#ty for the prompt friend :)

[verocitea]

*insert a fun and witty autumn related caption here*

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @thedarkstrategist from this ask meme: [ 🛁 ] - running them a bath, Shadowzel.

-----

“She is in pain,” Lae’zel says, pacing back and forth before the bar on the Elfsong’s bottom floor. The ale Karlach purchased for her sits undrunk on the wood bartop; she seems to have forgotten its existence. “And it is a pain I do not know how to soothe,” she growls. “It is maddening.”

“Yeah,” Karlach says, watching Lae’zel’s quick, restless movements with an air of sympathy. “Fucking sucks, when someone you care about is hurting. And this kind of hurt… whoof.” She breathes out, rattling her lips heavily. “I lost my parents, back before the Hells, but at least they went… normally, y’know? Bad fever, overturned cart. Things like that happen to people. This, what she had to do… that’s a whole different ball game…”

“This is not helping,” Lae’zel says curtly.

“I’m commiserating,” Karlach says with a slight shrug. “I don’t really have an answer for you. ‘s not the sort of thing you fix.”

Lae’zel comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face Karlach directly. “There must be something,” she says. “I--” She breaks off abruptly and scowls down at the battered slats of the floor. “You know of these things,” she mutters. “I do not. I must have your help.”

“These things?” Karlach cocks her head slowly to one side.

A pause. Lae’zel flushes, her jaw working with frustration at the struggle to articulate her own feelings. “Romance,” she finally says carefully. Another pause, then suddenly rapid, “No. Not romance. Something more. The gentleness that comes with it. I feel the need for it, but do not know…” She falters, her ears flushing a deep olive. “I do not know what to do.”

“Oh.” Karlach would be tempted to smile, were it not for the fact that Lae’zel looks so terribly agitated. “Well, I’ll let you in on the first secret I know,” she says, “which is that we’re all making this the fuck up as we go along. I certainly am.” She nudges the barstool next to her with her boot toe. “C'mon, sit down."

Lae'zel sits abruptly, a soldier obeying orders. Karlach studies her for a moment thoughtfully. "Y'know," she says slowly after a little while, "sometimes when my engine's real bad, Hec'll just... do things for me. Just so I don't have to. Get my dinner served up, or clean out my armor, that sort of thing. And it helps." She rubs at her jaw. "I think, with this sort of shit... it's not about fixing. Not really. It's about... just being there, and holding some of the weight. Helping her keep living, while she sorts it all out."

Lae'zel considers this with narrowed eyes. "Yes," she says slowly.

Karlach's teeth flash in a cautious grin. "We've got a proper bathroom in our rooms upstairs now. You could draw her a bath, bring her dinner after... give her a night not having to think about anything."

Lae'zel nods. "Yes," she repeats. Her whole body is stock-still except for her fingertips which fidget almost imperceptibly against the floral-carved edge of the bar. 

Karlach's smile softens. "The way Hec tells it - it'll make you feel better too," she says gently. "Maybe feel a little less like your head's eating itself alive." She claps Lae'zel on the shoulder. "Look. We're gonna make this happen," she says. "And I'll help. She likes night orchids, right? I'm gonna go right now over to Bonecloaks and shake that woman down for every blossom she's got, and then Jaheira and me'll take the boys off on an adventure for a while. Leave the rooms upstairs all yours till, say, ten o'clock?"

She doesn't expect thanks - the whole crew, by now, is well aware that Lae'zel doesn't tend to say it out loud. What she does get, though, is a sudden tight grip on her forearm from the gith's long-fingered hand; a gesture of camaraderie - or perhaps the clinging of a drowning woman to a driftwood life raft. "That is... generous," Lae'zel mutters.

"Just doing my part to make love bloom," Karlach says airily.

Lae’zel flinches, her color deepening again. “We have not spoken of love,” she says stiffly.

Karlach lifts her eyebrows innocently. “Oh, are we not saying that part out loud yet?” she asks.

“Kainyank…” Lae’zel grumbles, rolling her eyes - but Karlach notices she doesn’t argue the point.

-----

Shadowheart sits on the bed, leaning against the window, her knees drawn to her chest. She’s dimly aware that the others haven’t come back from dinner yet, but it’s hard to muster the energy to care. Ever since the House of Grief, she’s felt drained, empty, surrounded by the shattered pieces of a world she doesn’t know how to reconstruct yet. She feels broken.

There’s the soft sound of a footstep up the stairs. Rustling movement in the center of the shared floor of their lodgings. The sound of running water from the magical taps in the bathroom. Shadowheart ignores it all, focusing her eyes on the progress of a fly climbing up the outside of the window glass. 

