#this was such a cute prompt omg

[fireflysugarpie]

cumplane meet cute where they're taken to the same hospital after their near death experiences and have to share the same room ♡♡♡

[bunnies-and-blues]

Hello gorgeous, I hope life has been treating you well! Can I request mitsui, miyagi, sendo, and maki with a reader who likes to draw and often goes to their practice to draw them? If not or it’s too many that ok! Thank you for your consideration!🫶

─꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱─ slam dunk : my muse ! ☆

⸝⸝ tl;dr : sd boys with their artist partner ! involves hisashi mitsui + ryota miyagi, akira sendoh, and shinichi maki !

⸝⸝ note : i took a bit of liberty and made the reader their partner, i hope that's okay ! idm making a seperate post wherein reader is their friend / admirer if ever :DD

hisashi mitsui + ryota miyagi . . . seperately !

the moment you and mitsui/miyagi became a thing he just became the cockiest person in the world . like, genuinely . it was really cute and endearing at first but eventually everyone's just pissed at him t-t

even more so when he's at practice ... all of a sudden he's extra energetic and his form is beyond perfect (not that akagi's complaining; if you get them to play well then that's all for the better)

he knows that you like to draw —its even one of the reason why he likes you so much ! — and the moment he found out that you drew him during his practices ... oh my god, ego to the roof !! /pos

mitsui flashes you a devilish grin, his eyes gazing upon the quick sketches you've made of his form. "i look great," he states. he winks as he walks back towards the ring, aiming for a three-pointer. "make sure to get my good side, yeah?"

look, mitsui's all cocky and arrogant when he's in front of the others (much to their chagrin), but in private — that's a whole different story . he's consistently sending kogure and akagi photos of your art, pretty much showing them off !!

and he makes sure to thank you for all of your efforts ; he'll buy you all the art supplies you want ! (and he'll try to draw you as well, but he's not the best at it ... )

miyagi is speechless when you show him your sketchbook. across the pages are drawings of him, each pose dynamic and vivacious. he could practically feel the energy radiating from your sketches. "this is amazing," he murmurs, heart-eyed. he looks up at you. "you're amazing."

much like mitsui, he'll show your art off — but he'll show it off to everyone. the basketball team, ayako, his classmates, his family- you name it !

what can i say ? he loves you !

akira sendoh . . .

"woahh!" sendoh exclaims, his eyes alight with glee when you show him your sketchbook. he takes it in his hands, holding it as if it was the most precious thing to exist. he traces the outline of his sketched-out form with a delicate finger, his grin spreading ear-to-ear. he looks at you with crinkled eyes, his smile as bright and warm as summer sun. "these are really good ! maybe you should teach me how to draw !"

sendoh is all smiles when he saw your drawings of him . he can't help it ! believe it or not, he's seen fanart of himself alongside the countless fanmail he's received, but never before has he had someone draw him so ..

he can't describe it, really . but all he knows is that it's the best art he's ever seen ! your art was warm, each pencil stroke filled with love and care, your affection for him reflected tenderly in the careful way you drew his features.

like with mitsui and miyagi, he'll gladly show off your art to the basketball team ! and before you know it, you'll have a line of the team members asking for you to draw them as well .

shinichi maki . . .

maki stares at the compilation of sketches in his hand. admittedly, he had felt a bit downhearted when he saw that you've been drawing during their practices, feeling as if you haven't been paying him attention, but he couldn't have been more wrong. he caresses the paper with a gentle hand, then pulls you in for an embrace. "thank you, my darling," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "these are wonderful."

a gentleman through and through, maki makes sure to show his affections after receiving such a gift (even if you didn't mean it to be a gift in the first place) .

he starts giving back, taking you out on art dates and offering to buy you any art supply you want . even if you ask for just a simple pencil, he'll ensure that you get only the best quality !

unlike the other three, he'd want to keep your art of him for his eyes only . not that he's not proud of it or anything, but he just prefers for your art of him to be seen by only him ... not that it works (kiyota would find a way to snatch them from him when he's not working lmao)

[toxintouch]

yk how in veres likes on his character sheet it says he like cooking (badly)…… WHY HAS NO ONE DONE A FIC ABOUT THAT YET‼️⁉️⁉️ THAT SHOULD NOTTT BE A WASTED OPPORTUNITY. i’m not even joking im ab to send this to so many people because i can’t let this go to waste 😞

Here u are anon!  For the record, you are completely free to send this prompt around wherever you’d like!  It was such a fun idea, I’d love to see more takes on it. ^^

Warnings: Vere talking Innuendos? Innuendos.  So many, and I don’t guarantee that they are funny lol.  Just a general silly vibe and imo: absolutely  tooth rotting fluff.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅SOUS CHEF ‧₊˚♡₊˚

You find yourself wandering through Lowtown during the lunch hour, trying to decide what sounds like a good meal.

