#thank you so so much for sending in that prompt this is so much fun oh my gosh

[sluttyminghao]

so, i'm not quite at 10k just yet but I do want to get a headstart on this because it's approaching quickly! i cannot believe there is almost 10,000 of you following me, reading and interacting with my work, all that fun stuff.

thank you, so so much. you honestly don't know what this means to me. anyway! now that the sappy stuff is out of the way, let's get into the celebration.

thank you also to the members of @svthub and also to @sluttywonwoo and @sluttywoozi for all being very slay and keeping me sucked into the diamond horny life ilysm

to celebrate, i'm giving you guys creative freedom to ask me anything you want! you can ask for nsfw OR sfw, but as this is a nsfw blog I will be keeping the sfw to a minimum.

here's what you can ask for:

most to least

reactions (ot13, group, solo, random mix)

drabbles (500 words or less)

send me a member x kink and ill write a drabble

send me a member x prompt of your choice and you'll get a drabble (can be nsfw or sfw)

nsfw or sfw thoughts

you can also send in as many asks as you want!

here is what I won't be doing

full fics - i do not have the time to be writing long fics right now and I'm in a terrible writers block phase right now, so any requests for fics will be deleted.

as always, pls adhere to my guidelines on what I wont write, and have fun! thanks for sticking around!

all asks will be tagged with #10k celebration if you don't wish to see the posts and want to blacklist it!

[erwinsvow]

i can see the trio dangerously driving to or from a party. they’re speeding down the empty road, the new future album blasting from the speakers of topper’s jeep. kelce is up front, and reader and rafe are in the back. reader is a bit drunk and rafe is high out of his mind and can’t control his feelings for reader so he starts getting touchy with her, maybe trying to kiss her. since you’re just starting this au out, i’m curious to know how do you think reader would react and if she did kiss him back, how would topper and kelce react?

the last line of coke was a mistake—it made him lose the last bits of his self control. it was clear that he was way too high to drive, even though it seemed like rafe always drove clear-headed or not, so you were assigned babysitting duty in the back.

top was on a rager today, even worse than his usual ones. whenever him and sarah started fighting, he got like this, currently blasting some future song at the highest volume possible, speeding through the streets of kildare. you would be a little scared, except kelce is driving while topper nurses yet another beer in the passenger seat. you're deliciously drunk, still gone from the drinks you had at the party, not a care in the world except making sure rafe doesn't keel over in the back.

you mumble along the words to the song, pretty much engraved in your memory from how often it was played. you don't know how it happens, your fingers just find rafe's hair, brushing it out of his face while he talks to top and kelce in the front, amped up and loud, acting as crazy as you've ever seen him. you giggle, continuing your motions.

topper begins some rant about his girlfriend, or rather, his ex, while rafe locks eyes with you. it's hard to keep eye contact, looking away the second rafe shuts up and focuses on you completely. you're never shy around them but this might be the closest you've gotten.

you feel rafe's hands on your exposed thighs, your tiny skirt ridden up in the seat. his touch feels good, in your drunken state you don't think there's anything wrong with it. he's just being friendly, being touchy, being rafe. he strokes the soft skin of your legs, running his hands down to your ankles, while you shift around in the back. all it would take is one look from the boys in the front to see that something's going on back here.

"rafe, listen to top he's talkin-"

"shh," rafe says, noise completely overlooked by the others, nothing audible except the thump of the bass. he takes your face into his hand, leaning in close. "shut up for a second." he kisses you, briefly, barely, lips touching together and your eyes fluttering shut, when kelce slams on the brakes. the two of you fly apart, your heart thudding for an entirely different reason now.

"what the fuck, kelce, my brakes-" top starts.

"it was a deer, you idiot. you guys okay?" he turns to look at you and rafe in the back, your face flushed and rafe's hands still on your legs.

"fine," rafe mumbles. the four of you head back to tannyhill, you crashing on rafe's bed like always while top and kelce take the guest room down the ball. the two of you are out before you can bring it up, but rafe doesn't forget about it.

in the morning, you stretch, the oversized shirt of his you'd put on for the night riding up. rafe doesn't wait another minute.

"so, about last night. in the car." he looks at you, waiting for your response.

"oh, rafe, don't apologize. it's okay. we were both pretty gone."

"m'not apologizin', i-"

"and i mean, who hasn't been there once or twice-"

"once or twice?"

"and i kissed kelce that one time, so i guess-"

"you kissed kelce?" rafe looks at you like you've committed a crime.

"what? it was new years."

"where the hell was i?"

"i don't know, probably sucking some girl's face off. i was busy making out with kelce, remember?" you laugh, getting up and looking for your clothes. rafe lays back down on the bed, deciding he's never leaving you alone with kelce ever again.

[ladycrimsonandblack]

(sorry if I have sent this to you earlier, I didn't know if it went through cuz my laptop bugged out haha. Feel free to ignore this if so-)

Idk if your still open for TCF prompts, but if soooo: Everyone in the group knows that Cale is aromantic, or at least knows he doesn't want a romantic partner. However the public doesn't know this, and assumptions and rumors begins to fly as they see Young Master Cale interact with some members of his group. (Basically Cale is in a QPR, or has something similar to that, with those of your choosing! People makes assumptions but it's eventually revealed what is really going on)

AO3

There are a lot of rumors about Commander Cale Henituse, the esteemed hero Silver Shield and the savior of both continents. Ranging from ridiculous (saying that Cale Henituse is related to the White Star and that’s why he was able to defeat him will get you laughed out of a tavern, with a few good kicks added for emphasis), to actually plausible (the current raging theory that the Commander is on his path to godhood is usually met with agreeing nods), the rumors fly from kingdom to kingdom and from continent to continent at unprecedented speed. Thanks to his many great and varied public deeds, Cale Henituse’s life is an excellent fodder for imaginations of nobles and commoners alike. 

However, the current rumor is a bit different. 

It seems that Commander Cale Henituse actually has a harem. 

It started innocuously, in a small tavern in Rain City, the patrons imbibing large quantities of alcohol and listening to even larger quantities of gossip.

“I heard he attended a ball with Princess Rosalyn, from the Breck Kingdom! Did you know that she’s building a new Magic Tower? Only someone as capable as that is worthy of the Commander!” 

“Didn’t he attend a ball with Knight Choi Han a few weeks back?” A couple of nods and a rumble of murmurs answer the question. “Did they break up?”

“No, they weren’t even together. Going to the ball at the same time doesn’t mean they’re dating.”

“You’re the one that said that the Commander is dating Princess Rosalyn!”

“They just fit! I saw them once on the street in the shopping district and they were very close! And the picture they make— ah, they look so beautiful together!”

“Well, Knight Choi Han always follows the Commander, so I guess they might be dating too!”

“Uhhh, guys,” a timid voice interrupts them as one of the gate guards raises his hand like he’s in a classroom. “Doesn’t Knight Choi Han live together with the Commander? I heard they have a villa near Harris Village.”

A thoughtful silence follows this sentence. Then a series of considering nods and whispers, as the patrons catch each other’s eyes. 

“It’s not so strange? A knight should live with his lord, right?” 

“But, uh, isn’t Choi Han from Harris Village? Did the Commander build a villa there just to have Choi Han live closer to home?”

“That seems like something the Commander would do. He’s so kind!” 

Everyone drinks to that, and then there’s shouting for a new round. 

“But doesn’t that mean that Choi Han is more than just a knight?” 

“He’s a hero too, he deserves that much,” someone refutes. 

“A whole villa where they live together? I think that’s a bit too much for any hero. The Commander didn’t need to move into Choi Han’s villa.”

This time, the murmurs lean more toward Choi Han. 

The man who first talked about Princess Rosalyn and the Commander frowns. “But Princess Rosalyn is also living together with them. Didn’t she move in during the war?”

The following moment of silence is full of consideration. 

“Does that mean he’s dating both of them?”

The room explodes. The evening ends with a bar fight so nasty that two people end up in the hospital and the rumors about what started it only grow with retelling. As does Commander Cale’s harem. 

Eventually, the rumors reach Huiss City and the ears of royal spies therein. When Tasha hears them, she bursts out laughing, doesn’t stop for good ten minutes, and then immediately goes to inform her nephew. 

“So there are rumors that my dongsaeng is dating Choi Han.” At Tasha’s nod, Alberu frowns in confusion. “There have always been rumors like that. Why is this important?”

“There are also rumors saying Young Master Cale is dating Princess Rosalyn...”

Alberu sighs. “Well, those will have more immediate political consequences, but it’s nothing we haven’t heard before.”

“... At the same time as he’s dating Choi Han,” Tasha finishes, her pearly white teeth stark against her face as she grins. 