Then-- “Shadowheart?”

Something in her heart loosens just a little, hearing Lae’zel’s voice. It’s astonishing, given how they began, the way that Lae’zel has come to mean protection, and understanding, and calm. Lae’zel is safety in a way that none of the others are, because Lae’zel too has had her life taken apart, and the two of them have built a new one out of the ashes. “Yes,” she says softly, forcing herself to stir and lift her head. “I’m here.”

To her surprise, she finds that Lae’zel is standing watching her with a bundle of deep blue flowers in one hand. The gith shifts awkwardly and then sets the plants down on the nearby table. “I--” she says haltingly. A pause, and then she presses on doggedly as if expecting a burst of laughter from some corner at any moment. “All day you have sat here alone. I have drawn you a bath. Will you come?”

“A bath?” Shadowheart tips her head, mildly bemused.

“Yes.” Lae’zel shifts her weight slowly from one foot to the other. Then she adds, almost sheepishly, “Karlach said it would help.” A pause, then so low Shadowheart almost can’t hear it, “Let me help. Please.”

A sudden tight lump settles in Shadowheart’s throat, making it hard to speak. “Lae’zel--”

“I said I would protect you,” Lae’zel mutters. “But there is no enemy to strike. There is only this. These small things. It is not much, but…” 

“No.” Shadowheart slowly uncurls herself from the tight ball in which she has spent the last few hours. The barest hint of a smile pulls at her lips for the first time in days. It’s not about the bath, not really - she didn’t need or even really want one. It’s the reminder that there is more around her than the impenetrable shadow Shar has draped over her world. That Lae’zel is driving it back with both fists, even when she doesn’t think she knows how.

“No,” she repeats softly. “That sounds perfect.”

[halfveil]

⋯ @f1r3h34rt ⋯

prompt - sun & plants/berries

[pippytmi]

For the fake dating thing 11 with whomever you want!

“Do you always get into fist fights on first dates, or am I just lucky?”

There is a bruise already forming on Kara’s jaw, and her hand still has a phantom ache that won’t go away. There might be a touch of blood on the lapel of her shirt, too, but she has been unable to confirm without ready access to a mirror. But it’s this—the firm click of silver six-inch heels against pavement announcing Lena’s arrival—that brings Kara an instant sense of uneasiness.

“It’s kind of in the job description,” Kara shrugs off the rhetorical question. “You know, of being a girlfriend.”

Lena Luthor has an uncanny ability to make Kara feel completely, totally inept in any situation just with a quizzical quirk of an eyebrow and a ruby-red lipsticked frown. Not because she deliberately tries to, but because that’s just the Luthor™ way. Every member of that family seems to have mastered the ability to stare hard enough to make anyone squirm. Even though Kara has known Lena since they were kids—even though they know each other better than anyone else in the world—the effect is the same.

“That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve said all night.” Despite her stoic expression, Lena’s voice is surprisingly soft. “You should have walked away.”

“That would have been worse than not punching Mike Matthews, I think,” Kara says. “Really, I’m ninety-five percent sure I’m supposed to defend your honor, or… whatever the saying is.”

And the strangest thing happens; a glimpse of amusement cracks through Lena’s frown, visible in the ever-so-gentle upturn of the corner of her mouth. “Sorry, did I miss the part where we time traveled a hundred years ago?”

“It’s—you know what I mean,” Kara says. “If I was your real girlfriend everyone would expect me to punch guys in the face for you.”

“Or,” Lena counters, “it might be overkill, since everyone knows you are not inherently a violent person.”

Kara sheepishly tugs at her collar, unable to stop herself from flushing when Lena gazes at her so pointedly. “Does it matter if everyone who meets Mike wants to punch him? Because I’m pretty sure he could make a nun violent.”

“Wow,” Lena says. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a mean thing about anyone before this.”

“Yeah, well…” Kara grimaces. “Mike Matthews brings it out of me. Or maybe this stuffy party does.” Her hand unconsciously goes back to her jacket, and she has to shrug it off all at once, suddenly feeling constricted in her suit. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Lena must be far more uncomfortable than Kara is, with those high heels and the skintight dress and the overall burden of familial expectations hanging on her shoulders, but she masks it remarkably well. “Practice,” she says—sighs. “And whiskey.”

“Gross,” Kara says, unconsciously crinkling her nose as she works at undoing her tie next. “I’m more of a Capri Sun girl myself.”

A short, stunned laugh emerges before Lena can likely quell it. “Right, how could I forget,” she says, and tilts her head in that curious way she does whenever she has a question she isn’t sure how to ask. But it must pass, because her actual question comes out in the form of: “Is there a reason you’re stripping in full view of the paparazzi?” 

