable. 

“Stay, please?” Laudna shuffles, lifting a corner of the quilt. “This bed is plenty big enough for two, and I dread to think of the state of your neck curled up in the window.”

“You’re sure?” Imogen asks, faint hope coloring her words. 

“Come here.” 

The bed dips again as Imogen clambers in, pressing herself against Laudna, who lets out an oomph as Imogen wraps around her and intertwines their fingers. 

“Sorry!” Imogen says with a relieved exhale, “Sorry, I just–I know I said it before, but… I really missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” Laudna assures gently, taking in the oaty smell of Imogen. The smell of home. “Rest well, darling.” 

Imogen squeezes their hands in response and burrows closer. 

Laudna relaxes into the embrace.

[good-beanswrites]

Happy Valentine's Day @artsy-azure ! Here's your gift for the @milgram-valentines-exchange 💖

Fuuta x Minato (oc) ~ The first section takes place right after his T2 interrogation, and then skips ahead to a tiny post-milgram scene :3 I hope you enjoy!

Fuuta thought he would drown. Not sink into water or anything like that; he was worried the voices filling his mind would completely suffocate him. There were too many of them. Too many people, all of them knowing every dark corner of his mind, and shouting into it. It should have been impossible for one voice – one softer than all the rest – to reach him.

Then again, everything about that voice should have been impossible.

“Fuuta… Hey, Fuuta… Are you alright?”

He blinked. He scrambled over to the nearest wall. There were no visible openings in the cell, not a single imperfection across any of the surfaces, yet Milgram’s intercom system functioned just fine. Most days it would just deliver the ear-rattling bell to tell him the time. On bad days, it carried Es’ summons to the interrogation room for his extraction. On worse days, it carried Es’ summons to the courtroom for his verdict.

On the very best days, it would bring him the voice of Hoshizawa Minato.

(Though, seeing as he had just returned from a catastrophic extraction, he wasn’t sure what type of day it was yet.)

He tore his attention away from the chorus of judgements and insults. He pressed his shoulder against the wall, still unsure where the sound was coming from, but knowing it was nearby.

“I’m here,” he said, hushed. More than anything he wanted to yell and scream, but he would never risk it, now. Minato had gone through a hell of a lot to break into Milgram’s systems, and he wouldn’t let his big mouth ruin all that. It had already ruined just about everything else.

“How are you holding up?”

Fuuta pressed his lips together. “Any news on getting us out of here?” was all he said.

Hundreds of miles away (or perhaps next door – neither of them could really know), Minato’s fingers adjusted his headset.

“I’m still working on it. These things take time.” 

“I’m definitely gonna need it after today.” 

“Your interrogation… I know.”

Fuuta pulled his hood down tighter, tufts of ginger hair ruffling underneath. “How much did you see?” 

Minato’s eyes flicked over to another monitor. It displayed the files he’d gained access to a few hours prior. It would crush Fuuta to hear about yet another person peeking into his personal moments, so he opted for a non-answer.

“I don’t have cameras. I don’t see much at all.”

“Tch, I’m not a damn idiot, I know that! I meant, how much did you hear?”

“...Everything.” 

Fuuta squeezed his eye shut. He bit a curse back. There came silence.

Minato actually double checked some of his monitors, making sure they hadn’t been disconnected.

“So then, you know,” Fuuta said at last. “There’s no fucking way I’m getting forgiven this time around.”

“You can’t be so sure. The–”

“No one in their right mind would forgive me after that.” He winced, remembering his harsh cries at the end of the interrogation. What kind of accused murderer shouted “I’ll kill you” as their plea of innocence? When he wasn’t running his mouth with threats, he’d been pleading with Es like some kind of coward. And Minato has heard all of it. Fuuta could only imagine the horrors that the extraction held. Who could forgive him after they saw his anger, or worse, his pleasure? Who could ever look kindly on someone like that?

“I would.”

Fuuta’s eyes widened. He let himself sink further into the wall. A strangled laugh escaped him. He let his head hang down. No matter how much he wanted to protest, Minato was as honest as they come. If he said he forgave Fuuta, he meant it. 