“...What?” Alberu chokes out. 

The thought of Cale dating two people at once is so strange that Alberu needs to take a moment to recover. As if Cale would want to be in a romantic relationship with even one person!

Tasha’s grin becomes outright mean. “There are even some rumors that the two of you are having an affair.”

“He’s my younger brother!” Alberu bursts out, more indignant than he remembers himself ever being in his life. 

“And then there is Mary.”

“Surely people don’t think there is something going on between Cale and Mary?”

“Oh, they do, and there’s a lot of them.”

Alberu feels a headache oncoming. He rubs his temples and reaches into a tin can on his desk for some cookies to comfort him. “He treats her like she’s his kid.” Never mind that Mary is physically older than Cale. Cale has mentally slotted her into the same category as Raon, On, and Hong very early on, and now Mary gets an extravagant monthly allowance on Cale’s dime. 

It’s telling that nobody has actually commented on this, or thought it strange. Their whole family accepted it as just another one of Cale’s eccentricities.  

“And of course,” Tasha says, apparently not finished. “There is also Eruhaben.”

“He treats Cale as his kid!” 

“Well, it’s not like people on the street know that,” Tasha points out, very reasonably. “But they do think that Young Master Cale is dating all of you. At the same time.”

“So they think that Cale… has a harem?” Alberu tries to wrap his head around this. There is not a person less likely to have a harem than Cale Henituse. 

“Yes,” Tasha says, and smiles like this is the funniest thing she’s heard the whole year. 

“Why?” Alberu wonders, for once not being able to guess what people are thinking. Cale is just so… Cale. Alberu can’t even imagine him wanting to date someone. 

“Nephew,” Tasha gives him an arch look, and Alberu feels like he’s thirteen again, and is caught sneaking out for more practice with his sword. “You forget that not many people know Young Master Cale as well as you do. And when looking from outside, our family’s situation is a little strange.” 

Alberu tries to think about this objectively. 

“Our whole family lives together, even though most others have their own homes.”

“That is one part of it,” Tasha agrees. “It is especially strange for Princess Rosalyn, who is a royal from another kingdom, and Eruhaben-nim, who is known to be a Dragon.”

Alberu nods. “And whenever Cale goes somewhere, at least one member of our family accompanies him.”

“And the Young Master always buys everyone extravagant gifts.”

With each sentence, Alberu frowns even more. 

“This is nuts,” he says. 

Because, looking from outside perspective, it does seem like Cale has a harem. 

…

He decides not to talk to Cale. Instead, he gathers Choi Han, Rosalyn, Eruhaben and Mary for a private talk, with the children averaging nine years old dragging Cale off to shop in the city (On takes one look at Alberu’s face before suggesting the trip; she is growing up to be terrifyingly perceptive). 

When Alberu tells them the latest rumor, Eruhaben is the first to react. He sighs. “Unlucky bastard. And now he’s dragging me down with him.”

Choi Han is so red that his ears appear to be steaming. “How can they— why would anyone even think that?!”

“Because Cale provides for all of us,” Rosalyn says, laughing in delight. “And most people can’t imagine us being family. Not like this.” 

“But this is so strange! Cale’s not… he is not—”

Interested. Cale is simply not interested. 

It hadn’t taken them long to figure it out. Cale’s lack of interest in anything approaching romance or romantic relationships is so obvious to those close to him, that even the few of them that might have quietly considered it as an option chose to discard it immediately. Cale loves them, but it will never be romantic, and doesn’t have to be. They’re a family. That’s all there is to it, in the end.

Alberu smiles pleasantly, none of his previous confusion visible. “Of course, not many people know my dongsaeng well, so they would come to their own conclusions. However, I called you here today to discuss what to do next.”

“We have to stop them from saying it!” Choi Han burst out. “Cale-nim would be upset.”

“We don’t need to let Cale know,” Eruhaben points out reasonably. “He doesn’t need to worry about this too, and it’s not really a big problem.”

Alberu nods. “Eruhaben-nim is right. There is really no way to stop the rumors, but they’re not doing any real harm.”

“Why can’t we just say that none of us are involved with Young Master?” Mary asks. “Won’t people stop talking after that?”

“That won’t work,” Rosalyn shakes her head. “Denying something like this never works. It just makes it look like you have something to hide.”

“Exactly, Princess-nim is right,” Alberu agrees. “Our best official course of action would be to ignore the rumors completely. I wanted you to know about them so that you wouldn’t be surprised if you heard someone talk about it in a public setting.” Choi Han frowns at that answer, but Alberu only aims a bright smile in his direction. “Of course, if anyone approaches you privately to ask about any kind of rumors about my precious dongsaeng, feel free to respond as you wish.”

Choi Han’s answering smile appears innocent. Everyone in the room knows better than to trust it.

…

In the end, the gossip is stopped by the most unlikely person of them all. 

During the couple of weeks the rumors have been rampaging around without any checks, no one has actually been brave enough to ask for clarification from any of the people involved. Alberu, Cale and Rosalyn’s high positions stop everyone from commenting on it in their hearing, even obliquely, and Eruhaben… Well. Eruhaben is a Dragon. No one dares. 

There are a couple of people who try to broach the subject with Choi Han, thinking that the famously noble knight would not take offense. Those people end up in infirmary after Choi Han, somehow, convinces them to spar against him. 

That leaves only Mary. 

The thing about Mary is that she has a very clear, very even voice. So when she says, “I am not dating Young Master Cale-nim,” in a very crowded ballroom filled with Roan nobility, her voice carries despite the fact that she is not any louder than usual.

The nearby conversations immediately taper off as everyone strains their ears to listen. 

“Oh?” asks the madam that had had enough courage to approach Mary in her little corner. “Does someone else have the luck to be the recipient the Commander’s affection?”

“Of course not,” Mary answers, apparently not noticing that she has the attention of half the crowd. “Young Master-nim is very busy. He does not have any time nor inclination for romantic attachments.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement. The madam lifts a hand to her mouth, looking stricken. “Of course, I completely forgot.” Eyes misting over, she says, “It’s admirable that the Commander is willing to deny himself so much just to keep our kingdom safe.”

Mary nods. “Cale-nim is very dedicated to his goal.”

Everyone feels very moved, but also very curious about the Commander’s goal. They haven’t heard anything about that, beyond Cale Henituse’s well-known wish to keep everyone in the kingdom safe and happy. 

“His goal?” the madam asks, curiosity rising. 

“Yes,” Mary confirms. “It will be very difficult and very hard to accomplish, but Cale-nim will surely succeed.”

“Of course he will!” the madam exclaims. “Who would ever doubt the Commander?”

Nevertheless, people are very eager to talk about his goal. 

Very difficult and hard to accomplish? Perhaps it has something to do with his latest battles? The Commander had informed the public that he has been battling the organization behind the White Star’s power in other worlds. That is surely a feat that would bring him divine attention, and he has been seen visiting the Temple of the God of Death. 

Perhaps… perhaps those rumors about Cale Henituse ascending to the path of legend and godhood are not so far off. Everyone has heard about them, and some even believed them, but this is the first time someone from the Commander’s inner circle confirmed that there is a bigger personal goal for him in all this. 

The next day, there is some new gossip going around the taverns of Huiss City. This time, there are no bar fights, or even small brawls. 

Everyone agrees that Cale Henituse is deserving of godhood anyway. Why would they fight about it?

[charmwasjess]

you know what this is about. so, without further ado: i'll let u pick between

Jocasta + tikken (tooka kitten)

and

Rael + shrimp cocktail

RAEL + SHRIMP COCKTAIL IT IS

Furthering my beloved "Dooku wouldn't know SHIT about fancy rich people stuff in his Jedi era" agenda. I got the idea for this because I literally watched a friend do the thing at the end.

*

“Finally.” The two Jedi crash into the backseat of the airtaxi, tangling as a pair of very long legs and two shorter, albeit slightly more intoxicated ones try to find room in the tight space. The droid driver acknowledges their Temple destination coordinates, and, with a lurch and swoop, they join the Coruscanti traffic and leave the heat and noise of the event behind them. 

“What an utter, unconscionable disaster,” Dooku, usually the architect of such disasters on missions, announces before Rael can even put his standard distracting-him protocols in place. “A complete farce.” 

“Aw, Master, it wasn’t so bad…” 

Rael’s both lying and stalling, of course, trying to figure out which point of failure Dooku is even so upset about. If it’s related to Rael’s own misbehavior, or some social misstep of Dooku’s, or both. 