Your mouth waters at the scents being carried on the breeze, a plethora of pleasant aromas wafting out of the eateries nestled inside the Amaryllis District, so fragrant that you can smell them all the way down on the bustling streets of Lowtown as long as you stay downwind.

However, if there’s one nice thing about knowing Leander it's that you also know you don’t have to go that far (or spend that much) for a delicious lunch. 

Near enough to the Wet Wick, there’s a series of side streets that make up an eclectic amalgamation of Lowtown and the Amaryllis District, and in it: a small and inconspicuous eatery.  The menu changes often, though you aren’t sure if that’s out of innovation or necessity, but the food is always filling and reasonably priced.

You follow the winding streets, getting lost for a brief moment before correcting your course, traveling until you see colorful chipped girih tiles and wide, clean windows.  You let yourself into the shop, the now familiar sound of hinges in need of an oiling welcoming you.  

There’s an assortment of goods on display–jars of honey and spiced fruit and loaves of braided bread with seeds–all kept safely locked away beneath an enchanted pane of glass.

Looking around, though, you don’t see anyone selling said fantastic wares.

You call out, expecting the shop keep or her wife to come running but instead you hear…silence.

Followed by a loud metallic clatter.

You freeze, unsure what to do, what the threat is–if there’s even a threat?–but before you can make up your mind, you’re greeted by a most unexpected sight.

Vere comes out of the kitchen area, his hair swept into an artfully stunning up-do that reveals the long line of his neck and clavicle, blemished only by the heavy collar locked around his throat. 

He’s wearing a weighty linen apron over his clothing, presumably to protect his outfit, though–his long gossamer sleeves are completely discordant with the notion, making you think that maybe the apron is more of an aesthetic choice.

“What’s this–?  A mouse?  In my kitchen?” Vere asks playfully as you continue to stare, dumbfounded.  He wields a spatula in his hand like a weapon–swatching it into his off-hand like a riding crop with a decisive snap.

“Where is–?”

“–The shop keep?  Wherever she pleases–the shop’s closed on Mondays.”

(You really don’t like the way he’s watching you…  Or the way he keeps inching closer…)

You take a step backwards, your eyes never leaving his.  “Oh,” you say, bandaged hands reaching blindly behind you.  “I didn’t realize.  The door was unlocked, so…”  You trail off.

You find the doorknob at last.  You attempt to turn it only to find that it won’t budge.

“Was it?”

Vere saunters up to you, tail swaying behind him.  You manage to tear your eyes away from his predator stare to search for possible exits, though you know for a fact you won’t be fast enough.   You look back and he’s already in your space, crowding you against the entryway.

(He smells really good, actually.  Like leather and spice and the subtle cling of perfume and incense.  And beneath that, something–earthy–animalistic, but in a way that’s intoxicating as opposed to unpleasant.)

“I was just about to make myself a snack–how nice that a snack came to me.”

“Stop playing around.” You try to steel yourself and inject the perfect amount of scolding into your voice while combating his heated stare.  “I know you’re just fucking with me to try and get a reaction; you and I both know you’re not going to eat me.” 

If he was, he would have done it by now.  Sometime within the weeks you’ve known him.  …Probably. 

Unless he just likes to play with his food.

“I didn’t realize you knew me so well,”  he says, looking amused.  “Perhaps I didn’t plan to, but now I simply can’t resist.  You look so absolutely delectable, how could I possibly contain myself?”

You don’t get the chance to reply.  Vere’s countenance changes suddenly–you watch his ears flatten a second before you hear the screaming whistle of a teapot.  His ears twitch in annoyance at the sound, his perfectly sculpted face showing a sour sneer.  He gives you a sideways glance, calculating.

