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

[filiazpink]

🩷"OH PRIMUS,,,"🩷

orion pax x femme + superior! reader x d-16 warnings: suggestive language (like- once but still), darkwing being darkwing, i’m a sucker for cheesy stuff, really minor transformers one spoilers (?)

summary: orion finds himself completely enamored with one of his superiors and d-16 doesn’t really mind it, until one day, you show up at the mines.

a/n: my very first tumblr fic!! i might post this on my AO3 account as well! hope this reached your expectations considering more than 200 people voted for this prompt on my poll  =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) ill get to some of the other prompts shortly after, i just wanted to know which one would be best to start with (and to properly introduce my writing to tumblr teehee) !! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated !! ENJOY!! 💞💞💞

word count: 1139

proofread: minimal (lemme know if there's any errors!!)

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orion simply couldn't stop thinking about you.

your shiny and colorful armor, your beautiful optics, your height and strength. that voice. the power and authority you had over him. that power rivaled sentinel prime’s in his eyes. everything.

she was simply breathtaking. 

…

“earth to orionnnn, come on, rust bucket!!” pink servos waving at him frantically snapped the red and blue mech out of his trance. focusing his glance, orion watched as elita-1 gave him one of the scariest faces he’s seen yet, followed by d-16 behind her with his arms crossed, looking at his friend with a disappointed expression.

“what’s wrong with you?! you broke protocol, AGAIN!” elita pulled the miner to his feet, groaning in annoyance. orion’s dumb dopey smile quickly turned into a shocked frown and he was about to ask what he did now, but thankfully, his friend answered for him.

“orion, buddy, i know,,, i know you just wanted to save jazz from that explosion but you almost got killed doing that, man.” d-16 looked to the side, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“you can’t keep doing this, pax. ONE more stunt like this and I’LL be the one to get-”

“what happened here??” elita snapped her head towards the newcomer’s voice, expecting maybe another miner, but her angry scowl quickly faded away once she saw who it was.

it was elita’s superior. 

it was you. 

oh primus, beautiful, amazing, spectacular you. orion felt a rush of warmth cover his face as you walked in along with,,,

oh- with darkwing. of course he was there with you.

STILL- you just showed up with no prompting, and two days in advance no less?? clearly, this was important.

orion fixed his posture and tried to dust off any grime he had on him. d-16 chuckled quietly at his best friend’s excitement, before turning his attention to you.

“(y-y/n)! i thought you were coming to check on our sector in t-two days! i’m so sorry you have to see my team like this i swear it was an accident-” the poor pink bot stammered, much to darkwing’s amusement and to your confusion.

“what accident? the cave collapsing? that’s normal, elita-1. don’t worry about it. you’re telling me it was a complete accident so i will take your word for it.” hearing those words coming from you made elita feel like she was just told that sentinel finally found the matrix of leadership.

“oh, thank you, thank you,,,” orion and d-16 watched as elita continuously thanked her superior, chuckling. 

“well, that means we don’t get our butts kicked too, thank primus miss (y/n) was here.” the red and blue miner said, walking away from the scene with his pal.

“yea and now we can just finish this shift and relax-”

“d-16?” the two stopped in their tracks, slowly turning around in an almost comical way to face the much taller femme bot. 

orion’s servos trembled. he felt embarrassed, he was over here making a fool of himself with how obvious his crush on you was. literally everyone who steps foot in the mines knew about it, aside from, clearly, you. heck, even darkwing seemed to know, considering that despite his optics not being visible, he clearly was glaring at the cog-less bot.

or maybe it was just his usual routine of hating them.

d-16, however, gulped and let out the tiniest of “yes?”. ohhh boy, what now?? did she assume that the cave collapsing was his doing?? did darkwing tell her that-

“you’re at the top of your ranks here, correct?” his train of thought was interrupted by your soft voice, watching as you knelt down to his height, placing a hand on his shoulder, which shocked him a bit. orion stared at the polished hand on his best friend’s rusted shoulder with envy, his optics narrowing just a smidge.

“i already spoke to elita about this, but i also want you to hear it. i’ve heard some great things about you, and how you excel amongst your ranks. so i just wanted you to hear this.” d-16 felt frozen.