“Really?” Dooku’s voice rises incredulously. He’s going wide: his internal targets expanding beyond the particulars into the concept itself, his exhaustion warring with his need to deliver a scathing monologue about the very existence of such fancy political events. “An egregious waste of taxpayer resources with no purpose but pageantry, overindulgence in liquor and ego in equal measures. And both tedious and invasive! For a Jedi of my position? The delegation from Mandriss clearly felt they were entitled to my entire life story.”

“Hmm.”

“And,” Dooku’s tone is aghast now, detailing the worst of the worst, “why do they even have that fork?” 

Rael’s been doing the dutifully-listening Padawan bit, since it seems Dooku is just upset in general, not mad at him specifically, but the fork thing makes him snort. Too bad he wasn’t there to see whatever Dooku did with the fork. 

“And you?” Dooku rounds on him. “Where were you? You left me trapped with that governor!” 

Whoops. Distraction protocol. “I thought the whole thing was that you needed to talk to the governor. Fact-finding stuff. I was giving you space to work your magic!” 

“Talk to him? Yes. I needed a single piece of information from him. But our good governor would simply not…” shut up is the sentiment that flashes like heat lightning behind Dooku’s clouded presence, but of course, his dear Master would never say such a thing, so he simply groans into his hands and continues his internal combustion. 

It’s a little funny, or would be, if Rael didn’t actually feel bad for Dooku. Tall and elegant with a holostar’s velvet voice and a legitimate family connection to royal governance on Serenno, his Master makes an obvious choice to represent the Order at the occasional high-end political function. Except Rael knows Dooku’s heart is made for the battlefield, not the banquet hall. He actually loves that about him.

“I feel wretched,” Dooku admits, massaging his temples. His righteous outrage seems to be collapsing into ennui. 

Odd. When they first started together as Master and Padawan, Rael thought Dooku was a complete stoic: an unfeeling mountain. Once you got to know him though, it was actually amazing how much bitching the man was capable of. Maybe it was that Dooku treated Rael differently now than he had when he was a little kid. There weren’t actually so many years between eighteen and twenty-nine. 

“Yeah, yeah, you feel bad ‘cause you didn’t eat hardly anything.” Rael doesn’t have to guess: Dooku has that exact flavor of cranky that has the aftertaste of emptiness and unacknowledged need that always just made everything worse.

Dooku glowers at him. 

Rael slings an arm around his shoulders, affection –or possibly the several atomic sting shots he’d taken with the bridesmaids - bubbling up in his chest. Hell, he loves this old man.

“Here,” Consoling now, Rael fishes into his robe pocket. “Want some shrimp?” 

“Shrimp?”

He holds out the upsettingly pink offering for Dooku. Five nice, plump cocktail shrimp. Only a little warm from his body heat. Better that way, really. 

Dooku is quiet. 

“Got the cocktail sauce in the other pocket.” 

Rael can’t decide if it is awe or horror dawning in his Master’s eyes. Hell, maybe it’s both. 

“They weren’t… even serving shrimp?” That deep, polished voice of Dooku’s is oddly faint. 

Yeah. Maybe not at the event Dooku was at. Now, at the wedding party taking place on the event space’s lower level, on the other hand… Rael fixes on his widest, most appealing grin. 

A Master may keep a few private secrets, Dooku is sometimes fond of saying, usually about something totally obvious to Rael, like the source of the occasional mark on his collarbone, the one that's always the exact same size and shape as Sifo-Dyas’s mouth. 

Well, Rael figures, a Padawan can keep some too. 

Dooku glances between his open palm and his smile, calculations happening behind his eyes. 

It doesn’t matter. Rael already knows he’s going to eat the shrimp.

[incesthemes]

happy wincest wednesday!! i'm curious about what you think might happen to sam and dean's relationship in a world where they never find john in season one (eg. azazel kidnaps him to take him off the chessboard, he dies on an obscure hunt without lining up the clues well enough for s&d to follow him, etcetera). where would that major lingering question leave them? in terms of wincest, do you think john's death was necessary to "allow" them to act on their codependency, or would his absence push them together regardless?

OK please excuse any typos, i AM writing this with a cast on. anyway HAPPY WINCEST WEDNESDAY!!!!! this is such an awesome prompt, you've definitely got me thinking.

based on my understanding of seasons 1-2, john actually serves more to drive sam and dean apart than being them together, mostly in the way he serves as a symbol for sam and dean's fates, which are diametrically opposed. by pursuing john, they are pursuing the fates given to them, and those fates dictate a retelling of cain and abel: dean is supposed to kill sam, who has become a monster. it's only when they abandon john that they can avoid their destinies—which is why, in season 2, dean is successful at avoiding his fate (for the most part, starting from 2.09), but sam is not. sam, rather, is following a path he believes john would have wanted for him by continuing to hunt (he completely made this up in his head which is still so funny to me), but in reality pursuing the hunt continues to push him down the road azazel wanted for him. and this is why, during their "honeymoon" phase circa 2.10 to 2.17 (and ambiguously continued into 2.20), sam is the one driving most of the conflict, while dean takes an emotional, supportive role to reassure sam that he doesn't have to succumb to fate. dean has, in these episodes, fully abandoned his fate, while sam still clings to it and introduces doubt into dean's mind through his own self-assured convictions. and this is paralleled by dean fully abandoning his father and the duty john saddled him with, and by sam wanting to honor his father by continuing to hunt down azazel (and hunt in general).

and we see this in season 1 as well: every time john makes an appearance in some way, it furthers the plot. and the plot is sam's fate (dean's fate isn't truly introduced until season 2, and so dean exists sort of ambiguously and as a result lacks narrative agency throughout season 1; his decisions make no impact on the story and sam alone drives the plot forward). john is a symbol for azazel, functionally speaking, and azazel is a symbol for sam's fate. john is azazel is destiny. thus why sam and john are so deeply paralleled and intertwined: they all come to reflect the same thing. in this way dean is the true outsider to the conflict pertinent to the story, and he's treated as such throughout the first season. he makes his mark instead by parroting john, by becoming his mouthpiece in his absence. his own individuality is constantly pushed to the side and suppressed until 1.18 allows him to finally move forward into some semblance of personhood, which is what he needs in order to finally defy john in 1.20.

i just realized this is a lot of context and not an actual answer lmao but basically all of this to say, i don't actually think john's death was necessary for their codependency. it took root in them around 1.11, long before they actually "found" john in 1.16. and it was 1.18, an episode which had little to do with john directly, which allowed dean to break out of the mold he had forced himself into. the act of choosing each other, specifically over john (who represents fate), is what allows them to achieve codependency. the moment where they choose to exist in a codependent relationship indeed is one where john is still alive, in the season 1 finale. sam chooses dean over john, in doing so abandoning his fate, and they solidify their deeper connection. it is in fact john's death which causes sam to falter in this conviction because of his desire to honor john's memory (again by just making shit up in his head about his father. i love him), and this decision has massive ramifications throughout the rest of the season.

if, instead, they simply lost john and never found him, i think a lot of the john-generated conflict would have been avoided. and john generates a lot of conflict for someone who shows up in just a handful of episodes, because he is a symbol of destiny for both of his children, pressuring them in equal amounts but in completely different ways. without that pressure looming over their heads, i think pretty much all of the conflict in season 2 could have been avoided: sam wouldn't feel the need to keep hunting azazel despite throwing away his fate and likely wouldn't be so resistant to dean's persuasions; dean wouldn't be torn between duty to his father and duty to his brother; john's memory wouldn't have caused the problems it did in the first half of the season (especially 2.02-2.04). assuming the rest of season 1 played out roughly the same even with john's absence, it would stand to reason that they would still choose their codependency, and they would settle into some kind of fucked-up domestic bliss—probably continuing to hunt small-scale until azazel inevitably forced their hand anyway (tenacious bastard). sam giving up on his revenge quest would settle most of the enduring conflicts in season 2, and sam only doesn't do that because of john's death.

of course, this makes the assumption that abandoning john is still their active choice. i think that's a reasonable assumption to make because they had begun the process of extricating themselves from their father way, way before john ever shows up or before the end of the season where they achieve codependency. for dean this looks like rebellion, defiance against the iron grip john has around him. and for sam this looks like forgiveness, which he steadily accomplishes across season 1. by 1.20 they no longer define themselves by john but by each other, and it's a mere two episodes before they make the final plunge into each other. it has little to do with john and much more to do with themselves and their interactions, their natural conflict and their unique resolutions. giving up on finding dad seemed to already be something dean was working towards by the time john showed his face in 1.16 (he was resistant to pursuing john single-mindedly and preferred to focus on the smaller hunts, both out of deference to john and out of his own desire to save people), and sam's gradual forgiveness of john began as early as 1.08. so really it was specifically his absence that allowed them to come together, because the groundwork for their extrication began without john and it bloomed despite john. he is the axis around which they are turned, but it is the process of overcoming him which allows them to choose each other. they replace their father with their brother (and in 2.03 sam even offers to replace john very, very literally, by "filling the hole" john left behind in dean) and this replacement—literally, as their father and the man who raised them, and figuratively, as the symbol for their destinies—is the foundation of their codependency.