“Then again.  I find myself in need of a sous chef.  Congratulations on your promotion.  Come along now.”  He hooks a finger into your cloak and pulls you easily into the kitchen.  (To be fair, you don’t struggle.  Anyone would want to see where this is going, right?)

He releases you once you’ve crossed over the threshold, waving his fingers uncaringly towards a second apron affixed to a hook on the wall as he beelines to remove a glass teapot from the stove and stifle the noise.  He moves quickly as you watch, casually throwing aside the spatula in his hand in favor of an ornate silver teaspoon.  He measures a vibrantly colored tea into the inlaid steeping container of the equally ornate teapot and takes a pleased inhale as the tea’s fragrance blooms, humming as he flips over a delicate hourglass to keep track of the steeping time.

There’s silence for a moment–

Him watching the teapot and you watching him.

“Well?”  He asks, without looking up.  You’ve seen this look before, you think – this pensive, almost lonesome look that makes your heart ache against all better judgment.  “Staying or going?”

He grins when you put on the apron.  You search his face for some sincerity, but he’s all sharp teeth and tall ears, covering any glimpses of deeper emotion with a sheen of smugness.  He circles you once you have the apron on, taking in the image.

“Mm, don’t you just look adorable.  Very domesticated.”

You’re pretty sure that the word he’s looking for is domestic. But of course, he knows what he said and he meant to say it.  You decide that he’s probably betting on your correction, already armed with a witty retort.  You smooth the apron down while pointedly looking away, deciding that you won’t give him the satisfaction.  You hear him chuckle.

Since you’re avoiding looking at Vere, you look around the kitchen for the first time.

It’s a spacious workspace–moreso than the storefront, even.  There’s a large iron stove unlike anything you’ve ever seen, covered with magical runes and dials, with a large hearth built into the belly of it.  A plethora of pots and pans have been placed on the burners, left to sizzle and pop in the red hot heat.  

Oil is singing from the heated, shallow basins but you don’t see anything cooking inside.  

There’s a slab of meat diced into neat squares and a heaping bowl of lumpy batter set to the side of the stove top.

“What are you making?”  You ask, trying to make sense of the scene.

“Panko crusted fish filet.  And there’s a pasta in the oven.  For dessert, I was thinking–” he gives you a sly look, one that makes your ears feel warm, “hmm, well.  I just had a much better idea in regards to dessert.”  He makes a show of licking his fangs, the movements of his tongue slow and sensual.

You think you tied your apron too tight; your airway is feeling a little constricted.  It seems to be getting worse the longer you watch.

You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away.  More ingredients, most partially prepared, and a host of dirtied pots and pans greet you.  You turn your back to him as you explore, fully engrossed in all of the views that the mess of a kitchen has to offer.  You’re almost afraid to ask: “So, what am I here to help with?”

“Oh?”  You don’t hear Vere come up next to you, but you feel him brushing up against you.  “Does my darling sous chef require…instruction?  A guiding hand, so to speak?”  You freeze, feeling his breath against your ear, shivers running down your spine at his light and teasing chuckle.

But then he’s breezing past you, making a wide dramatic gesture toward the large tome perched surreptitiously on the counter.  “Lucky for you, I’ve a recipe.”  His tail wags swishes elegantly behind him as he beams with pride.

His tail knocks the whisk out of the mystery batter beside the fish filet but he takes no notice.

Vere hops gracefully up onto the counter, reaching for the batter.  He does an impressive twist in order to grab hold of another whisk and you take the time to appreciate that.  Then, with Vere occupied and seemingly ignoring you, you take a look at the recipe book.  

The text is old and withered with the occasional dash of sprawling spidery script painting the margins.  (Said writing is utterly illegible–you’re actually not sure if it’s in a language you can read, though if you squint you think you can see something that looks like the word ‘cake’.)  The page it’s opened to is ripped in half, rendering precious steps of the recipe lost to time.  You spot a mysterious bite mark piercing through the corner of the leather cover.

And can’t stop yourself from surreptitiously glancing over at Vere.  He’s moved on from the batter (which looks as lumpy as it did a minute ago) and is now eating skewers of raw fish with his nails.

“You’re not supposed to eat while you cook,” you say, the time worn words out of your mouth before you can examine your personal stance on them.

“Says who?  Some limp dick?  No shame in indulging, pet.”

“You’re not even gonna have anything left to cook,” you warn.