‘what is this,,, feeling? my face is burning,,’ oh indeed it was. his face flushed in a deep blue as he anxiously waited for your next words. just your soothing voice got him like this and he simply couldn’t understand why.

“,,, i need you.”

,,,

WHAT???

the first to react was darkwing, who let out a very outraged grunt of confusion, as if you just cheated on him with a MINER of all people in his face, followed by elita, the other miners and orion gasping, everyone turning their heads towards the two.

“,,,w-what?” the gray miner’s voice box barely even processed his astonished question. he felt as if his circuits were frying up by how hot he felt. 

orion’s expression showed bewilderment and a hint of betrayal. this,,, wasn’t fair?? well- he knew it wasn’t d-16 who said that to you, but he still couldn’t help but feel jealous.

he wished it could have been him.

but then finally, you realized what you just said and removed your hand from the shorter bot’s shoulder, standing up straight and bumping into darkwing’s chest armor. “oh- p-please excuse me. i- uh, i chose my words wrong.” 

the onlookers decided to stop eavesdropping, realizing it was a simple mistake on your part. that made orion sigh in relief, which didn’t go unnoticed by d-16. but his attention was quickly brought back to you.

“my apologies, i- i would never say such things- not during work hours, i’m sorry- what i meant to say, i need you- as in i need you to help keep up the good work to motivate the other miners to do the same. it helps your ranks as it helps mine if we all put our parts to make a difference. s-so, yea.” you looked around, avoiding eye contact, a small blush remaining on your face. both miners nearly swooned at such a cute expression on your face.

“i just needed to do an early check up according to sentinel, that’s all. thought i’d try and give some pep talk and you can see i have to work on that,,” you giggled before clearing your throat and staring down at the mesmerized bots.

,,,

“goodbye.” and with that being said, you quickly marched back to the main exit with a very, VERY jealous darkwing in tow. 

orion turned his gaze to his best friend, who watched you depart with a dreamy look on his face. the red and blue bot sighed and gently shook his shoulder.

“d?,,,” oh he knew. 

he recognized that stare. the same stare he gave when he saw anything megatronus prime related, that same glimmer in his optics. it was that same spark that orion had when he first saw you.

oh primus.

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🩷send me a burger !! : ko-fi💗 🩷visit my other socials !! : socials list💗 🩷writing requests rules !! : info list💗

[prentisslvr]

congrats on 100 followers. i’ve been following since your first spencer fic, checkmate. i absolutely love your writing. could i ask for a spencer reid, with prompt 4 (he’s saying it) and then 8 (with reader saying it)

WHATS MINE IS YOURS

summary; you spill something on your shirt and you borrow spencer’s

genre: fluff, mutual pining, bestfriends to lovers.

prompt; “is that my shirt?” & “stop looking at me like that.”

authors note: i’m not sure if i like this, this was a little rushed but 🤷‍♀️

you had arrived at work in a haste, two cups of freshly made coffee in your hands, one for you, the other for spencer.

which was what you did every morning, but it’d just so happened that today, emily had her intern running around completing tasks, one of them being running right into you, causing you to spill piping hot coffee all over your white top.

you would’ve screamed had it not been for the fact the intern looked like she was going to burst into tears right then and there, so with a strained smile, and a pat on her shoulder you’d made your way back to your car looking around for something to wear.

the only thing being a spencers fresh laundry you’d picked up from the laundromat for him, he woke up pretty early in the morning, but he lived a walk away from the nearest laundromat.

and since you had a car, you grabbed them for him.

he appreciated this greatly, even if it had taken you weeks to convince him to allow you to do it, you lived like five minutes away from the laundromat, he live about fifteen minutes away in a car, probably thirty minutes to walk like he did.

you just liked making things easier, penelope had once said your love language was acts of service, whatever that meant.

you walked into the bullpen in one of his button up shirts, you sigh taking a seat at your desk, the shirt was white with stripes, it wasn’t your usual attire and it drew attention, from almost everyone.

especially the man who owned it, at first, he’d just thought you changed up your style for a moment, but when he really looked, he noticed what you were wearing.

his shirt.

and, god, he was having palpitations, you were in his shirt, and you looked really good.

it was no lie to the entire team, and well, pretty much the world, that whilst you and spencer were best friends, there was something more than that between the two of you.