“Fan service?” It’s a weak joke, but it makes Lena roll her eyes in that mock-exasperated way that Kara knows would be a laugh out of anyone else. “I just need to cool off, maybe. Then I promise, I’ll be your doting girlfriend for all the cameras again.” She allows a beat before she adds, perhaps unnecessarily, “Without any violence.”

“Yes, I think my mother would very much prefer that.”

Kara laughs, remembering the horrified look on Lillian Luthor’s face with—admittedly—a bit of glee. “Yeah,” she says, “I’m sure she’s thrilled with how tonight is going.”

“Well, she does think it’s all part of a rebellious phase,” Lena muses. “She’s convinced I’m doing this just to spite her.”

Kara has felt the brunt of Lillian’s disapproval back since she first befriended Lena when they were kids, back when they were auditioning for the same movie. Honestly, there is no telling why Lillian has always disliked Kara. Maybe it was because she wasn’t a nepotism baby like all the rest of crowd, or maybe it was because Kara would sneak Lena out of the giant Luthor mansion to go to the movies, or maybe it was because when they were teenagers Kara had wrecked the Porsche (on a dare)...but that disdain has been steadfast ever since they were young, and it’s never once wavered. Everyone knows it. Lena knows it.

Which is why Kara is unable to keep the confusion out of her voice when she says, “Uh. Aren’t you?”

“Aren’t I…what?” Lena repeats, lost.

“Pretending to date me to spite her?” Kara prompts. “You know. Since she hates me?”

Lena’s brow furrows ever-so-slightly. “I didn’t mean dating you,” she says. “I mean dating in general. She thinks it’s a distraction.” She absentmindedly picks at one of the sequins on her dress, a nervous tic that she has never been able to shake. “God, it’s getting cold out here.”

The temperature is just right for Kara, but Lena has always run cold; Kara’s poked fun at her for it once or twice (or for their entire childhood, but who’s keeping track). An unbidden smile, fonder than it has any right to be, inevitably forms. “Well sit down, so you can leech some of my body heat. Besides, you make me tired just looking at you in those heels.”

“Then I’ll be colder,” Lena objects, eyeing the stone of the fountain edge that Kara is currently sitting on. “No way.”

“You’re the most high maintenance fake girlfriend ever,” Kara feigns annoyance. “Here, then. Sit on my lap. And you can put my jacket over your legs.”

It’s hard to exactly tell with the dim lighting of the streetlights, but Lena—blushes? Maybe? And immediately shakes her head. “I’m too heavy.”

“No such thing,” Kara retorts. “I’ll keep stripping if you don’t sit down, Lena. Then your mother will really have a reason to hate me.”

“You are trying to create scandal everywhere you can tonight, aren’t you?” Lena says, but doesn’t move, only crosses her arms and gives Kara an exasperated look. “It would be a hell of a front page.”

“Wow, Lena, if you wanted me naked all you had to do was ask,” Kara says, undoing the first two buttons of her shirt while Lena continues to glare. Then, for fun, she continues up until she hits the top of her bra and Lena’s jaw fully drops in alarm.

“Oh my God, Kara, stop!”

But the ruse works, because as Lena moves forward as if she’s about to button Kara’s shirt back up (or just push her into the fountain), Kara is able to wrap an arm around Lena’s waist and tug her down. Lena yelps in surprise, arms coming up to squeeze around Kara’s neck, and Kara has to hide a grin into the curls that hit her full force in the face.

“Geez, Lena, you’re like an ice cube. Don’t you own a sweater?”

“You asshole,” Lena says, but there is no bite in her voice, only annoyed defeat. “If I get glitter all over you, I’m not going to apologize.”

“I’ll let it slide, this once.” Kara doesn’t mention that there’s nothing in the world that she wouldn’t let Lena get away with. That’s the inevitable truth of being in love with this girl pretty much her whole life—Kara caves first, and she always has. Whether it was what flavor of Gatorade to get from the vending machine, or whether it was who got to sit down in the only remaining chair for a last minute casting call, or whether it was to tag along to Lena’s prom date so the boy wouldn’t try to kiss her, Kara always let Lena call the shots.

Lena exhales; Kara feels the warmth of Lena’s breath against her temple, feels the steady weight of Lena’s body as she shifts on Kara’s lap, feels the rough pattern of Lena’s dress sequins against her fingertips. “You know you’re my best friend, right?” Lena says suddenly.

Those words always make Kara’s heart skip a beat, like they’re right back to being fifteen and nervously holding each other’s sweaty hands while poring over crumpled scripts. “I’d better be,” Kara quips, if only to keep her sappiness at bay, “or I’m returning the BFF necklaces I brought as our first-anniversary gift.”