“Hum, sounds like my sous chef should get to work covering them in batter instead of just standing there before I eat them all.”

You roll your eyes, but follow through with instructions.  The space is unfamiliar and your movements are slow and unsure with Vere looming over you from his perch on high, watching.

One of the pans of oil gives an ominous pop.  “Hmm, sounds like it’s hot enough,” says Vere.  “Move over.”

“Is that safe?”

“For me,” Vere says simply.  “And it’s faster.  Now stand further back or you'll get splattered–and not in the fun way.”  Idly, he tosses a batter covered filet into the shallow pan.  The resulting hiss makes you both cringe.

As if on queue, the hourglass for the tea gives a gentle chime, lighting up with a golden glow.  (You’re beginning to wonder how this humble shop can afford all these magical items, but then again this is the city of secrets.  You’re probably better off not knowing.)  Vere’s ears perk up, pleased.  He tosses the remaining fillets in the pan without a fuss, setting lids on top of each to contain the oil, acting as if doing so is going to stop any potential disaster.

Main course forgotten, he moves on to digging something out from inside one of the many cupboards.  “Be a dear and cut this for me, will you?”  He hands you a delicate peach before heading to the tea pot, stirring the contents and adding what must be a priceless amount of honey.

The peach in your hand is overripe but still vibrant–amazing, as you haven’t seen fresh fruit at all since you came to Eridia.  Your mouth waters anew as you remember what led you here in the first place–your quest for a meal–and you’re almost tempted to take a bite, follow Vere’s advice and sink your teeth in.

“My, my.  I’m almost jealous.  I thought you only looked at me like that.”

Vere shushes the denial from your lips, bossing you around regarding how he wants the peach sliced before shooing you out of his way and finishing his remaining tea preparations,with the look of an artist at work.  The tea is a warm oolong color, made only more alluring once the infusion of peach is complete.

It’s refreshing, too, once Vere serves it to you over ice.

You can almost ignore the great plumes of smoke coming from the oven.

Vere cooks how others might enjoy a leisurely stroll. 

Which is to say, he seems to be having fun, but you’re not convinced he intends on really going anywhere.  Still, there’s a rhythm to it–a dance, though he leads you in expected loops and turns, changes the tune at a moment's notice.  He’ll get bored of the task at hand and find some new spice to peruse, demand you taste test an ingredient or give your opinion on a dizzying new flavor he’s concocted.

(He manages to convince you to sample a bit of cucumber soup from the cold box.  You retch, proclaiming it salty, downing another glass of delicious peach oolong–

“I can still taste it in the back of my throat…!”–and he cackles wildly.)

Thick locks of hair are falling out of his up-do by the time he’s satisfied, framing his face and bringing your attention, again to the inviting line of his clavicle.  He tosses his loose hair over his shoulder, preening.

The recipe book is basically ruined, and the pasta is null and void, but some of the fillets look mildly edible.  The artful garnish is beautiful, at least.  The kale and orange slices really bring out the crispy burnt bits.  Vere seems to enjoy plating the food a great deal, humming and rearranging and circling the display until he deems it arranged to perfection.

He’s elegant when he takes a bite, biting down with a crunch.  His tail goes very still for a moment, then shivers microscopically as he chews.  He swallows in a manner that you can only describe as dignified, dabbing his lips with a napkin.  You wait in anticipation, but Vere says nothing for a long time.  Then, he quietly takes the old recipe book and throws it away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t insist on you trying it too.

You end up snacking on some of the pre-made goods, drinking the remaining tea and lounging at one of the shop’s cozy little tables.  The mood is light and easy, and the view is magnificent.  Outside, there’s nothing but trash littered streets and urchins, but inside…the afternoon glow coming from the window illuminates Vere like a sunset, painting him in dazzling shades of gold and red and bronze.

Vere hums, peering at you pointedly through his sooty lashes.  “So, dessert?”

You can’t imagine the look that comes across your face–whatever it is, it makes Vere laugh.

“What are you giving me that look for?  My intentions are pure.” His voice is a masterclass in syrupy false-innocence.  “As clean as Leander’s bed sheets after–”

“Please don’t finish that sentence and give me any mental images,” you beg.  “I have to sleep there tonight, I’d rather not know.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”  Vere agrees, closing his eyes and appearing to bask in the sun for a moment.  His face does something that you don’t quite catch–some hidden expression–but then, he’s smiling easily.  He must really be relaxed if he can still smile seconds after thinking about Leander.  You’re still admiring him when the shadows against the walls flicker, and suddenly he isn’t sitting next to you any more.