“is that my shirt?”

your eyes shoot up from your paperwork and you guiltily nod. “i spilt coffee and im not exactly the most prepared person in the world, i had your laundry and—”

“don’t worry about it.” he smiled cutting your little rant off. “what’s mine is yours.”

you sigh thankfully. “thanks spence, you really are a lifesaver.”

as you continued work though, spencer would not stop sending you glances, if it were someone else, you may even have seen a hint of desire in his eyes.

but it was spencer, surely he wouldn’t.

“stop looking at me like that!” you exclaimed, it’d been ten minutes and spencer wouldn’t stop staring at you, granted you’d been looking too, but still.

spencer blinks. “like what?” his ears going red, he’d been caught, but he couldn’t help it, you just looked so good in his shirt, he’d never felt so attracted to you before now.

“nothing, nevermind.” you bite your lip looking down at your work with frown and spencer smiled, he’d tell you one day.

but for now the dr would settle for his stolen glances and making sure he kept a couple spare shirts in case you ever happen to ruin one of your own once again.

[haoboutyou]

jeon wonwoo + “is there something you want to tell me?”

If there is one thing Jeon Wonwoo loves more than you—and family, and his friends—it has to be gaming. So much so that he manages to convince you to turn the spare study room into his very own little gaming nook, fully equipped with everything a gamer could possibly need to play in peace: large monitor, custom PC, a comfy gaming chair, state-of-the-art headphones—you name it, he already has it set up.

Having you hang out with him in his gaming room is nothing new too. He even added an additional chair so you can comfortably sit next to him whenever you want. It is something you really appreciate; most times, you are content just sitting in each other’s presence while occupied with something else. Too many nights were spent curled up in your chair while reading or scrolling through your phone, the sounds of Wonwoo talking with his friends over Discord, the clicks of his keyboard, and the game’s music serving as familiar white noise.

Wonwoo even develops a habit of wearing only one side of his headphones—just so he can hear if you are talking to him. Nevertheless, you still always make it a point to gently tap on his shoulder for attention, so as to not disrupt his playing.

This time, it takes only an hour since you entered the room for Wonwoo to realise you were in there with him. You gently pry the door open, tiptoeing into the room as quietly as you can. It works: Wonwoo hasn’t registered your presence. He is fully engrossed in the game that’s blown up on his screen, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he strategizes with his teammates over their call.

He only notices you when you tug on his sleeve. Almost immediately, he pushes his chair away, lifting one side of his headphones and opening his arms wide. You shoot him a grateful smile as you climb into his lap. He makes sure you are comfortable straddling him, cheek resting on his shoulder before he pushes the chair back towards the table, resuming his game while hugging you.

You have never been more thankful for Wonwoo’s large arms; they’re long enough to comfortably reach around you for the keyboard without struggle.

Wonwoo is considerate enough of his teammates to move his mic out of the way before addressing you. “Is there something you want to tell me, love?”

“Missed you. I can’t sleep.” Your voice is muffled as you speak into his hoodie.

“Really?” You nod sleepily. Chuckling, he presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’ll be a little noisy. Is that okay with you?”

You hum in acknowledgement, but Wonwoo already knows he is losing you to dreamland. “Sleep well, love.”

His teammates online try to mock him by mimicking him in high-pitched voices, but he doesn’t even care. “At least I have a girlfriend, you lonely losers.” It prompts a stifled laugh from his hold, and squeaks of retaliation through the headphones.