“I’m serious,” Lena huffs, and her grip around Kara’s neck tightens just a hair. “Will you let me be serious?”

“Okay, okay. One hundred percent seriousness from here on out, I promise.”

For a moment, the only sound is that of cars passing, of the trickle from the water fountain, of the faint music coming from the party. And when Lena speaks at last, it’s quiet. “I know my mom’s not the…easiest person,” she says. “And if pretending to be my girlfriend is going to make you uncomfortable because you have to deal with her, you don’t have to do it.”

“I’ve been dealing with your mother forever, Lena,” Kara says lightly. “She hasn’t been able to scare me off yet, for as much as she’s tried.”

Lena scoffs, but her hand is unmistakably tender as she fiddles with Kara’s shirt collar. “What happened to being serious?”

“I am serious! Do you or do you not remember that time we went to the water park? I swear she cut a hole in my water tube slide. And let’s not even bring up the whole prom incident, because I swear my hip has never been the same since falling out of your window.”

“She didn’t even know that was you.” Lena laughs, and it’s still somewhat hesitant, but just affectionate enough to reflect her feelings about that memory. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

Kara inhales, shakily, both the sweet scent of Lena’s perfume and some much-needed air. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Lena presses her forehead into Kara’s jaw, her skin still cold enough that it makes Kara sympathetically squeeze her tighter. “Can you just promise to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable?” she asks, and ignores Kara’s question entirely. “Either with my mother, or…just the pretending part with me.”

“I feel plenty comfortable,” Kara tries, but Lena just reiterates,

“Promise me, Kara. I don't want to lose you.”

Something about the urgency in Lena's tone shifts the mood entirely; Kara swallows tightly and nods obligingly. “Okay. I promise. But you have to tell me, too, if anything becomes…I don't know, too much.”

“Fine,” Lena agrees readily.

“No, wait, but listen,” Kara presses. “Being friends is one thing, but dating is another, and—even if it's fake, we're going to have to do couple things. And I don't want it to ruin our friendship.”

“I also don't want to ruin our friendship,” Lena says. “Which is why I brought it up first.”

“Good. Okay. I just wanted to be sure.” Kara awkwardly shifts, all too aware that this might not be the ideal time and place for this conversation. Much less when Lena's still in her lap, clinging to Kara as if afraid to let go. “So on a scale of one to ten, how badly have I messed up the friendship by fighting Mike?”

Lema hums, considering. “That depends on what he said about me.”

“Um, nothing nice,” Kara says haltingly. “I'd rather not repeat it.”

“Then I'll let it slide…this once.” Lena's hands find their way up to Kara's face, fingertips gentle against the bruise on her jaw. “But you are still an idiot.” She thumbs warmly against the apple of Kara's cheek and gazes at Kara from underneath thick mascaraed eyelashes, then whispers, “And you're my favorite.”

“Your favorite idiot?”

“My favorite person.” Suddenly they're seventeen again, and Kara is sitting on Lena's bedroom floor still tugging at her tux because it itches. Suddenly they're seventeen again, and Lena is biting her lip and unable to catch Kara’s eye. Suddenly they’re seventeen again, and Lena is whispering I wanted you to make sure he didn’t kiss me because I want you to be my first kiss.

Kara blinks, mouth opening and closing for a pause, before she has to fall back on a safe feeling—fall right back to humor, so Lena does not comment on the way Kara’s body automatically tenses. “Aw, Lena,” she manages, “that sounded a lot like you like me.”

“I’m just a good actress,” Lena says mock-haughtily, but her eyes are searching as they lock onto Kara’s, expression softening the way no one else ever really sees. To the world she’s always been some cold, aloof superstar, but to Kara she will always be the best friend who wanted her first kiss to be with the person she trusted most in the world.

“Well for the record,” Kara swallows thickly, “you’re my favorite, too.”

There is a split second—a charged, electric second—where Kara swears Lena is going to kiss her. Her eyes are hooded like they’re about to close, and her face sways closer, her hand still resting on Kara’s bruised jaw. But then she sighs, and Kara can feel the distance before she sees it.

“We should go back inside,” Lena says, abruptly stumbling off of Kara's lap. “Sooner or later we'll have to do damage control.”

It takes a beat for Kara to catch up. “Right,” she says, hastening to button up her shirt and follow. “It wouldn't be a Luthor party without damage control.”

“It's the first time you're the cause, though,” Lena throws over her shoulder. “And don't forget your tie!”

“Got it,” Kara calls, undoing her tie entirely and tossing it into the bushes. “Hey, wait up! Come back and hold my hand.”