Instead, he’s returning from the kitchen, a tray in hand.

He sets it down in front of you, revealing an assortment of strawberries and an ornate silver porringer of what appears to be melted chocolate.  Vere sets it down on the table, plucking the small dessert spoon from the chocolate once he’s seated across from you again.

“Occasionally, life does offer up something sweet to savor–only for those willing to go out and take it.”  His tongue darts out to lick the chocolate off the spoon in his hand.  He maintains eye contact as his tongue laves across the basin and–embarrassingly–you think you get a little lightheaded from the intensity with which your blood rushes to your face.  The crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you that he know exactly where your mind has gone.

Setting the spoon down, Vere instead picks up a bare strawberry, leaning in closer to press it gently to your mouth.

The chocolate is overly bitter–a little burnt, perhaps, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you’re tasting the remnants of it on Vere’s lips.

(Before leaving, you plop a few coins down on the counter as payment.  You brought enough to cover your food…but definitely not enough to cover the mess in the kitchen.  There’s really nothing you can do about that.  

You hope you don’t get blacklisted.  You’d like to come back next Monday.)

Hope you enjoyed if you made it this far! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[mixtercandy]

omg guys... these two r actually really cute together...

[risingmoonyue]

Someone write me a ShinRan fic that reads like a stereotypical shojo. Whether this takes place in canon or an au is optional. The only requirement is that Shinichi is cast where there is usually a girl, and Ran where a guy is.

[purple-goo-writes]

Acrobatics of the Heart

...I should be sleeping

but I am plagued with an idea for Dick/Danny (Green Elephants? Death Defying? Dead Circus? Whichever is the ship's name.)

Just a meet-cute where Danny is the cute new single dad in Bludhaven and Dick is his daughter Ellie's (Dani) Gymnastics Teacher.

Cause (19 to 20-year-old) Danny moved to Gotham for a new start/college and the fact that Dani (now Ellie) is now like five years old (her actual age) instead of being physically a few years younger than him. So basically new start, portal has been dismantled and Danny has a mini-portal for needing to pop into the ghost zone for king business. Right now he just wants to get his engineering degree, cause I stan Danny Is Smart.

Dick quit the police force (RIC NEVER HAPPENED CAUSE FUCK THAT TIMELINE) and becomes a gymnastics/acrobatics teacher at the local (newly rebuilt thanks to Bruce Wayne) Recreation Center and teaches ages 5 and up. A new year, a new group of Little AcroBats for Dick to teach!

He is rather fond of little Ellie Nightingale, she is a little gremlin that kinda reminds him of Jason when he was younger. She's a little spitfire, and he somehow misses meeting her parent during pick up and drop off.

Until Ellie finally drags Danny over to meet her favorite teacher, Mr. Grayson!

[save-the-villainous-cat]

mother im hungry for some angst and horny , may i ask for a hero x villain where they both hate each other but end up having hate sex after a real bad argument 🥺🙏

The hero remembered that one time when the villain broke their collarbone. They had just broken into a museum, stealing expensive vases and ancient relics, making it infuriatingly difficult to get them back on the black market.

The hero had arrived at the scene of the crime before anyone else, just in time to catch the villain. But as the villain prepared to flee, they cracked the hero’s collarbone into two with a steel pipe. Smirking, they’d blown the hero a kiss. A present for you.

It had hurt like hell. The hero had been unable to move for weeks, being practically useless to the agency. Christ, they still had problems with their shoulder at times. Too much exercise, too little exercise: it was a nasty pain that didn’t quite leave them.

And right now, the villain sucked the third hickey into the hero’s skin, right there where they had done the damage.

The hero cursed quietly, hating and loving how much it hurt.

“Asshole,” the hero hissed.

“Did you say something?” The villain’s voice was low, still angry and already a little drunk on pleasure. It had started out with both of them hooking up when they were drunk. The hero had suggested it and the villain had been much too happy to use that opportunity. It had been messy and quick (and good). A one time thing.

But that was really it.

For a week, until it became a little routine. No feelings involved, except for hatred.