at the same time, this doesn't exactly look at the potential conflicts that would arise with john's absence. there would be little plot movement without him there driving them forward; they would remain stagnant, and that stagnation could disallow the blossoming of their codependency through a lack of choices and decisions. it is of course the deliberate choosing of brother over father which inevitably drives them closer—in 1.11 it's sam choosing to save dean instead of finding john; in 1.16 it's dean choosing to send john away instead of braving the world together; in 1.20 it's sam and dean both standing up to john in equal measures; in 1.21-22, it's sam choosing to let azazel escape. without john exerting pressure on them, sam and dean sit comfortably without moving, together but with a marked distance between them. which was exactly meg's plan in 1.16: they weren't moving fast enough for her liking, so she used john as bait (the three of them were mutually bait for each other, rather) to force them to make decisions.

so it's sort of a double-edged sword. they steadily come together and twist themselves around each other without john there to drive them apart, but at the same time it is john's active presence which allows them to take definitive steps toward their desired state of being (codependency). without the pressure john exerts on the narrative, their progress is slow, and they're too nervous to make those drastic leaps from step to step without some external force pitting them against each other. in that way they're a little too comfortable with each other (a lifetime together will do that for you), and they have to be unavoidably forced out of that comfort in order for them to commit to anything. john is both the driving force for their codependency and the wedge hammered between them, which sums up his narrative role so poetically if you ask me.

so like, tldr (seriously), i think if john went missing and they made the active choice to stop looking for him, they still definitely would have the potential to achieve codependency, but it might take them a much longer time to do so, especially with azazel's meddling (because he, of course, wants them to kill each other—that's their destiny after all). without something to rotate around, they risk stagnation, but it would likely be a comfortable stagnation with steady, if slow, progress toward a better, closer relationship. i wouldn't say the end product would ever be healthy though, because it's clear early on that their ideal relationship with each other is that of codependency, and so they are constantly striving for that end goal. and like, thank god for that, idk what i'd do if they were normal about each other 💦

[youssefguedira]

the color green + joenicky

N. The color green.

Joe doesn't notice him right away, too caught up in fiddling with the buttons on his shirt sleeves, which means for a few moments Nicky can just lean against the doorframe and watch him for a while. It doesn't matter that it's been nine hundred years: he's still so beautiful Nicky can't find the words for it.

He's in green because Nile's in green, and they're posing as the kind of people who would coordinate their outfits. It fits him perfectly, which Nicky had known because he'd taken the measurements for it, then he and Joe had adjusted it together, but knowing it in the abstract isn't the same as seeing how well it fits him. He's wearing black trousers and a white shirt with it, tie abandoned on the dresser.

Nicky is in a black t-shirt and black jeans, because his job is security and backup tonight. It was Joe's turn, anyway: Nicky wore the fancy suit last time.

Nicky clears his throat, just to make Joe turn around and smile at him, lighting up.

Nicky's not nearly as flowery with his words as Joe is; all he says is, “You look good.”

Joe raises an eyebrow, teasing, with just the hint of a smile. Is that the best you can do? “Oh, yeah?”

Nicky pushes off the doorframe and crosses the room towards him, picking up the tie as he goes. “Yeah,” he says. “Green suits you.”

The first time Nicolò ever saw him in something this fine was in Alexandria, after everything, because Yusuf was a merchant's son and had wanted something for himself, something that fit him properly, rather than whatever they could find when the clothes they were wearing became too bloody and full of holes to be recognisably garments anymore. He'd come back from the tailor in a deep green tunic that had caused Nicolò to forget his words in any language for a good while.

When Joe catches his eye now Nicky knows he's thinking about the exact same thing. Instead of saying anything, he loops the tie around Joe's neck and fastens the knot.

“Nile was asking for you,” Nicky says matter-of-factly, like he doesn't know exactly what the look Joe's giving him right now means. He keeps his expression neutral. “I think she wanted a second opinion. We have to leave soon, anyway.”

“Nicky,” Joe says.

“What?” Nicky asks, feigning obliviousness. He can't help laughing at the betrayed look on Joe's face.

“After,” he says. “Go do your job, habibi.”

[ratinayellowbandana]

having just come off a 10-hour bus i feel your boredom. prompts, mm, Imogen trying to explain why horses are so nice to Laudna (Gelvaan early days?) while Laudna plays with a barn cat?

thanks ever so much @xhopsalong for this lovely suggestion. sorry it took me a couple extra days to get around to it. I got out of the car and life immediately smacked in the face. I hope this is something like what you had in mind! I will take any excuse to bring up horse girl imogen