That makes Lena freeze in place. “What?”

“For—you know, the cameras,” Kara says, shrugging her suit jacket back on. “So we can show a united front.”

Lena gives her an inscrutable look. “You say the weirdest things sometimes,” she says, but she allows Kara to catch up and intertwine their hands together without further complaint. 

“How else is everyone supposed to know you're not mad at me?” Kara reminds her. “Or that I'm the best girlfriend you've ever had?”

“I doubt they're going to make that assumption based on hand holding.” But as they climb up the steps to rejoin the gala, the low, golden light illuminates that dimpled smile of Lena's that makes Kara breathless. “What makes you think you're the best, anyway?”

“Just a guess,” Kara says, squeezing Lena's hand as they reach the entrance. “Am I?”

“Let's see if you end tonight without any more fights first,” Lena quips, and while her voice is teasing, her smile grows exponentially tender. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Kara echoes quietly, and allows Lena to lead her right through those double doors knowing that she would follow Lena anywhere.

[non-un-topo]

could i please get some of nicky and joe dancing please <3?

You certainly can, my friend! <3

I may have accidentally made it a little angsty (and they look like they're not dancing rip but I promise they are)

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

[fourteenfifteen]

new to the crew

G // 1.6k // friends at the table: palisade

“Aaaaaaand… there! All done!”

Mustard stepped back from the wall. With the last poster hung, she was officially all moved into her cabin on the Blue Channel. “It’s perfect. Don’t you think?”

YES, came a crinkling voice in her mind, LOOKS SUPER CUTE.

(Mustard joins the crew, sort of.)

for @cadmium-free for secret samol 2023

read now on ao3

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

Now that I have written 19 (!!) Donald Pierce fics, I figure it’s probably time to organize them a bit for tumblr! So here we go!

Your Mercy’s Got Teeth, Baby: Here’s the thing. It’s technically in all of the Reavers’ contracts that they give Alkali-Transigen blanket permission to perform medical testing on their bodies after death. Donald just hadn’t figured that would still apply to someone who got revived. On the run from Alkali, Donald Pierce finds himself short on options and friends. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Logan is none too happy to see him again.

Heart, for a Loss: Five times Donald Pierce thinks he’s in love, and one time he actually is. (CW: non-con, underage)

Stand at Attention: After a tough mission, Donald Pierce and Frank Castle share some alone time.

What Nightmares May Come: The Corinthian reacquaints himself with Donald Pierce. (CW: implied non-con, implied child abuse)

What Good Girls Get: Truth be told he’d been expecting something more in line with ‘power-drunk cop’ or ‘horny marine’ when Gabby had brought up the whole roleplaying thing a few weeks back. But he guesses he can’t begrudge her having a type, even if it means he’s gotta be some butch dyke at the grungiest lesbian bar in Mexico City. Donald figures he can be a good girl. Just this once, and just for her.

Twice Shy: Stranded in the past, Logan expects to spend the next few decades blowing his time and his cash on cheap alcohol in dead-end small towns. He doesn’t expect eighteen-year-old Donald Pierce, pretty, bitchy, smart as a whip, and on the doorstep of the rest of his life.

3AM After the End: While the mutant children continue on to the border, Logan is captured by what’s left of the Reavers. So is Donald Pierce. Turns out, they aren’t all too happy with their old boss. (CW: non-con)

Rinse and Repeat (and Repeat and–): Woulda, coulda, shoulda might as well be on Donald Pierce’s tombstone. Instead of dying, he finds himself continuously repeating the day that started it all, and gets to find out if he would, if he could, and if he should. (CW: non-con)

One Size Fits Most: Donald Pierce gets his most unusual prosthetic request yet. It ends up being kind of a blast.

Colorful Places series (completed: yes)

Friendly Favors, at Cost: Gabby had been expecting a bullet to the back of the head for her role in helping Laura and the others escape. Instead she gets a suite in a ritzy hotel, courtesy of Donald Pierce.

The Marrying Kind: Gabby and Pierce struggle to settle into their new life in hiding. Gabby realizes something’s gotta change.

A Study of Similarities series (completed: yes)

Variations on a Theme: Donald Pierce meets a different version of himself. He’s still deciding if he likes him.

Three and Just Begun: Donald Pierce tags along when Doc Donnie gets a booty call. He has a better time than he expected.

Winning’s in the Way We Lie: For some reason, there's no "Yes, I want to reveal deep and disturbing truths about our shared sexual histories with my clone" answer on the clonefucking poll. Donald wouldn't pick it, but maybe Doc would.