And when opinions clashed against each other and insults were thrown into the air today, the hero needed something to calm down. Apparently this helped both of them.

“I hate you,” the hero said, despite the villain being inside them. “You disgust me.”

“Oh, boohoo. Is someone sad they’re not getting what they want? Poor hero, must be terrible.”

“Fuck off,” the hero said, pushing the villain’s face away with their hand. “I’ve been working for weeks on this mission. You have no right to—”

The villain pinned their wrists above their head and shut the hero up with a kiss. It was quite counterproductive, the hero was aware of that. It wasn’t healthy either but it was all the hero had. Sometimes being close to someone, anyone, at all costs was worth a broken heart. Just a little.

The villain pulled away, panting heavily.

“I thought we’re over this. I like you. But you’re not more important than my work.”

Ouch. The hero swallowed, thinking what desperate part of their brain had made them hope they could be more than enemies.

They knew the villain would smash they collarbone anytime without batting an eye and maybe it was good the way that it was.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” the villain said. “We’re both enjoying this, let’s not ruin it.”

The hero took in a shaky breath. Yes, they agreed. They enjoyed this, they enjoyed the villain’s company. It made them want to punch the villain even more.

“Now be a doll and spread your legs a little more,” the villain mumbled.

And the hero hated how fast they forgave them.

[causenessus]

he's so pretty

[rwby-confess]

Confession #89

[sphnyspinspin]

TERROR TRANSFORMED

5/10: SCRAPLETS

Let’s get to know Boulder’s scraplets!

The periwinkle one with the metallic mask is Giggles. Then the one that has baby blue optics is Basher. Behind them is the cute yellow cat-eared one, named Snappy. Also there’s the little green guy who goes by Squeaker. And the one with the big red birth-mark on its forehelm is presumably known as Boing-Boing.

[sheikahwarriork]

prompt for childhood enemies dimileth!!!

When Byleth was 6 years old, and Jeralt left her in the care of an inkeeper while he was doing merc jobs, a traveling caravan of rich people arrived to the inn, and she heard an ugly rich bowlcut blonde baby say his dad was the strongest and could beat anybody's dad and she choose violence.

Someone had to put the bowlcut in his place and make him understand Jeralt was the strongest.

Dimitri didn't want to fight back for his crest until Byleth called him a wussy... which is a word the mercs used around her and she didn't know what it meant.

(she fondly recalls this story as the first time she won a fight)

(dimitri still has bite scars from the incident and was very scared of girls for a long time)

(gustave was worried sick a commoner kid got the crown prince rabbies)

(they haven't connected the dots)

(This is the same anon who hates Dimitri's hair)

(hello dear dimitri's hair hater anon, i loved this prompt a lot! i changed some little points in the narration, but the main plotis the one you wrote. i really hope you'll like this :3)

wordcount: 1.2k

Byleth was extremely bored. Jeralt— no, he said to call him dad— Dad ­­went to do some cool mercenary stuff he said were 'too dangerous' for Byleth to attend. How silly! She was perfectly capable of taking care of enemies. She had the best teacher in the world, after all; the Blade Breaker’s abilities were well known along all Fodlan.

Of course, she was still only six, while her father was… How many years old was Jeralt again? She realised she didn’t know exactly. Probably the same age all dads were. Like three-hundred years old or something like that.

Byleth frowned. Did she need to wait three-hundred years to become as powerful as Jeralt? No, it was too far away from now! The little girl stood up. She needed to go training now.

She went out the little inn where Jeralt— Dad left her some days ago, heading for that nice spot she found out the day before to train with her new super powerful sword. (Well, wood sword. After the last time Byleth tried to train by herself, she almost chopped her own leg, so Jeralt took precautions by giving her a weapon that 'woudn’t hurt his precious little girl'. How melodramatic! But he chose it precisely for her. It was special. She wasn’t gonna break it!)

Her wandering gaze stopped when she noticed some people a few meters from her. She frowned. A tall guy with dark hair and a younger blonde boy with an ugly bowlcut were talking under a tree, the very tree of her perfect nice training spot.

She frowned again. As people said, Byleth wasn’t… the best at social interactions. She didn’t like talking to people, especially strangers. And she hated when she had to. Like this moment. She needed those two to get out of her new special training spot. She needed to train! To become more powerful! Like, right now!