Yeah. That shut them up real quick.

divider by @saradika

[daisymbin]

hi! could you do fluff prompt #37 with hoshi but its yn who brings hoshi flowers AAAAAAAAAA maybe because yn knows how hard this cb has been for hoshi so they surprise him with flowers after practice ><

WHY IS THIS CUTE!!!!! thank you for requesting lovely 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist!

fluff prompt #37: "you brought me flowers? just because?"

soonyoung was getting frustrated. he had been trying to nail down the choreography for the last hour, but it wasn’t clicking. his movements were stiff, and the steps felt off. it wasn’t even about the difficulty of the routine—he was just getting too worked up over the smallest things. his temper was hot, his mind too cluttered to focus.

mingyu and seungkwan were there too, leaning against the wall and watching him with amused looks. neither of them said anything, knowing well that interrupting soonyoung when he was in this mood was a terrible idea.

just as soonyoung was about to shout in frustration, the door to the practice room opened. he watches as you stepped in, carrying a small bouquet of bright flowers, and the atmosphere immediately shifted.

soonyoung stopped mid-movement, his eyes snapping to the flowers in your hands. his irritation faded for a split second, replaced by a flash of confusion. who’s giving her flowers? he thought, his chest tightening. is it her crush?

he stared at you for a moment, his gaze slightly narrowing. “who gave those to you?” he asked, his tone a little more annoyed than usual, though he tried to mask it.

you blinked, taken aback by the question. “uh... no one,” you said softly, holding the bouquet out toward him. “i got them for you.”

for a moment, soonyoung didn’t know how to process that. “for me?” his voice was barely above a whisper as he looked at the flowers, then back to you. “why?”

his ears began to burn a little, the tips turning a shade of red that was impossible to hide. he wasn’t used to this, to being the center of your attention like this. he could feel his heart racing slightly as he tried to make sense of it. why would you get me flowers?

“just because,” you replied with a shrug, offering him a soft smile.

soonyoung stared at the flowers again, the blush creeping further across his cheeks. “you... got me flowers? just because?” his voice dropped, quieter now, a little more vulnerable. he could feel his own heart hammering in his chest.

before you could respond, mingyu, ever the troublemaker, jumped in with a grin plastered on his face. “you got soonyoung hyung flowers? what about me? what about us? we want flowers too!"

"they're just flowers, friends can give each other flowers! calm down." you answered, trying to calm your hammering heart.

seungkwan chimed in, barely able to contain his laughter. “just flowers? just because? this is a whole new level of romance,”

soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his ears turned even redder as he shot both of them a glare. “shut up,” he mumbled, his words barely audible. he was trying to keep his composure, but it was hard with mingyu and seungkwan giving him no mercy.

you, on the other hand, felt your stomach twist with nerves. you had no idea what was going on, but it sounded like they were making fun of you. was it that obvious? you thought, trying not to fidget with your hands. maybe bringing him flowers wasn’t such a good idea after all.

soonyoung, still flustered and now very much aware of how loud mingyu and seungkwan were being, took a deep breath and finally looked back at you. “thanks... really. i, uh... i appreciate it.”

you gave him a small smile, but you could feel the tension between you two. “no problem,” you said, shifting awkwardly. “well, i’ve got some errands to run. i should go.”

as you turned to leave, soonyoung’s eyes followed you, his mind racing. what am i doing? he thought. just tell her you like her already, you idiot.

mingyu and seungkwan shared a knowing look, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, they wasted no time.

“you’re such an idiot,” mingyu said, his voice dripping with teasing. “how much more obvious can it be? flowers? just because? come on.”

seungkwan snorted. “seriously, how can you not see it? she brought you flowers, you’ve gotta make a move, or she’s gonna think you’re either completely stupid & clueless or you just don't have feelings for her.”

soonyoung’s face was burning now, his fists clenching at his sides. “i know, okay? it’s not that simple.”

mingyu rolled his eyes. “it’s not that complicated, you just need to get your act together. you’re lucky she even likes you.”

soonyoung didn’t say anything more. he was too embarrassed to admit just how nervous he was about the whole thing. he didnt want to admit that something as simple as flowers got to him, but something in him clicked, and without another word, he turned and rushed for the door.

he dashed down the stairs, his mind made up in an instant.

you were just outside the building, walking down the street with your head slightly lowered. soonyoung caught sight of you and nearly tripped in his haste to catch up. “hey!” he called out, his voice breathless. “wait up!”

you stopped and turned to face him, eyes wide. “soonyoung? did i leave something behind?”

he ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. "no, uh," he took a deep breath, then blurted out the question he had been dying to ask. “do you have time tonight? for dinner? and maybe a movie?” his eyes shifted to yours, trying to read your expression.

you blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of his words. “dinner and movie? like... outside?"

he nodded quickly, his nervousness creeping back in. “yeah, like... outside.”

your eyes flicked between him and the ground, trying to process what was happening. “like... a date?”

soonyoung’s heart skipped a beat, and he nodded again, more confident now as a smile creeps onto his face, “yeah. like, a date.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: Charity Case

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stand in the changing room, staring at the mirror, at yourself. Peppermint cloys on your tongue as you consider the dainty blue sweater. It isn’t your pick. Few of the clothing are. You can barely differentiate between the weaves and colours. 

“Well?” Lloyd calls from the other side of the thin barrier between you. 

You rarely used dressing rooms. You shop at the thrift shop, find whatever looks like it will fit, and go. Not that you even do that often. You’ve been wearing the same wardrobe of used pieces for years.  

You shift and touch the little frill along the collar. It frames your neckline prettily but it’s just too much. A nice strong cableknit with sleeves you can tuck your hands into and some corduroys are much more practical. 

“Come on, toots, I’m dying. You find anything you like?” He urges. 

You face the door and slide back the lock. You step out. The walls are lined with mirrors. Behind him, behind you, beside you, everywhere. You pinch the frilly hem as you bite your lip. 

“I don’t know...” you drawl. 

“Wowza, that’s cute,” he smiles from the bench. His hands are full as he holds both your lattes over his lap. “I like the colour. Be nice with a skirt.” 

“Skirt?” You mutter, “I don’t really...” 

“I grabbed a few, why don’t you try one on?” He prompts. 

You hesitate then shrug. You turn back and see yourself reflect on the door. You only notice then that the light weave clings to the outline of your bra. You quickly hide inside and shuffle through the many hangers.  

You don’t realise how short the skirt is until you get it on. The lace lining sticks out the bottom and four little bows decorate the cream material. It’s sophisticated in a way you aren’t. You sift through and find a top you think matches. 

You steel yourself before you emerge again. Lloyd’s impatience seeps through with a clearing of his throat. You step out and clutch your hands behind you, staring past him. 

“Wow,” he breathes, “that’s nice, tootsie, we’re definitely getting that.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about the white,” you sway, “it’ll get stained.” 

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying it but don’t be so pessimistic,” he chortles. 

“Sure, you’re right,” you agree quietly. “Well, still lots to go through.” 

You shuffle back into the change room, shivering at the rush of air that floods beneath the short hem of the skirt. You continue the tedious task of going through each and every piece. You can’t focus on any of it. You’re indifferent to even the nicest garment, things that you may have coveted in a clearer state of mind. 

Lloyd carries your haul to the counter after handing off the cups. His is empty and yours is cold. You put his in the bin near the desk as he pays. You look down, embarrassed. 

“Lloyd, you don’t--” 

“Sweetie, Merry Christmas,” he interrupts and smirks at the front desk lady. “Careful with that, don’t wrinkle it.” 

He might be nice to you but there’s those moments where he’s so... demanding. You wish he’d be a bit kinder to the people doing things for him. You offer the associate a sheepish smile then hide behind the cup. You taste the cold espresso and hover. 

Lloyd gathers up the bags and leads you back into the crowded mall. You drain half the cup and give up. You subtly toss it as you pass one of the many waste bins. 

“Well, you still need some basics,” he declares and glances at you, nudging you with his elbow, “you know, under-roos.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah...” 

“There’s a Victoria’s Secret right there.” 

“Victoria--” you gulp. “That’s fine, er, no, there’s probably somewhere else.” 

“Hello,” a woman calls as Lloyd struts towards the marquee of the lingerie store. “We’re having a promotion. You can spin the wheel and get a coupon.” 

You cringe and hide behind him. He spins and gets a coupon for thirty percent off. The woman is tall and her dark red hair is perfectly waved. She’s all in black that clings to her figure prettily. 

“Come on, tootsie roll,” Lloyd ushers you inside. The boutique is far too nice for you.  

You keep your arms crossed as Lloyd browses. He is unfazed by the crotchless lace and the sleek satin. You get to a table strewn with cotton thongs and thick-banded boyshorts. 