Where Wolves Fear to Prey series (completed: yes)

Good-Time Boy: It’s the first time in ages Donald Pierce hasn’t wanted to be the first guy out of the room. After a month of playing engineer for the Blackguard mercenaries, Donald is actually sorry to leave. Apparently they feel the same way, because he gets a surprise going-away party… and then the surprises just keep coming. (CW: past non-con, accidental non-con)

Like a Virgin: Donald wants to get fucked. He doesn’t want to have to like it.

Perfect Reflection series (completed: yes)

Deja Blues: Ty Shaw sees the taciturn stranger at the bar and sees an opportunity for some fun. It’s a pity the stranger sees something – or maybe someone – else.

Difference of Degrees: Ty thinks he’s just signing up for some sexy, naughty roleplay when Logan asks him to be sorry. Ty may be in over his head.

Belly of the Beast: Ty’s not in the mood. Logan is. (CW: non-con)

[jate-kara]

The vanguard and "can you pretend I didn't say that?"

“As far as welcome-back parties go, not the worst I’ve seen. Not the best. But you know what? Not the worst, so I’ll call it a win.”

‘Party’ was a generous term. Zavala’s office could hardly be called cheery on its best day, but cluttered as it was now with relics, weaponry, reports, and what looked suspiciously like a collection of half-full coffee mugs in the bookshelf’s corner, it barely passed for a workspace, let alone a party venue.

Besides that, there were no streamers, no balloons, and no fingertips sparking fireworks. No cheering guests, either. The room was lit by the single lamp set on the desk, casting shadows across Zavala and Ikora and absolutely nobody else. The combined weight of their stares was enough to give a guy nightmares.

Felt like just last week he’d been in here, meeting their scowls with a quick quip and a flash of charm. ‘Lame’ is what Cayde might have called the whole thing, under better circumstances. But these weren’t better circumstances. Might even call ‘em ‘apocalyptic’, actually. So he kept his mouth shut, leaned forward, and let his hands come to rest on the edge of the desk. Well within their sight. Not like he had Ace on him; he’d handed it off to Ikora after his resurrection. Return. Whatever. But maybe it helped.

Or maybe not. Ikora’s stare was unwavering.

“I told you,” Cayde tried, for the fifteenth time. “I can’t explain it to you. I don’t know how I’m back. Who brought me back. Why I’m back. I just know I’m glad I am. Sounds like you could use the help.”

Zavala gave an audible sigh. His elbows were propped up on the desk, so his hands were folded in front of his face, obscuring half his scowl. For a moment, he was silent, contemplating Cayde like an enemy and not an ally the Light had found fit to return from a death beyond death.

“We don’t expect you to explain,” Zavala offered at last.

“Great! Then stop looking at me like I’m going to blow the Tower up.”

Ikora winced. Cayde stopped short. “Wait. Nobody did that, right? Wasn’t one of my Hunters?”

Zavala dropped his head to his hands and left it there, scrubbing at his face like that would erase whatever headache was now blooming in the back of his skull. Could almost call it like the good old days, if his eyes weren’t shot through with haunted grief when he looked back up. “No,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His gaze met Cayde’s, and held. He opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but all that came out was a hoarse croak.

Ikora rested a hand on Zavala’s shoulder, then took a measured breath. “The circumstances are…different, but you're not the first to return to us. Last time, we failed to see our enemy, and we almost paid dearly for it.”

Vague as vague can be. Someone got a foothold in the Tower, close enough to spook the Vanguard, or outright infiltrate them. Cayde looked between them.

“It wasn’t one of us,” Ikora supplied. Her voice was softer, this time.

Cayde wondered what he must have looked like to prompt that response, and pushed the thought away just as quickly. “All right, so tell me how I’m supposed to prove I’m me. You wanna hear about the Dare? Where I got the cloak? Best bet I ever lost?”

Zavala’s breath hitched. Ikora’s hand shot across the table and closed around Cayde’s wrist. Too late, Cayde remembered the crushing pain in his chest, and the Young Wolf, beside him, as the light faded, and he fought for a final word.

Cayde coughed. “Can you pretend I didn’t say that?”

Ikora’s hand didn’t move. For a beat that felt like whatever eternity he’d spent beyond, no one spoke.

“I don’t know how to prove that you aren’t an agent of our enemy,” Zavala said at last. His voice was soft, softer than Cayde could ever remember hearing it. “But I want to believe that you aren’t. I want to believe that you are truly returned to us.”

Cayde waited for a however, we can’t just- or an I’m sorry, but that’s not enough. It didn’t come. From either of them. He looked at them, and he felt the weight of Ikora’s hold on his wrist and the suffocating hope in Zavala’s eyes, and his chest ached. And he wondered what had happened while he was dead, and whether ‘apocalyptic’ could even begin to cover where they were now.