wc: 1358

~~~

Something was new to Laudna. 

Not the hardpacked dirt floor or the rusted bolts holding thick support beams in place. Those seemed quite old if she had to guess. Not the distinct scent of hay and grain and manure that was embedded in the walls of this place. Not the cobwebs delicately spun in the rafters. No, the barn itself was well-used, though rather impressively maintained for its age. 

Perhaps, then, it was the life that seemed to seep from the pores. The traces of human presence and domesticity that appeared in the saddle pads hung to dry on stall doors and the muddy boots stored beside the tack room. The unhurried shuffling of footsteps behind her. The muted thump of hooves on sawdust. The roof, newly repaired and still smelling of fresh wood.

Laudna sprawled on her back atop a bale of hay, limbs hanging limply off the ends. The straw stuck to her clothing, sharp and scratchy where the fabric was thinnest. Her long hair trailed on the ground, but she hardly minded. She kicked her feet idly, relishing the mild strain against the back of her knees and the swish of her skirt against her ankles. The world was pleasantly fuzzy, everything seen just a bit upside-down. 

Twilight had just begun to fall, slanted beams of sunlight having just disappeared below the loft window. Long shadows crept from the corners. Gentle orbs of glowing purple light held them off for the time being. The spheres of magic bobbed up and down slightly in the cooling evening air. 

The crickets had just begun their evening serenade when a horse whickered in a neighboring stall, and Laudna startled at the sudden noise. 

“He can’t get you,” Imogen teased in that light way of hers that instilled in Laudna a reverent desire to believe every word she spoke. 

Perhaps it was this, then, the new thing. A new friend. Her first in, well, she couldn’t quite recall, fuzzy as things are, but that was all right. Imogen was kind. She laughed with her belly and smiled with her whole face, and it warmed Laudna like a roaring hearth in the dead of winter. Imogen had one of those, too, in a house she shared with her father, and she let Laudna sit beside the fire and offered her tea and biscuits from a tin. She giggled at Laudna’s missteps and delighted at her stories, which was baffling. Laudna’s life wasn’t particularly interesting, but to Imogen, it seemed, half-baked tales of mushroom hunting were welcome interruptions to life in a rural town. 

Imogen ran a loving hand along the blaze of a bay mare and pressed a kiss to her snout. The horse’s eyes closed, relaxed, and she sighed contently. Laudna tilted her head, hair sweeping the floor. 

“You can say hello if you’d like,” Imogen said, “They won’t bite on purpose. Promise”

“On accident, then?”

“Only if they think your finger’s a carrot.” Imogen gave a lopsided grin. 

Laudna inspected one long, gray appendage, eyes crossing as she dangled it over her face. She squinted. “I think I must be an awfully rotten carrot.” 

Imogen laughed again in that easygoing manner that kicked Laudna’s sluggish heart into a flutter. Imogen blew a stray lock of purple hair off her nose and pouted when it resettled just above her lip. She went back to humming a quiet, jaunty tune Laudna did not recognize.

Something soft brushed against Laudna’s calf. 

A fluffy orange cat appeared around the straw bale, tail held proudly aloft. It rubbed its side along the hay, arching its back. 

Laudna froze as it approached. She eyed it warily. 

The cat, for its part, seemed entirely unbothered, but one could never be too cautious. Most of the Wildmother’s creatures steered clear of her. The domestic and prey animals, especially. Something about the scent of decay tended to attract only the scavengers and carrion birds. A morning’s overconfidence had earned her a nasty bite to the wrist and a talon to the shoulder. She made more of an effort to sleep in a shelter, however crude, after that. 

A small, wet nose investigated the inside of her wrist where it had been unceremoniously flopped. The tiny exhalations were cold against her skin, replaced by silky fur as the cat butted its head against her. Its tail trailed along her inner arm until an inquisitive, graying face met hers. Laudna sat up slowly, carefully swinging her legs around. 

“I see you’ve met Lady,” Imogen said. 

Two paws perched on the bale, chasing Laudna’s hand. Tentatively, she extended the back of one knuckle and gave two gentle strokes between the cat’s ears. It leaned into her touch, butting her hand in search of scritches. 

“She’s darling,” Laudna said, a little breathlessly. She reached out again, bolder having been met with one success, and Lady arched into the pointed tips of her fingernails. 

“He, actually,” Imogen corrected, shaking her head. Lady hopped up next to Laudna on all four paws, placing his front feet on her thigh. “The neighbor’s old cat had kittens a while back. We were told he was a girl when we adopted him. Only took our barn cat gettin’ pregnant to find out we were told wrong,” she chuckled quietly, “but the name stuck, and we love him, so. Isn’t that right?” Imogen cooed.

“He’s still darling.” Lady had taken up residency in Laudna’s lap, purring loudly. It was all rather peculiar. This warm, soft thing kneading her leg with pinprick claws. “I must admit,” she said, “I’m a little surprised.” 

Imogen made an inquisitive noise.

“Animals tend not to like me much, I’m afraid. At least the ones who don’t want to eat me,” Laudna confessed softly, determinedly looking only at the rumbling creature in her lap. 

“Lady and the horses seem to like you just fine.” Imogen paused her deft fingers where they had been working at a knot in the horse’s mane.

“I suppose so,” Laudna said, scratching one nail at the base of Lady’s ear. “I’m not entirely certain why that is.” 

“Well,” Imogen considered, “could be simple as they trust me, and I trust you. And if I trust you, they know it’s safe.” 

Laudna felt the color rise in her cheeks and redoubled her efforts to focus on her feline companion.

“Or,” Imogen continued easily, “it just might be because they know you’re a person worth likin’.” She resumed her untangling with her lower lip clasped between her teeth.

Laudna’s rhythmic petting faltered. “That’s… that’s very nice of you to say.” 

“‘M not just sayin’ it,” Imogen sounded almost affronted. “You’re one of the most likable people I’ve ever met.”

Laudna’s head swam. She looked up at Imogen. “I… We’ve only known each other a few weeks.” The corner of Imogen’s mouth curved upward into a playful smirk, and she raised her eyebrows. 

“My impressions of people are rarely wrong.” She tapped her temple, and Laudna flushed further.

Perhaps it was this, then, the new thing. Being known. Trusted. And, oh, that felt… well, felt like the weight of a creature, alive, warming her lap. Smelled like hay and grain and manure and, faintly, of ozone. It looked like straw clinging to her clothing and dancing lights and a horse lazily hanging its head over the stall door. Sounded like a rumbling purr that filled her whole chest and crickets in the evening and worn leather boots.  

Surely, that must be it. Not merely passing life, lurking at its fringes, but embracing it and having it embrace her in return. It was lovely, this new thing. Strange and foreign but familiar in the way one might recall a hazy childhood memory with forgotten fondness. Or come across an old favorite blouse packed away in a trunk. 

Laudna savored the feeling, the sensation that had made a home in her ribs, and she whispered a silent prayer that this might last. That the world might keep at bay just a little while longer. 

And as the sun sank fully below the horizon, Laudna reveled in the unexpected wonder of this newfound peace.

[bestkage]

“Don’t trust me.” for the prompt game!

prompt game!

“So, uh, Mr. Blue Spirit guy– or girl–“

Zuko represses a heavy sigh threatening to escape lungs, swallows it as he throws another glance around the dark corner.

If he had known saving the water tribe boy from the Dai Li he was tailing would result in one-sided casual small talk and unfunny quips every other minute, he would’ve left him where he’d found him like a tarnished coin stuck to a wad of chewing gum.

Alas, leaving him would’ve done more harm than good in Zuko’s kinda-sorta grand scheme of things. Even if the grand scheme was only comprised of “get dressed”, “sneak out”, and “follow”. Leaving behind the water tribe boy would spark vigilantism in the Avatar and Zuko had no doubt he’d find Zuko and his uncle in the outer city walls.

“I have two things to say and I promise I’ll shut up.” The water tribe boy says. Zuko feels a vein near his temple twitch and he doesn’t bother turning his head to look at the other boy, keeps his gaze down the alley even though the coast has been clear for a good two minutes. His silence does nothing to deter the water tribe boy. “One, thank you for getting me out of that whole thing back there. I totally could’ve taken them all myself but I…left my weapon.”

Zuko can hear the petulant disappointment in the boy’s voice and good. Why a friend of the Avatar would leave without his weapon is a great question.

“Two, do you think you could uh…maybe let go of my hand now?“

Zuko feels heat crowd to visage as he realizes that he- in fact -is still holding the boy’s hand. He drops it like it’s burning to the touch even though the only thing he can feel burning is him.

“Okay, and secret third thing-“

Zuko audibly groans this time.

“Can I just say how cool it is to be here with the Blue Spirit. I thought you were a myth and that Aang was making you up. Aang’s the Avatar, just so you know. Like, the name of the Avatar. His name is Aang. Anyway, you’re like, a legend. A hero in the night and all. Not that I’m a fan or anything but I think that’s pretty cool. Can I actually get you to sign my-“

Zuko turns to look at him this time and it freezes the boy where he was reaching into his ridiculous satchel to grab something for Zuko to supposedly sign.

They share a beat of awkward silence and Zuko can’t help the way his fingers twitch in agitation.

The boy’s cheeks darken and he holds his hand up in surrender.

“Okay, sure, I get it. Not the time.” He says and Zuko’s only slightly amused at the embarrassment in his voice. Slightly. “So uh, is the coast like, clear and all?”

Zuko peers back around the corner. It’s as clear as it was five minutes ago so he gives a small nod. As if his judgement wasn’t enough, the boy peers comically around the corner, big head and prominent ears showing themselves in a way that’s so far from discreet that Zuko’s sort of glad he’d held the boy tethered to his hand his entire time.

“Oh. Okay. Cool.” The boy says, stepping around the corner and Zuko lets himself only slightly relax. He is in the presence of an enemy after all. Even if the enemy is bashfully kicking his foot in the gravel like a freshly rescued damsel in distress getting ready to confess their love. “So I guess this is it.”

Zuko nods again and finds himself captured by some awkward force lingering in the air.

The boy is still standing there, idle only in body but eyes darting as if he still has something to say.