“Yeah, like I said, no one in their right mind.”

Minato cracked a smile. 

“You don’t think I’m in my right mind?”

Fuuta scoffed. “You post pictures of clothes for a living. And in your free time, you plan impossible jailbreaks for murderers. Doesn’t sound quite sane to me.”

“Aw, come on. Do you think it’s impossible?” 

Minato was still smirking, ready for some more of their typical back and forth. Fuuta surprised him by pausing. 

“Well, it should be impossible. But…”

They’d been speaking for some time now. Whether it was quick comments when Es wasn’t around or long conversations into the night. Fuuta had seen many sides of him, and knew that he had what it took. He wasn’t like the vast majority of internet personalities – weak or needy or inexperienced. He’d proved himself time and time again. If anyone could pull this off, it would be Minato. 

“If it’s you… there’s a chance.”

“You’ve got that right. You can count on me, alright?”

Fuuta took a deep breath. The tightness of the uniform and the bandages seemed to lessen.

“Although,” Minato put on a falsely serious voice, “we’re gonna have a long talk when you get out… about that yellow jacket you own.”

“Haaah? What’s wrong with my jacket?’

“There are a hundred stylish ways to wear it and that was not one.”

“The fuck does that mean?” 

“You’ll be grateful when someone who ‘posts pictures of clothes for a living’ helps with your wardrobe.” 

Fuuta could feel his chest release even more. Minato spoke so easily about the future, as if it were something real and waiting for him. 

“As if I’d let you touch any of my outfits.”

“As if you could stop me!”

He took another breath. He smiled. No drowning today.

---

After checking the clock fourteen times, Fuuta thought once more couldn’t hurt. It was still two minutes to noon, just like the last few times he’d checked. His frequent checking hadn’t brought the train to the station any faster.

Minato had told him that he was safe. He’d said this meeting wasn’t that big of a risk. The dust had settled. He just had to relax. 

The announcement overhead signaled the next stop was his. It screeched into the station, a slight murmur rising as the doors opened onto a platform of moving people. 

Fuuta lowered his head. His eyepatch would surely draw attention to himself, so he kept his hood down and his mask up. He just needed to make it to the station entrance. 

He made his way around stiff businessmen and sticky children. He tried to shuffle around a young man, but he seemed to step further into Fuuta’s path. Giving the stranger a quick glance, he started to mumble something to squeeze past. 

“Fuuta,” the man said, gaping in surprise. “It’s me.”

He inhaled sharply.

It was only three words, but it was enough to recognize his voice from a thousand conversations. 

Fuuta’s eye widened as he took Minato in. It was strange to finally see his face. Finally, here was the person he’d spent hours talking to. The person he’d spent days passing the time with. The person he’d spent nights falling for. Here was the one who had saved his life, in more ways than he could count.

His first observation was, fuck, this guy is way outta my league. His next was, he’s shorter than I was expecting. Then, gah, I’m probably shorter than he was expecting. He was in the middle of realizing, he has the nicest smile I think I’ve ever seen, when Minato crushed him in a hug.

Fuuta returned the embrace. His arms tightened around Minato. He was real. He was here. Fuuta’s hands grasped at his clothes and his hair. He was unable to control a laugh bubbling up inside of him. 

“You did it. My god, you did it.”

He breathed into Minato’s shoulder. His chest shook with some laughter, some tears. 

For a moment wondered if people would notice the heartfelt reunion outside of the train, then he realized he didn’t care in the slightest. 

Minato was laughing along with him in that beautiful, familiar voice of his. No more crackling speakers or hidden intercoms – he spoke right into his ear, hair tickling his cheek. Fuuta could have stayed forever in his arms, just like that. All that mattered was he felt safe. At last, he felt happy.

Talk about impossible. 

[allylikethecat]

⋆˚࿔ october prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

AHHHH only two more prompts to go after this one! Thank you so much to everyone who has followed along and been so supportive of these, and my writing in general. I know I write things that aren't for everyone, and I'm so grateful that there is space for everyone in the fandom!