“You get the pick of the litter,” he declares, “you need a bra? Maybe six?” 

“Lloyd,” you murmur, “I don’t know...” 

“What’s your size?” He peeks at your chest then his brows pop up and he chuckles. “Sorry, just trying to help.” 

“Um, I wear... sport bras, so...” 

“Hmm, let me find...” He turns and strides off before he can finish his thought. 

You frown and look down. You see a nice pair of coral panties but when you turn them over, you find the have a narrow back. You just want your Walmart high-rise. You sniff and step out of the way of some other shoppers. 

“There she is,” Lloyd appears out of the crush, “Toots, this is Lara, she’s going to get you fitted.” 

“Fitted?” You utter. 

“Yeah, she can help measure you for your bra size--” 

“That’s okay--” 

“It’s five minutes,” Lara insists, “in the back.” 

“We want to get you something nice,” Lloyd argues, “don’t we? Get bang for our buck.” 

You don’t have it in you to resists. It’s nice. You’ve never bothered with anything like that. Everything you have just does the job. It doesn’t matter if it really fits, just if you can get it on. And everything you have is gone. You suspect his present is more charity than holiday cheer. 

Embarrassed, you nod and try to force a smile. Lara waves you toward the dressing room and Lloyd turns to peruse the table of panties. You cringe and drag your feet across the store. 

As you’re shut in with Lara, she has you take off your shirt. You’re uncomfortable as she measures you through your sport bra. It’s almost like a medical exam. 

“He’s really nice,” she says. 

“Hm?” You sniff. 

“Your boyfriend. Gonna be a really happy holiday,” she chimes. 

“Oh, he’s not...” you drone but don’t finish. 

“Husband?” She wonders. 

You shrug. You don’t bother explaining. You just want to get out of this place. All these strangers are making you dizzy. 

[electricea]

on being 30.

my birthday is this weekend and i don't really know how much free time i'll have to spend on here, so i did want to poke on here and at least say something - thank you for another year together, whether we've just met or have known each other for ages, i genuinely appreciate being able to spend another year on this website with so many great folks, sincerely - i appreciate every dm, every image, it doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated.

i've sort of touched on before on how 2024 has been a sort of a slump for a year for me - i've always sort of battled with self doubt and self loathing and just for some reason this year, it seems to just keep coming back and i hate that i actually doubt and question myself - if there's still a place for me here and when i get in my own head like this i really isolate myself and try to just deal with it in private because i don't like being a downer so if you have noticed me not exactly being the most responsive or talkative lately, that’s why - i’m not angry with anyone, i’m not trying to be cold with anyone - going back into my shell is just what I do and how I cope, it always has been, i don't even like writing this. and to make this clear, this is a me problem - not an anyone else problem, period - this isn't a vague or to point fingers, the issue is with me.

i think what sort of prompted this was seeing a lot of people open up about their own feelings and insecurities and I get the sense that 2024 hasn’t exactly been a great year for a lot of people either and my mindset has always been so long as it's not being passive aggressive or directing the blame at others, i honestly think it's good to have an outlet to just say how you're feeling once in a while - how else will people know what you're struggling with? of course what they choose to divulge is up to them and no one has to divulge if they don't want to, we're all just here for rp and for fun but i think sort of seeing others also struggling with having a crappy year and seeming to be in similar slumps was what really prompted me to write this. i hope it's just down to 2024 being a cursed year or something, lol.

like i said, i do genuinely appreciate all of you - i think more than anything else, more than rp or writing, the people are what keeps me coming back to tumblr - getting to write with and meet so many different writers from across the world (and possibly even talk with some of them and hang out with them??) is honestly a privilege and honour and even if i may not respond right away, please just know i appreciate every interaction, every message, every person. thank you all for being a part of my tumblr experience for another year and for already getting this birthday off to a lovely start. take care of yourselves.

[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.

[bobmckenzie]

I FINISHED ALL THE LOUIS EPISODES OF TRGB

this last episode was SO FREAKING CUTE he was babysitting his nephew and was so caring and adorable and AUGGHGHGHG I MISS HIM ALREADY...

[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.