“One day, I’ll return the favor.”

For some reason, that shocks Zuko and now he’s the one idling awkwardly.

Zuko’s “saved” a good bit of people that either were in the way of his plans or didn’t necessarily get in the way of them either but this is the first time he’s gotten something other than gratitude from the act.

He supposes that repaying the “legendary” Blue Spirit isn’t the most formidable thing that can be done since the water tribe boy is quite literally a companion of the 112 year old Avatar.

It’s a pact. One made with the most unlikely of candidates.

And it’s honorable.

Something Zuko lacks.

So as the boy gives a final gesture of his hand in a goodbye, Zuko finds himself stuck in the dark corner of the alleyway and the only thing that crosses his mind is,

“Don’t trust me.”

Because the next time Zuko dons the Blue Spirit disguise, he can’t guarantee that he’ll be saving the boy.

He may be striking him down and watching betrayal cloud blue eyes.

[poisonedfate]

58 merthur for he prompt thing if you'd like to

hello!!! ii got a little carried away with this one, so it ended up being about 1.1k words (oops). you can read it on ao3 or under the cut.

prompt: “I’d die for you. Of course, I’d haunt you in the afterlife but really, it’s the thought that counts.”

send me prompts!

The ache in his shoulder was still there, as was Arthur's unreadable, if not slightly concerning looks. There were only fading scratches now visible on his arm, so really, the ache was nothing to worry about, but that only gave him more time to wonder about Arthur's looks. 

Merlin would often ignore them, the looks directed only at him - he either did not want to know, did not want to answer the questions that followed, or Arthur would tell him anyway - no point in losing sleep over it. But the looks did not seem to lessen, if anything it was the opposite, and the other had made no clear attempts at making his thoughts known. Arthur's eyes followed him around, weighing on him until he had finally had enough:

"Those worry lines are going to be permanently etched into your skin if you keep looking at me like that," he spoke, turning around quickly, now facing Arthur who was sitting at the table, staring. 

"I think I'll be fine," Arthur quickly muttered in response, scoffing and looking away. 

If anyone were to ask, Merlin would absolutely blame Arthur in every way possible for making him believe he could move quicker than necessary, just to escape the prince's gaze, resulting in a sharp breath and a moment of halted movement. And, really, it should've been fine but Arthur was being obnoxious, so of course he noticed. 

"Alright, Merlin, I've had enough," the prince said, voice already closer behind him than Merlin had expected. Was he actually about to blame Merlin for getting hurt? He better not. Merlin gave an unimpressed look in response.

"You know I'd actually prefer it if you could be in one piece whilst doing your job."

"I am in one piece!" he immediately retorted, only for Arthur to poke him in the shoulder. Not strongly enough to hurt him, just enough to make his point.

"Please, I know you can be dramatic sometimes, but this a new low even for you," Merlin continued, earning a glare from Arthur, "this is nothing."

"Why hasn't it healed yet?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually have all the answers," another glare from Arthur. The prince stayed quiet for a moment, staring at his shoulder like there was something interesting there - not that Merlin would know, he was pretty sure it was just a shoulder. 

"You need to stop doing that," Arthur spoke again, a seriousness lacing his tone now.

"Doing what?" Merlin tilted his head, brows furrowed. 

"Putting yourself in harm's way on my accord."

"I'm quite certain it was the sword that came at me not the other way around. Besides, you were the one who had to help me get out of that one, maybe you should think about your own tendencies of jumping into danger," he smiled.

"I'm a knight!" Arthur's eyes widened like they usually did when Merlin said something to offend him.

"Ah, well that explains it," he replied, trying to lighten the mood, though it did not seem to work, so he continued, "Arthur, you know I’d die for you. Of course, I’d haunt you in the afterlife, but really, it’s the thought that counts. You're not getting rid of me that easily." 

"I don't need-"

"Oh, will you get over yourself? You might have the power to make me shine your armour and make your bed, but you don't get to tell me who to live or die for," he sighed, tone slightly mocking. 

It might've, however, backfired on him slightly, a glint appearing in Arthur's eyes, something he has come to recognise as an idea on the prince's part. 

"So,-"

"You give me a job and I'll follow you anyway," Merlin interrupted, unimpressed. Arthur raised an eyebrow at that, though they both knew it was true, even without Merlin saying it. 

"Just tell me I'm really brave and let's move on from this, hm?" he had decided to go the full-mockery route since the frown on the other's face was only barely beginning to fade. 

Arthur sighed, a gentleness creeping into his features, as he reached for Merlin's arm, the one that didn't hurt, dragging the palm of his hand across it, stopping once he reached Merlin's own hand, lingering, hooking his pointer finger with Merlin's for only a second before letting go. 

He could only stare at the other, not sure how to respond. It wasn't unusual for Arthur to seek out soft touches, especially when there was something bothering him, but that didn't mean Merlin had figured out how to react. Usually, when the other made the first move, he would just go with whatever Arthur wanted, though that typically meant waiting around to see how he would continue. 

More often than not, he'd stay there for a while, close to Merlin, quiet, changing the topic once the thoughts in his head had stopped running, turning away from him. Arthur hadn't made any attempts to move now, however, and Merlin didn't like it. He didn't like that he couldn't read Arthur, that he was doing something Merlin couldn't predict. 

"Arthur," he kept his voice low, careful.

The prince lifted his eyes, taking a step towards him and placing his hands on either side of Merlin's jaw, leaning in closer. 

"Just be careful, will you? Otherwise, I won't be around for you to haunt, having to stress over you would've sent me to my doom already," his tone was earnest, a hint of annoyance somewhere in there too. 

"I will only try to die for you when strictly necessary, you have my word," he put his hand on one of Arthur's arms, giving it a barely-there squeeze, smiling. 

The prince rolled his eyes, moving the arm Merlin wasn't holding away so he could point at him. 

"Merlin,"

"Yeah, yeah," he grabbed at Arthur's hand, lowering it, "your wish is my command."

"Merlin."

It was his turn to lean in now, though at this point they were only a couple of breaths away from each other, so there was not a lot of room left for dramatics. 

"Yes, sire, when the time comes I will let you die, otherwise they'll throw me in the dungeons for trying to protect you and...killing you anyways?" he mocked, causing Arthur to grab at him, holding him by the arm, pulling. 

They were dangerously close to each other now, completely still. Merlin could hear the exact moments of Arthur's inhales and exhales, his breath heavy, could see the other's eyes lower to his lips and then up again. 

And, well, at least Arthur had finally figured out a way to stop Merlin from talking back. 

[mad-hunts]

louise throws a deadly snowball at barton! (unprompt)

barton should've known to trust his instincts - and at that moment, they were screaming at him that someone was watching him. 'but i'm literally in the middle of nowhere, so who would be watching me?' is what his mind wanted him to believe. and that ended up biting him right in the arse because other supervillains didn't exactly abide by his own logic at times; the faint sound of a twig snapping underneath someone's feet apparently being the difference between barton being alive versus dead.

for all extents and purposes, something like a snowball being thrown at you was usually nothing to worry about. but barton could see the faint silhouette of someone who he was pretty sure disliked him and whom also happened to have ice powers. therefore, ducking underneath the snowball that one killer frost threw at him wasn't as unreasonable as one might think it was. that snowball could've had icy spikes inside of it for all barton knew! an incredulous chuckle left the doctor as he watched it sail into the snowy ground beneath him.

oh, this was now officially war. shaking his head was all barton could think to do as he crouched down to hurriedly gather a wad of snow into his hands. ahh, if barton even wanted to have the slightest chance of measuring up to killer frost's probable altered snowball, he would need to craft a really big snowball. that is... before tossing it right at her face. screw manners, which is something that barton never had much of, anyway. ❝ ahh... i know you did not just try to throw a snowball you likely turned into a death machine towards me, louise! i'm going to make you regret that. ❞

he charged towards her as he rose his hand to prepare to throw the small boulder of a snowball he made towards louise, ❝ come here, you jerk! someone's got to teach you that your actions have consequences. ❞

[baronessblixen]

sorry for reporting back so late but I LOVED the bowling fic (it was my prompt) it was so sweet thank you so much !!!

Glad you saw it! And liked it 😁 thank you for reporting back, anon.

[theangrypomeranian]

boblin + 7 🥺

coming right at you <3 "Lin." "Yeeeeeessssss?" Bob sighed and rubbed at his temples before holding a hand out. "Lin, come on. I need my shirt." Linda huffed and held the shirt tighter to her chest, sticking her tongue out at him. "Go get another one!" "But that's my work shirt," he protested, taking a step towards his wife. "That's the one I always wear to work." "You have dozens of other shirts!" Linda protested, gesturing towards their closet as she took a step back. "Wear one of them!" "But I want that shirt," Bob whined, blushing when he realized how much he sounded like one of their kids. Still, it was his shirt and he didn't understand why she wouldn't just give it to him. "Bobby, please." She gave him her best puppy eyes, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. "It's my one day off and I wanna wear this shirt. It smells like you. Please?" Damn it, how could he say no when she put it like that? Plus it was always hard to tell her no when she looked at him like that. Some would have called him whipped, but he'd rather be uncomfortable in a different shirt for just one day than make her sad. But of course he couldn't let her know that, so he let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Fiiiiiiine. Just this once." The corners of his lips threatened to betray him, though, as they desperately wanted to twitch up. The elated look on her face made up for it all, as did the way he got to see a flash of her boobs when she pulled the shirt she was wearing off and tugged his shirt over her head. What could he say, he'd never been good at resisting her.