²⁹⁾ the seventh highest floor in a skyscraper

Matty’s stomach lurched, his palms sweating and he found himself feeling light headed as he backed away from the window. He hadn’t realized he had such an issue with heights, until he found himself standing in a glass floored corner, and looked down from the seventh highest floor in a skyscraper. He knew that one could argue he was fine with heights, he climbed up on the roof of house on tour nearly ever night for months. But there was something different about being not nearly a full story off the ground, wearing a harness in a controlled setting, and standing, looking down at the city rushing below him. It was a tourist attraction, there were hundreds of people milling about. Did they not realize how much danger they were in?! Matty thought hysterically. Glass broke easily and here they were just standing on it. It was like they were asking to die. Matty didn’t want to die. 

George was smiling, taking pictures through the glass of the skyline that they had become part of. Matty wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or throw up or both. He pressed himself against the wall in the center of the building, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to ground himself. He didn’t want to ruin George’s fun, he was so happy looking out from the near top of the sky scraper. Matty hadn’t even actually processed which one they were visiting, his anxiety growing when he realized that George intended to go to the top. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, stars dancing behind his eyelids as saliva filled his mouth. He tried to quickly swallow it down. He refused to ruin George’s fun. But it was seeming more and more likely that he was going to puke and then end up unconscious face down in it. The worst part is that he was sober at the moment as well. He wondered if being inebriated would make him feel better or worse about standing further off the ground that humans had any right to be. It was like they were playing God building these giant metal monstrocities and Matty didn’t even believe in God! 

Being so close to the top of the sky scraper was even worse than flying Matty thought, growing more and more frantic. He needed to leave, he needed to not be so high off the ground, but he wasn’t entire sture where the elevator was, and he was too afraid to open his eyes to try and find it. 

“Matty?” George asked, and Matty forced himself to open his eyes, feeling George’s hands on his shoulders. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut again just as quickly as he had opened them. He could see the city skyline over George’s shoulder, which was a huge nope. 

“You’re really pale,” said George slowly as he pieced it together. “Oh, Love,” he said softly, “are you afraid of heights?” 

Matty nodded, giving up, and hoping that if admitting it would get him back to ground level faster. 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |

[lattesqueeze]

🗣️WIP RANT WIP RANT🗣️

I’d love to hear anything about your favorite WIP, or you can answer some of these prompts:

1. What’s the main ship and/or dynamic?

2. What inspired you? Convo with a mutual, music, etc.

3. How long have you been working on this project?

4. What’s your favorite line you’ve written/planned so far?

5. What concept came to you first, the plot or the characters?

6. What are you finding challenging about this WIP?

THANK YOU OML 🫶🏻

My current favourite wip is very little more than a concept at the moment, which is a Lestappen fic (no surprises lol) that I think was inspired by a tweet or a tumblr post. The secondary inspiration that solidified the concept/plot was the recent press conference when our Charlie was high out of his mind on painkillers and kept giggling and chatting with Max.

It stems from them being much younger and still karting, and one thing leads to another and they kiss. And promptly never speak of it again. Buuuut they both think of it all the time. As they grow up, they encounter some deja vu and find themselves kissing again and, shock!, it’s just as good as they remembered and more.

(Answering about this actually helped me formulate a lot of the background plot so thank you!!)

HOWEVER I also want an excuse to post this excerpt from a separate Landoscar wip, just bc I like it :’) I’ll put it under a cut so it doesn’t clog anyone’s dash!

Ten!

Shit. Lando shoved his way out of the kitchen he had found himself in, scanning every face for the soft cheekbones or warm brown eyes he had come to recognise.

Nine!

A girl Lando had definitely hooked up with before caught his arm, and tried to pull him in another direction, but he brushed her off.

Eight! Seven! Six!

Lando set his half-finished drink down and rubbed at his eyes. He was determined not to let Oscar go into 2023 alone among strangers. He just had to find him first.

Five!

Oscar wasn’t in the bathroom, or the one bedroom Lando hazarded a peek into.

Four!

One job, Lando. One job. Keep Oscar safe while showing him a good time. And, somehow, he had managed to lose him at the most crucial time of the party.

Three!