And for a second, he didn’t give a damn.

“All right, now don’t shoot me,” Cayde said. “But I’m gonna hug you. Both of you.”

And they let him.

—

[scionshtola]

13 for the cuddle prompts 🥰

ty hannah!!

13. holding and watching the other while they fall asleep || 255 words

Corisande sinks into Y’shtola’s arms, their ears carefully pointed away from her face as they tuck their nose into the curve of her neck. Though their narrow shoulders and rather straight frame give them the appearance of being slight, their height and the long, lean muscles from years of acrobatic machinist training make them a significant presence in her arms. But Y’shtola does not mind—their warm, solid weight pressed her comfortingly into the bed, settling her.

“Turning in for the night, are we?” Y’shtola slips a hand under Corisande’s nightshirt and presses her palm to the warm skin beneath, corners of her lips quirking when they relax even further in her arms. Corisande hums softly, her eyelashes whispering against Y’shtola’s neck as she closes her eyes.

Y’shtola has her answer. She rubs soothing circles into their back and presses a soft kiss between their slowly drooping ears. Their breath glides warm and even across her collarbones, almost tickling. Corisande grows slightly heavier in her arms the further they fall into sleep, and a small, warm delight takes root in Y'shtola, expanding with each rise and fall of their chest against hers.

After sharing a bed for so long now, Y’shtola knows ‘tis no small thing for Corisande to fall asleep so easily. As warm and secure as Y’shtola feels beneath her, Corisande must feel equally as secure in Y’shtola’s arms. 

Y’shtola tucks her smile into their hair, disguised as a gentle kiss, rests her cheek atop their head, and says, “Goodnight, my love. Sleep well.”

[whoa-where-did-the-pancakes-go]

what is 'subject A'

Subject A is Dallon's character in some (all?) of the idkhow music videos :] the Subject A i usually talk about is @starboy14176 's guy.

[sungtaro]

assign your mutuals a CRAVITY member they give you the same vibes as, go!

oh this is fun and cute hehe thank you 🥲🫶🏻🫶🏻 I tried to stick to mutuals who know the boys for this and put my reasoning . all below the cut ! 💕

serim is @leewonseo :: rachel and selm are soft and nurturing and lovable but also u just like would NOT mess with them , natural leaders and caretakers

allen is @yangsminho :: gabi and llen are the kind of people I want to just squeeeeeze they are naturally cute and magnetic and sometimes a little silly. ik they are taller than I am but put them in my pocket

jungmo is @jinyoungtual :: my gorgeous and goofy goobers … supportive attentive NOT afraid to crack a joke . beautiful inside n out !

woobin is @lunetual :: my BESTIES (real) . people who make you feel comfortable, are great listeners, are charming and earnest and creative and homey.

wonjin is @berryjaellie :: the ones who want to bring everyone together, the ones who pay attention to every detail and are always thinking “that reminds me of …” , who need love and affection to match the deep love and affection they feel for everyone around them . will bite you

minhee is @taeminblr :: looks like a model but is sweet to the core . feels deeply and looks out for people quietly . COMMITTED to their opinions but open to actual reasonable debate .

hyeongjun is @weitual :: the nations sunshines! just cute and infectious and the kind of people who draw you in. insanely talented and some of my faves of all time hehe

taeyoung is @sehyoonz :: my happy pill my goofy beloved deserves the world deserves to be babied . also stunning human beings

seongmin is @minhees :: my actual babies . beautiful and chic but with that more silly side that comes out and reminds you how energetic they are . will also probably bite you

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @astreamofstars for this ask meme: Questioning Sentences, Vol. 33 Jaheira/Khalid - "Are you getting my wife into trouble?" Like I said - I had a more comedic idea for this which I'll probably also write, but here's some Harper-era dramafluff first. :D

-----

The blade presses low and tight against the curve of Jaheira’s neck. The assassin smiles coldly. “Not so tough now, are ya, Harper?” he hisses.

Jaheira remains perfectly still, her eyes flicking around rapidly as she examines her position. 

The assassin is a sallow half-elf whose ice-blue eyes are almost obscured by the overhang of his hood. His dark cloak melds him with the shadowy night around them; Jaheira can see the subtle outline of a winged serpent embroidered in his tunic. Zhentarim, then.

She should really have been expecting this, in light of the smuggling operation they just broke up near Waterdeep. It was the largest nest of Zhent they've rooted out in some time and (she sincerely hopes) crippled the group’s slaving operations for the immediate future - but a noise that big doesn't go unnoticed by the sort of people who have sharp knives and are ready to use them. 