[elizabeth-mitchells]

hii 10 & 44 for adult lottienat if you want to? sorry for being predictable skjfsdf

10. …desperately & 44. …out of lust. - what a great combo! i accidentally made it a little too funny instead of sexy hgsjfdhgjf but i hope you like it!! Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

On one hand, Lottie and Nat were happy to have their friends join them at the compound and see them actually start to get a little better like Natalie did. On the other hand, if they didn’t find a moment of privacy to just be with each other, they would consider kicking absolutely everyone out.

Well, Natalie was seriously tempted to kick everyone out. Lottie seemed perfectly happy to introduce Taissa to the baby goats, try and fail to teach Shauna to just lightly hit the drums at the sharing shack, keep guard on the door so Van wouldn’t sneak drinks into the meditation tank or sneak herself out of the room, and chase Misty around so she wouldn’t tell anyone too many details about Lottie’s life. 

They tried to make it work. Natalie pinned Lottie to the wall behind the brand, but just as their lips were about to meet, a different mouth joined the equation, a little goat was biting on Natalie’s clothes. 

“You little shit!” Natalie snapped, and the goat was only barely saved from a kick by Lottie holding Natalie back. Taissa showed up a second later, mildly apologetic and very concerned about if she was supposed to actually hold the goat.

Next, just when Natalie managed to pull Lottie out of the sharing shack, just when they finally had their hands on each other, they heard a loud crash from inside the little room behind them, followed by Shauna’s voice, “Uh, Lottie? One of the little drums just… It kind of broke?” Natalie begrudgingly let Lottie go. She wasn’t allowed to go in after she threatened both Shauna and “every little hippie music instrument in there.”

In the afternoon, they didn’t have better luck with the mediation tank, since Van kept talking half the time and telling them, “You better not be making out while I’m locked in here!” And, by the time Lottie convinced Misty to just stop talking about their private lives with the other residents, Natalie had given up and walked away, frustrated beyond words.

She was almost by Lottie’s cabin, ready to hide for the rest of the day, worrying about being in a terrible mood by the time Lottie finally went to bed at the end of the day. But then she heard footsteps coming behind her. With how much she’d had to deal with other people’s problems that day, Natalie refused to turn around. This only worked in favor of making the surprise even sweeter when Lottie reached her, grabbed her waist, spun her around, and crashed her lips against Natalie. 

The kiss took away Natalie’s breath. All her frustration vanished under the confirmation that Lottie had been, clearly, just as desperate to get her hands on Natalie. For the first time since Natalie arrived at the compound, Lottie was careless about onlookers, reputation, and image. The only thing on her mind was kissing Natalie like there was no tomorrow, and Natalie was perfectly happy to reciprocate with twice as much hunger.

When they finally separated, Natalie asked, “Can we please just go to bed already?”

Lottie’s apologetic smile was the answer that Natalie dreaded.

“That was just a small taste to keep you going, darling,” Lottie replied, and added a playful smile to soften the blow, “Lisa needs help with the bees, but I will see you as soon as possible, alright?”

Natalie narrowed her eyes at her in a glare that would have scared anyone less brave, but only made Lottie smile brighter and steal one more kiss.

[supersapphical]

sooo i'm not sure who first posted about claire x patience but honestly it's been rattling around in my mind ever since so a lil drabble about them would be amazing!! <3

YESSSSS Claire x Patience, let's do it!

This is a liiiiiiitle bit longer than a lil drabble because apparently I have no self control when it comes to rarepairs but please enjoy established relationship Claire/Patience on a hunt (also Missouri is alive and well).

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

“You ready for this?” Claire asks.

Claire’s hand grips Patience’s hand tightly as Patience nods resolutely. Claire’s other hand carries a duffle bag full of supplies.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Claire leads her in through the backdoor of the house, which had clearly been broken into before. Patience raises an eyebrow.

“What? It’s an abandoned, haunted house,” Claire shrugs. “Who's gonna care if I break a few locks?”

The air inside the house is noticeably chillier than outside but, other than that, it seems like any other building that’s fallen into disuse. Dust covering the surfaces, a bit of a stuffy smell, nothing that overtly indicates a haunting. And yet, as soon as Patience steps inside, she can sense the spirit’s presence. It’s nothing she can feel, hear, smell, taste or touch. It’s simply sure knowledge that invades her brain, sending shivers down her spine for no good reason.

Claire must notice the change in her demeanor because she asks, “Your extra senses already picking something up?”

“Yeah, you’re right, there’s definitely a ghost in here,” Patience says.

“You ready to get to work?”

Patience nods. Claire gives a final squeeze to her hand before letting go so she can get to work setting up a salt circle around Patience.

“Most ghosts don’t tend to be active during the day but just in case,” she says as she dumps salt around her.

“What do you want me to look for, specifically?” Patience asks.

“Anything you can pick up on that might help me see what’s keeping the ghost here.”

“You already torched the remains?”

“Cremated,” Claire grunts as she heaves the last of the salt onto the floor.

“All set?” Patience asks.

Claire pulls two iron crow bars from her bag and hands one to Patience, “As set as we can be.”

Patience takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She grips the crow bar more as a grounding technique than with any real intention of actually using it. She knew some basic self defense even before taking up the life of a hunter and she’s been taking more in depth hand-to-hand combat lessons with Jody but a deep psychic reading will require all of her focus.

“You should come spar with me sometime, I’ll show you how to actually use that thing,” Claire teases her lightly, indicating the completely unthreatening grip Patience has on the crow bar.

“Quiet,” Patience hushes her but it does give her some encouragement to realize she knew exactly how Claire was gesturing without even opening her eyes. She’s really starting to get good at projecting her consciousness outward.

Or perhaps she’s just gotten too familiar with Claire’s body language.

Patience shakes the very distracting thought of Claire’s body out of her head and tries to center herself again.

“It could be useful, you know, practicing some fighting techniques,” Claire continues.

“You really want me to come beat you again?”

“That wasn’t a fair fight! You cheated,” Claire huffs.

“Anticipating your movements and reacting to them is just what fighting is,” Patiences says calmly, her eyes still closed and breathing even. “That’s not cheating.”

“It is when you’re psychic,” Claire rolls her eyes.

“Do you want me to focus or not? Reading the energy in this room is taking longer than it usually does.”

“Maybe you just have to have some patience,” Claire smirks.

Patience groans, “Your dad jokes are getting worse than Dean’s.”

She says it mostly to shut Claire up and it works because Claire stands there with her mouth gaping open, clearly taken aback.

“You love my dad jokes,” Claire eventually mutters, her arms crossed and an offended look marring her face.

Patience tries to clear her mind again. She’s been honing her gift through lessons with her grandmother, Missouri, who assures her she’s been getting better but focusing her powers still takes her a tremendous amount of energy and concentration. She wishes all visions could come to her as easily as the unprompted ones do. She frequently wonders if she’ll ever be able to access her powers with complete ease, the way her grandma seems to do. Her grandmother tells her (without her ever saying her fears out loud) that it will come with time and practice. Until then, she guesses she just has to struggle through.

With another deep inhale and a slow exhale, she sends her consciousness outward, into the house. Tapping into the house’s strange energy, she follows along in her mind to every corner and cranny, searching out to see if any object in the house has sentimental meaning attached. Sentimental objects always have a different aura.

She startles a little as she bumps up against a strange energy she’s not familiar with. It’s something dark and dangerous. This must be the ghost. It’s strange, to try to connect with the energies of a house and suddenly be connected to a sentient spirit but she supposes it must work differently with dead people. When she connects with the energy of a space, she is feeling out the memories of all that has happened there. What is a ghost but a memory that can speak for itself?

She tries to unobtrusively follow the spirit’s energy, searching for its source in the house. Her consciousness moves through room after room, trying to feel out where this specific energy is strongest.

She’s feeling out a long forgotten upstairs bedroom when suddenly she’s hit with a powerful wave of desperation. Being in this room is torture, being in this room is suffocating her, being in this room is killing her. She tries to quickly retract herself from the room but she can’t, she’s stuck there and she’s being filled with feelings of despair and grief and pain that don’t belong to her.

In the room where her body stands, the atmosphere is changing. The temperature is dropping and a strange wind that seems to come from nowhere is picking up.

“Patience?” Claire asks, lifting up her crowbar so it's ready to swing.

Patience can’t answer. Her voice has been stolen from her. She can’t even nod to let Claire know she’s alright. She can see her own body in the salt circle that Claire had made for her, but everything she is is trapped in the upstairs bedroom.

A shaky apparition appears and Claire swings through it, banishing it but only for a moment before it rematerializes on the other side of the circle. Claire lunges for it, swinging, and banishes it again only for it to appear on the other side of the room.

The room downstairs becomes more and more hostile as Patience tries to escape the bedroom and bring herself back to her own body. Small debris starts circling in the wind as Claire works to keep banishing the apparition every time it appears.

“Patience! Are you alright?”

If Patience had the ability to speak, she’d only scream.