Lando burst out of the apartment and onto the balcony, where only a few partygoers were stood. The night was cool, but not unbearable, though Lando shivered a little as he stepped outside.

Two!

There he was. Thank God. Lando spied the sandy blond wave of hair and crisp white shirt, stood right by the railing, gazing out over the city. He rushed over to Oscar, and put his hand on his arm, making Oscar jump.

One!

The crowd around them erupted into cheers, popping open champagne and kissing their other halves. Without thinking twice, Lando grabbed Oscar by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard. He felt Oscar tense up for just a moment - just long enough for him to panic and regret the risky manoeuvre. But, milliseconds later, Oscar’s hands found their way to Lando’s waist, and he was kissing him back. The fireworks exploding across the city around them echoed the fireworks in Lando’s mind. When they finally broke apart to breathe, Lando grinned dopily at Oscar.

“Happy New Year, new teamie.” Lando said, almost into Oscar’s mouth, before kissing him again.

[poisonedfate]

54 with pretty much anyone you like and Morgana romantic or not

okay. so. here's the thing. i struggled with this one a little bit, wasn't quite sure where i wanted to go with it and somehow landed on inner turmoil rather than conflict/exchange? there's still a sort of conversation happening, but i guess it's more my interpretation of morgana's thoughts, feelings. sorry if it's not what you wanted, though i still hope you'll like it,

54. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.” (merlin and morgana/no explicit romance)

send me prompts!

The two of them had gone back and forth for a while, never quite mentioning anything out loud, though it was clear that Merlin knew what was becoming of her, as much as Morgana knew - at least partly - what was becoming of him. It was bound to come to a breaking point, so it wasn't really a surprise when Merlin followed her as she snuck through the castle, as she left, as she headed for the woods. Once they were far enough Morgana stopped, waiting only a moment before speaking: "What do you want, Merlin?" she kept her tone steady, quiet.

Merlin approached slowly, though she could not call it hesitation - caution, perhaps. "Just wanted to make sure you don't do anything stupid." She closed her eyes, something of a storm behind her eyelids with its dark clouds, furious thunder, and waves crashing against the shore. Morgana was never quite sure what to hope for - that her anger would take over completely, making her blind to those she could never deem evil on her own accord, or that the blood-red sharpness in her head would let up just a bit, allowing her the reminder of love, of what she once thought was most important, permitting her to seek out those dear to her again, hoping to make them understand. The thoughts of it never seemed to last long enough to reach a conclusion, however. Something in her would build until there was almost a tangible voice, awful close to her own, telling her that she should not be hoping for utter misery or senseless weakness. There was no use dwelling on it, and yet: "I don't expect you to understand, but I am asking you not to stand in my way," she said, careful not to let it sound like a plead. "Morgana-," "No. No, I don't want to hear it. I cannot let this continue, Merlin, I can't, why won't you see that?" she stepped closer to him, skin tingling. "And you think this is the way to do it? Do you honestly think fighting fire with fire will make things better? Like your hate isn't going to burn the same as-," Merlin stopped himself, though it was clear what he was insinuating, Morgana's eyes growing wider. It wasn't anything she hadn't considered before - her anger, the way it reminded her of flames, bright and hot and quick to spread once they started. As much as Morgana understood why it had to be this way, why her anger was so important, the idea of comparing it to fire made her sick - so she tried to think of it as water instead - a flood, a wave, drowning, pulling. And yet. "It is not the same," she snarled. There was something almost sad about the way Merlin looked at her. "Yeah? Then why do you carry such hatred for people you used to love? People who have not had a hand in the things Uther has done." Morgana could only stare back at him. "I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.” Merlin did not seem to have a response to that. She wished she could ask him if he knew what she meant. If he could understand the two sides, if he could honestly tell her which one was better. Merlin was always someone who knew more than was assumed of him, she had come to learn that. Maybe if the situation had been different. Maybe if she could bear to be honest for a little while longer, she could ask - is it better to live with the hurt or to not feel anything at all?