The urge to train was bigger than her despise for talking to strangers, so she got closer to the tree, holding hard her sword. Byleth repeated in her mind Jeralt— Dad’s lessons about how ‘not to be too scary with other people’. She had to act nice.

“Hi. Get out of my training spot”.

A greeting! Super nice. ‘Good job, me’, she thought, pleased with herself.

The taller boy looked at her with surprise, but his expression quickly changed in a smile. “Hello, you fellow warrior”, he said in a condescending tone, winking.

Ugh. That was one of the thing Byleth hated the most: grown-ups treating her like she was just a little child!

“Get out, I said! I need to train”, she said, pointing at her sword.

Bowlcut boy frowned. “But you’re too young to train by your own!”

“What?!” Byleth exclaimed to him, annoyed.

“Yes! My dad says children shouldn’t fight until they grow up. And you look almost my age! So, you can’t train”, Bowlcut boy explained, nodding.

Byleth crossed her arms. “It doesn’t make sense! My dad helps me train since I was… younger than you!”

Bowlcut boy looked troubled. “Why does you dad train you?”

“Because I want to become strong, and he’s the strongest mercenary of all Fodlan!”, Byleth said with a hint of pride.

Now Bowlcut boy looked annoyed. “That’s not true! My dad is the strongest one! Glenn, tell her!” he added, looking at the taller annoying guy.

Tall-annoying guy was watching at them holding a hand over his mouth as if he wanted to hide it, slightly shaking. Then he proceeded to burst into laughter, hitting the ground with his fist, without saying a thing.

Byleth frowned. What a weird guy.

Bowlcut boy frowned too, but apparently he decided to let the matter drop, as he looked at Byleth again. “My dad is stronger! He has big muscles, and he’s the only one that can use a super uper big powerful spear!” Then he looked down at Tall-annoying guy, who was still on the floor. “Glenn! Tell her!”

The guy tried to stop laughing, but miserably failed. “So… sorry, Dimitri… you’ll have to… deal with her yourself… PUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Byleth crossed her arms; then, she got an idea. “Let’s settle this with a fight. However wins, has the strongest dad!”

Bowlcut boy’s eyes widened. “N… no! I can’t! I’ll hurt you!”

Byleth was really annoyed now: how dared that little brat imply he could beat her?!

She lifted her sword, pointing at Bowlcut boy. “Prepare yourself!”

“Oh, fuck!” Tall-annoying guy stopped laughing and stood up between them. “Ok, party’s over. Let’s try to get along, shall we?”

Bowlcut boy sighed in relief. Byleth sticked her tongue out, looking at him. “Your dad’s just a… wussy!”

Byleth really liked the word ‘wussy’. The way it sounded was funny. She didn’t exactly know the meaning, but Jeralt’s mercenaries often used it when someone was arguing (usually when drinking that weird ‘grown-ups fruit juice’) with some other of the band, getting the latter very angry. And Byleth wanted to make Bowlcut boy angry.

And she succeded! Bowlcut boy’s eyes widened, and he proceeded to run towards her. Byleth was ready, and promptly dodged the boy. She grabbed his arm, and sinked her teeth in it.

The boy screamed in pain until Tall-annoying boy managed to pull him away. “Shit shit shit! What the hell is wrong with you two?!” he said in a high-pitched tone. Bowlcut boy started crying.

‘Pathetic’, Byleth thought.

“Okay, little girl, we’re leaving, but promise me you’ll stay away from Dimitri!” Tall-annoying guy said, while taking Bowlcut boy in his arms. “We’re leaving soon anyway, so forget about this and do not tell anyone!” he added, going inside the inn, without waiting for Byleth to respond. “Shit! I did tell Gustave I’m not a good babysitter…” she heard him muttering, while Bowlcut boy was still crying.

She looked at the now closed door for a few seconds more, then turned around. “Okay. Melee training for day: done. I should practice with my sword now…”

“You did what?!” Jeralt—Dad screamed in shock.

Byleth crossed her arms. “I bit him, I told you! He was saying some crap about you!”

Dad looked at her in disbelief, and then bursted into laughter.

‘Why is everyone laughing at me today?!’

“You… you bit him… you bit the… freaking… AHAHAHAHAHA!” Dad was laughing so hard he didn’t finish the phrase.