Claire is desperately fending off every attack with her crowbar as the wind picks up, howling louder and louder. Patience knows that Claire is in trouble, she’s a fighter but even she can’t fight off something undead forever. She can hear Claire struggling, fighting as hard as she can to keep up with something that doesn’t even have a living body to tire out. Logically, she knows she needs to move, to help but she’s so outside of her own body, she feels only distantly aware of the danger they both face at this moment.

“PATIENCE!”

Patience hears Claire’s frantic shouting over the sound of the roaring wind but she can’t respond. She can see in her mind’s eye that the wind is wearing away at the careful salt line keeping her safe but she’s too overwhelmed by misery and heartache to move.

Claire is wildly swinging her crowbar at any apparition that appears and Patience is no longer trying to hear she is overcome with the need to be heard. The feeling is strange, it’s such a powerful need that it fills her up until she might burst but it doesn’t feel like a part of her.

She thinks back to the breathing techniques her grandma taught her and tries to bring herself back to her physical body. It’s only doing this that she realizes that this urgent need she is feeling isn’t her own emotion, it’s the ghost’s emotions.

Tears are streaming down her face now as she finally has enough control over herself to quietly whisper to the howling wind, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She projects these feelings towards the being she can sense in the house, she tries to send them all of her compassion while repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

She closes her eyes tight and focuses all her empathy towards the tormented spirit. The wind starts to die down, bits and chunks of debris clattering back down to the floor. The air is less chilly now, the energy less hostile. The only sound now is Claire panting for breath, still clutching her crowbar.

“I should bring you on all the ghost hunts,” Claire says breathlessly, eyes continuing to search the room for any hidden threat.

Her eyes wide open now that she’s back in her body, tears are streaming silently down her face and she can’t bring herself to answer. Claire looks over at her in the silence.

“Hey, hey,” Claire says, walking up to her. “It’s okay, we’re both okay.”

Patience gasps in deep as if it's the first breath she’s taken since she connected with the spirit. She’s trying to remember her grandma’s rules. Ground yourself, keep yourself breathing, keep yourself calm, keep yourself aware.

Claire reaches up and gently cradles Patience’s face in her hands, “Patience, are you okay?”

Patience manages to nod this time.

“Good,” Claire says softly, wiping some of Patience’s tears away with her thumbs. “Are you coming back to me?”

Patience is still unable to answer, her own heart several armies worth of battling emotions.

Claire lets her forehead fall against Patience’s. Claire takes deep, slow, deliberate breaths, her hands still tenderly cradling Patience’s face and shuffles closer until the toes of their shoes touch. Patience closes her eyes again but this time, instead of spreading her awareness out further, she narrows it to only the points where Claire is touching her. The warm place where their foreheads rest together, Claire’s hands around her face, Claire’s work boots pressed up against her own soft sneakers.

She follows Claire’s breath, matching her own breathing with it until she feels like she’s entirely back in her own body again.

“What happened here?” Patience breathes out but then almost immediately says, “No, never mind. Don’t tell me. There’s a—”

She steps abruptly away from Claire and Claire’s hands fall down to her sides, looking almost dejected in the way they hang. Patiences looks around the room helplessly, unable to believe that when she first walked in here, it had looked so ordinary to her. Now she sees it for what it really is: a prison.

Patience takes a deep breath and then says, “There’s a loose floorboard upstairs.”

“Something hidden in there?” Claire asks, still eyeing Patience carefully but willing to take the cue that Patience just wants to keep working. “Well, let’s go check it out.”

Claire takes the duffle and easily walks upstairs and to the bedroom. Patience has a much harder time forcing her physical self to cross the threshold of the bedroom but she follows Claire anyway, knowing that there will be no relief for the spirit she felt if they don’t find a way to release it.

Claire gestures to the room and Patience points to the floorboard she knows holds secrets.

“Huh, actually get to use this thing as a crowbar,” Claire says happily, prying up the floorboard with the crowbar.

Patience drops to her knees, reaching into the hole to find that the floorboard holds dozens of letters, yellowed with age.

“What happened here?” Patience asks again.

“Are you sure you really want to know?”

Patience nods.

“Daughter of a family that lived here in the early sixties, she committed suicide.”

Patience takes this information in. It feels right but also…not.

“The story goes that she went insane so the family had to keep her locked up,” Claire continues. “They kept her locked in this room so she wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”

“No, that’s not right,” Patience says and she’s not even sure where the words come from, only that she’s sure they’re true.

“That’s what all the neighbors said,” Claire says. “But most of it was just rumors, I think.”

“She loved someone and her parents didn’t approve,” Patience says, her fingers lightly tracing the letters. “They locked her away so she couldn’t run away with him. These are the only things she had with her, to give her hope.”

A breeze stirs in the room and Claire is on high alert again, tightly gripping her crowbar but Patience doesn’t feel any threat in the spirit’s action, only affirmation.

“We don’t have to burn all of them, do we?” Patience asks.

Claire’s silence speaks volumes. Patience gathers the letter to herself, holding them close, her thumbs running gently along the worn in folds.

Holding the letters tenderly, Patience quietly says to them, “You must have loved him so much. It’s not fair that you have to stay here.”

Claire bows her head, hands clasped together in front of her so tightly that Patience can see bright red splotches contrasting with too pale points where the blood hasn’t been allowed to flow to her fingers properly.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. It isn’t right and it isn’t fair. It’s also not right for you to be trapped here even after death, so it’s time to say goodbye now,” Patience says to the letters and the house and anyone else who may be listening.

Placing them carefully on the floor, Patience looks up to Claire expectantly. Claire reaches into the duffle bag by her feet and digs out the salt and matches.

“Do you want to…?” Claire asks, offering her the materials.

“I’ll do the salt,” Patience says. She takes it from Claire and carefully spreads grains of salt on to each letter, making sure the salt passes over all the folds and creases, before gently setting them down on the floor again.

“Ready?” Claire asks.

“Ready,” Patience says quietly.

Claire strikes a match and it sounds startlingly loud in the quiet of the room. The flame burns bright and illuminates Claire’s fair face in an almost ethereal glow as she bends down to let the fire catch on the letters.

They watch in silence as the letters are reduced to ashes.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Claire says, offering Patience her hand. Patience grabs Claire’s hand and uses it to sling Claire’s arm around herself, nestling close to Claire and snaking her own arm around Claire’s waist. It’s a little awkward, Claire a little unbalanced because of the heavy duffle in her other hand but Patience needs the reassurance, the warm body pressed to her side as confirmation that Claire is still right here with her, very much alive and reachable.

“You’re getting really good at that stuff,” Claire says.

“Yeah,” Patience says, fiddling a little with the zipper on Claire’s jacket because it’s the only thing within her reach to fiddle with.

They walk back to the car in silence, still glued to each other. Patience dreads the moment when they’ll have to separate to get into the car, even if it will be the briefest of moments before they can touch each other again.

Claire throws the duffle in the trunk while still attached to Patience but then they walk to their separate sides of the car, Claire to the driver’s seat and Patience to the passenger’s seat. After they’re settled, Patience reaches out a hand and Claire’s is there to meet her. There’s a heaviness hanging over the car as they both sit silent and still.

“Do you regret coming out here, doing all this with us?” Claire asks her suddenly.

She says the word us but Patience hears what she’s really asking. Do you regret being with me?

“No,” Patience says firmly. “It’s hard sometimes. A lot of the time, but there’s no place I’d rather be.”

Claire smiles at her and starts the car.

“Me, either,” Claire says and she throws the car into drive and points it towards home.

[that-tall-queer-bassist]

@watery-melon-baller I'm sorry lilac I deleted the ask from the angst prompt game a while back, just as I was trying to finally post it :(

Um, anyways, here's what I came up with. It's not your fandom (unless you join me :3 /j), but I hope it's still interesting enough without context ^-^ (the page break is so it doesn't take up too much space XD its a bit long with the way I formatted it)

The prompt was number 38. "Please stop hurting me. Please. Please stop." (I changed it a little to fit the character/scene)

---

“Shelby! I wrote a new song!”

No, no no no, this was such a bad time why’d he have to show up. She needed to- she had to- to-

“Ah, there you are! I was wondering where you were hiding in this big, twisty place.”

Not Oli. She couldn’t-

But she has to.

She doesn’t want to feel bad anymore. 

She has to.

“I wrote a song about the tea party, would you like to hear it?”

Shelby gripped her scythe tighter. 

“What am I saying! Of course you do, here, let me grab my lute-”

‘Don’t think, just do it!’

Shelby swung. 

“Wha- Shelby, what are you doing-?!”

She cut him off, scythe slicing through the air (and his clothes, his skin oh gods-) and Oli squeaked as it came too close to his throat.

“Please- please don’t hurt me! I’ll- I’ll stop singing I swear-!” He was laying on the ground, looking up at her with scared, confused eyes, and Shelby felt... bad.

‘You’ll never feel bad again..’

“I’m sorry Oli.”

With one last slice with her scythe, she took it all away. 

She took away his voice, his life, his head.

The sculk spread. 

And she didn’t feel bad anymore.

She felt powerful. 

Confident. 

Good. 

The tendrils of sculk curled around her limbs, welcoming her, embracing her. 

A trilling chirp rippled out from the heart of the Evermoore. 

And the swamp shuddered. 

---

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

YOU ADDED ANDREW BIRD TO THE FANTASY PLAYLIST [explodes]

Thats one of my fav songs:( wtfff ill cry its so pretty ogkgudpshdf

YES YES YESSSSSSSSSS

I heard it and thought the Vibe fit pretty well :D