[phiixomath]

🎉🦄

Keith clutched the present bag to his chest. He wiped a sweaty palm on his lap and shifted — unfortunately unable to get very comfortable in the car when it was full of five other people — as a knot twisted in his stomach. The bright blue gift wrap was quite distracting, though, and he glanced down at it, worrying at his bottom lip and smoothing down his suit jacket. 

Lance had insisted his ten-year-old niece would love anything since she frequently jumped from interest to interest, but Keith really wanted to get her something special. Something she’d cherish. He wracked his brain for days then, miraculously, managed to overhear from Lance's mother that she had recently gotten into art and was saving up to buy paintbrushes. 

Now, this Keith knew. 

He’d been painting for years, had gone through the painstaking, bank-breaking process of graduating from whatever he could scrounge to, eventually, professional-grade materials. Lance’s niece was young so he didn’t want to overwhelm her, but he went ahead and purchased a nice assortment of painting tools and wrote a small guide on his best tips to getting started to go with it.

He’d felt confident, but as they neared Lance’s house he couldn’t help the nagging doubt that he’d bought something left something out or it just wasn’t what she would want any more. 

He took a deep breath and settled back against the seat as much as he could. Hunk sat next to him and smiled reassuringly, bringing his arm around the headrest so Keith could lean back fully. Keith returned the smile and took another grounding breath. 

Just then — the clip-clop of hooves against the asphalt. 

What?

Everyone in the car sat up, leaned, or manoeuvred in some way to look out the window, see Lance absolutely speed past them on a pristine white horse clad in a long cape and unicorn horn. 

“Huh — Lance?” Hunk called, the first to gain the ability to speak while Keith was sure his jaw was grazing his lap. Shiro slowed the car and Hunk called out again. “Lance!” 

Through the rear view mirror, Keith saw Lance's form come to a stop. He was more quite far, but Keith could make out the horse’s hind legs raise before lowering and swiftly turning to make their way over to the car. The clip-clopping grew closer until Lance was just a few feet away and dismounted. He walking up to their car with an easy smile. 

“Hey, guys!” Lance stuck his head through Keith's window and Keith immediately flattened against his seat, heart beating embarrassingly fast. “Hey, Keith.” 

“Hey.”

“Looking good, man.” What. Oh, right, he was wearing a suit. (Lance’s niece wanted to host a themed party and went for fairy tales, which made the unicorn horn make sense. Albeit interesting and creative, the theme left him stumped but he ultimately settled on a typical suit and hoped it would pass as a prince or something).

“Thanks,” Keith replied, feeling his face heat. Lance grinned. 

“What are you doing out here?” Pidge asked, but not before casting Keith a knowing look. Keith ignored it in favour of hearing Lance explain. 

“There was a mix-up with the bakery, so I’m just gonna go pick something else up real quick.”

“With…”

Lance tilted his head in confusion then brightened. “Oh! This is Macy!” He tugged gently on the horse’s reins until her face appeared alongside his outside the window. She whinnied, shaking her mane, and Keith startled when the rough hairs struck his nose. Lance laughed, sudden and loud, and carded a hand through her mane as he sent Keith a sympathetic grimace. 

“Sorry." Keith gave him a look but the edge of his mouth still quirked up. "Really, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith said, unable to hold back a smile when he reached out to stroke Macy’s muzzle. She leaned into him and Lance softened. 

“Aw, she’s happy to see you," He cooed. 

Keith feigned a scowl at the change in his voice and Lance feigned a pout. He broke character and chuckled, when his eye caught on the bag in Keith’s hands. 

“Is that —"

“— Uh.”

“Oh my God, Keith! That’s — that’s amazing! Holy shit." He gasped, eyes searching what contents of the bag he could. "This is exactly the type of stuff she’s looking for!” 

Keith breathed a sigh, half at the lost surprise and half in relief. “I’m glad. I really hope she’ll like it.”

“She’ll love it, are you joking?” Lance pulled on Macy’s reins again as he backed up from the car. “When we open presents before cake, you’ll see. She’s gonna love you.” He punctuated each word and held Keith's eye before turning to smile at everyone. “I’ll see you guys at the party!” Everyone voiced a similar sentiment and he smiled.