Byleth shrugged, deciding to let him be. ‘It’s not like I’m gonna ever see Bowlcut boy again…’

15 years later

Byleth didn’t know if she was getting better at reading people, or if Jeralt was acting strange more than usual. Since she told him she chose to lead the Blue Lion House, her father started to make a soft giggle everytime she mentioned the house-leader, Dimitri. It was getting annoying.

“Are you going to tell me why do you make that sound everytime I mention Dimitri, dad?!” she finally said one afternoon, while her and Jeralt were having tea in her room.

Jeralt smiled. “Ah! Never. But maybe, you’ll have your answer if you’ll ever see his arm… Summer is starting, after all…”

[intheticklecloset]

Hopefully I do this right and sent this in time- May I request a RanPoe coffee shot, possibly festive? They seem so adorable and I can't get over the idea of Poe trying to act nonchalant while (holiday) shopping as Ranpo is showing him all these different feathered pens and his thoughts only go to tickling because Ranpo is just so close and is even brushing the feathers along Poe's hands to show him how soft and comfortable they'd be to write with. Ranpo knows exactly what he's doing.

❄️ Peppermint Mocha Special Order ❄️

~~~

It was exceedingly difficult to focus on the task at hand when Ranpo kept trying to show off all these different writing quills.

To be fair, they were beautiful – pretty designs, soft plumes, and the pens themselves were of very fine quality. Poe would have been happy to own any of them. But Ranpo’s enthusiasm was distracting him, because while they would have made excellent writing tools, they would also been great tools for…other things.

“Look at this one,” Ranpo said excitedly, grabbing Poe’s hand and brushing the feather end of the quill along his palm. “Sooo soft, right? You would hardly feel it!”

I’d feel it in other ways, Poe thought, but cleared his throat and managed, “Y-Yes, quite so. It is very nice.”

“Ooh, or this one!” The detective swapped it out with yet another quill, and so their afternoon continued.

They’d gone out with the singular mission of finding gifts for the other members of the ADA. It was a half-date, half-errand, and Poe was happy to spend time with him either way. But those quills…

“I want to get one for you,” Ranpo said suddenly, squinting up at him. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Huh?” Poe sputtered, growing even more flustered at the thought of owning one of those beautiful, tickly quills. “I-I…we’re not here for…”

Ranpo waved his hand. “I know, I know. But I still have to find a gift for you, too, and I think one of these would be perfect. You like them, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” Poe admitted.

“Then pick one! Which one is calling out to you? Which one can you see yourself writing the next bestselling novel with?”

Poe’s eyes roamed over the array of quills Ranpo had shown off to him so far.

Then suddenly the detective had pulled him down to whisper in his ear. “And which one do you think would tickle the most?”

“Huh-wha?!” Poe staggered back, slapping a hand over his mouth to keep from screeching. His eyes were wide, but Ranpo’s were knowing. Too knowing.

“You can’t get anything past me. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up every time I brush one along your hand or arm. So, pick your favorite, and later we’ll have some fun with it to break it in. Okay?”

Poe blushed, but he couldn’t deny that Ranpo was right. Shakily, he reached out for the one with the softest plume; it was a bonus that it also happened to look pretty. He barely had it off the shelf before Ranpo had snatched it from him, wiggling along his ear playfully.

“Ranpo,” Poe hissed out a giggle, covering his mouth again. “Not here!”

“Don’t worry, Poe,” Ranpo teased, winking at him. “I won’t let anyone else have the privilege of seeing you laugh your heart out while I tickle you with this~”

After that, Poe was more than eager to finish up their errands so they could move on to their new evening agenda.

[bruisedrednblue]

tim is the type of cute bf that sends jason pictures nonstop♡

except the photos are taken thru his window, unaware that someone is watching him. until his phone buzzes with a notification from an unknown number.

tim especially loves to watch jason's smile drop as he realizes that he is being watched.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

hot

[johannepetereric]

I feel like you can have a Serious Conversation while drinking/having the face in Dem Titties (only pulling out to talk, then immediately going back to the feasting). That could be interesting to write, if you could have a balance between the serious and the sexual while still being fluid/solid and not (too) awkward.

[jackienova]

Oh the summertime is coming And the trees are sweetly blooming And the wild mountain thyme Grows around the blooming heather — Blooming Heather, Kate Rusby