Keith turned his face as far as he could out the window, half to see Lance easily pull himself up on Macy and half to hide his smile from the others. 

[kingsofeverything]

…

[the-ellia-west]

HOW TO WRITE ROMANTIC ATTRACTION FOR DUMMIES

For anyone who wants to learn, (especially aro/ACE, aspec, ect.)

Requested by the lovely @darkandstormydolls

Alrighty! Welcome back or welcome to my blog! I'm dipping my toes back into the category of posts that gained me my exposure!

So if you're here, you want to know how to write romantic attraction/romance!

Strap in and let's begin!

(Pls spread this to people you think would benefit from seeing it, or anyone who requested it bc I forgot, ANY ASPECS)

Step one -

Your characters must admire one another at the beginning, Romantic feelings usually do not present themselves as obvious until you really think them through, meaning your characters may not notice they have a crush until it's too late

These are general statistics and light stereotypes. So feel free to not use this tip:

Male characters usually tend to notice physical things first, like body shape, hair, skin, clothing, the way their lover moves, ect

And Female Characters Generally tend to notice more small things and personality-based traits first, like their lover's humor, speaking mannerisms, shifts in expression, ways they fidget, emotion in their voice, ect.

And someone who is in love will generally show more interest in this particular person's movements, actions, words, and anything in general.

Step 2 -

The character will show more interest in sharing their love language with their lover/crush

Physical touch - People with physical touch love languages may want to hold hands, cuddle, hug, or just lean on their crush whenever they are close to them moreso than they want to with others

Gift giving - Gift givers will want to get more gifts more often for their crush, probably thinking of them whenever they see little trinkets or wanting to get them big gifts for special occasions or signs of appreciation

Acts of Service - Acts of service people will offer to do extra favors and a bunch of extra stuff they don't have to do twice as much as normal

Words of Affirmation - Flattery, they will generally flood their crush with kind words and compliments

Quality time - Quality time people will want to spend time with their crush at almost every turn, and when they want company, will turn to their crush first

Step 3 -

After a while, these urges while become very prominent and more noticeable to the person having them

They may find themselves fantasizing about their crush or having them show up in their thoughts more and more, feeling nicer and happier when they're around, or when they're thinking about them

Smiling when they think about them, cutsey little fluff thingies like that

A crush is essentially: I want to date that, I want to be near that always, I want to marry that, I want that to snuggle me (or other love languages)

Or in simpler terms: if that asked me out, I would say yes (or at least want to say yes if your character is in denial)

Step 4 -

The character's urges to be close to this person grows strong enough that they do smth about it, whether prompted by another character. Or they just don't know I how to not anymore (like when you wanna eat candy and you don't want to, but you do anyway bc I JUST NEED THE CHOCOLATE OKAY?)

(Or for Aro/Ace, garlic bread)

People who are in love are generally very prone to be all dreamy and poetic and VERY EXTREMELY BIASED towards their crush

Then Yada Yada they kiss & shit

You're welcome, BYEEEEEEEE 👋

Happy writing!

Love you! Thanks for reading, And Ghost Tumblr Mother says go drink some water and have a snack, you've earned it, and you are beautiful <333

Have a good day! :]

@blue-kyber @thisisntrocket @cosmolumine @i-do-anything-but-write @paeliae-occasionally

@supercimi @the-letterbox-archives @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @artsandstoriesandstuff

@corinneglass @wyked-ao3 @urnumber1star

[creativepromptsforwriting]

I would love some dialogue prompts of shy compliments or showing of affection! Thank you for all your work it’s so inspiring

Shy Compliments

"I really appreciate you. So much."

"They're beautiful. Your eyes, I mean."

"You always know how to make everyone feel comfortable."

"I really like your laugh. It... it always makes me laugh too."

"You... you really make the world a better place just by being in it."

"It's embarrassing to say, but I watched you work and you're truly amazing at it."

"You're so talented. Just... wanted you to know."

"I admire they way you see the world."

"Not to sound weird, but... you have a great fashion sense."

"I try not to make this awkward, but you should know how wonderful you are."

More: One Hundred Compliments | Grumpy Affectionate Dialogue

- Jana