And this Zhent knows his business, that’s certain. His weight is carefully distributed across his feet while keeping her pinned to the tree behind her, and the knife is positioned to give her little room to maneuver. He deliberately waited until she had no energy left for a wildshape, and even if she did, she’s not confident her enemy wouldn't be anticipating it. Her pulse quickens with sudden adrenaline as the reality of the danger sets in.

“You have the advantage of me, it seems,” she says, deliberately keeping her voice even and conversational so as not to betray any fear.

The man's smirk deepens unpleasantly. “That's the idea. We know all about ya, y'know… Jaheira. Know ya put together that raid on our people last week. So I've got some payment I need t’ extract.”

If she can just get leverage with one leg, she twist out of his grip… but no. He senses the shift of her weight and moves almost automatically to counterbalance it, his knee shoving against her hip. 

She sighs and swivels her head carefully, trying to look past his shoulder. 

He snorts. “What're ya lookin’ for, girlie?” he asks mockingly. “Gonna call down a flock of birds? Like I said - we know all about you. Why d'you think I chose this moment t’ drop in? I know you do your scouting alone.”

One of Jaheira's eyebrows quirks up and she finally can't help it. She grins. 

“Your information is out of date,” she says.

The Zhent's eyes bug wide and he cries out in startled pain as a heavy boot kicks the back of his knee, staggering him off-balance, followed by a gauntleted sucker punch at the small of his back that stuns him briefly to immobility. Khalid, surging out of the darkness, gets one arm around the man's neck and yanks him backwards; with his other hand, he strikes the Zhent's wrist, knocking the dagger out of his hand. 

“Oh, my,” he says as he hauls the Zhent backwards, giving Jaheira room to slip free of the wall. His voice is almost casual - but Jaheira knows him far too well to be fooled. She can hear the ice in it, and the way his usual nervous stammer has hardened out in the moment of crisis. “Are you getting my wife into trouble?” 

Jaheira snorts. “Getting himself into trouble, more like,” she says, dusting herself off. “Once again we are underestimated.” She clicks her tongue with mock-disappointment. “The last time he will make that mistake.”

“Let me go!” the Zhent growls, his voice strangled by the pressure of Khalid's arm on his throat; the stunned moment is fading and he starts to struggle fiercely in Khalid's grip. 

“As you wish,” Khalid says mildly. With a sharp jerk, he releases the other man and at the same time twists sideways so they're facing each other. Before the Zhent has time to react, Khalid lands a punch directly between his eyes; his head snaps back and he goes over like a felled tree, hits the dirt, and is still. 

Silence, and then the chirp and buzz of insects reasserts itself around them. Jaheira relaxes with a low chuckle. “Well struck.”

“Are you hurt, m-my love?” Khalid asks, turning to face her. His eyes trace searchingly over her from head to foot, looking for signs of injury. 

She smiles affectionately, hearing his stammer return as the moment eases. “I am fine. He had no chance to truly strike me. Besides…” She scoffs dramatically.” I could have handled him.”

“I've n-n-no doubt of it, Khalid says earnestly. “All the same, I'm g-glad I was here.”

“As am I.” In spite of her airy manner, the pulse of adrenaline still sits heavy in her throat, and she takes a few steps closer to him automatically, slipping her hand into his. The warmth of his palm is grounding, comforting. “Much easier with two.”

He lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Then he crouches down to begin rifling through the unconscious man's pockets. She raises an eyebrow, seeing that he is grinning giddily to himself as he does so. 

“And just what is that look for?” she asks, amused. 

His head ducks and he gives a sheepish little chuckle that is just this side shy of a giggle. “M-my wife,” he says. “That was the f-f-first time I c-could call you m-m-my wife on a mission.” He looks up at her, his eyes bright and dancing in the dimness. “It f-f-felt wonderful.”

The adoring expression on his face sends a full-body shiver through her. “It did, didn't it?” she murmurs. 

It's still so new, with the wedding only a week behind them. In many ways nothing has changed, but that strange and everpresent delight still lingers in the back of her mind. And it spikes up in little bursts at the oddest times - a word, a glance, a touch, anything that reminds her that the bond is made and she has him for the rest of their lives. 

She ruffles his hair where it peeks from beneath his helmet at the base of his neck, and is gratified to feel his subtle, eager squirm at the touch. “Well then, my husband,” she says with a soft laugh. “Let us get back to camp. Though what a pity we must have an unexpected guest interrupting our privacy for the evening.” She nudges the unconscious Zhent with her boot toe and rolls her eyes. 

“Of all his c-c-crimes, that is surely the m-most grievous,” Khalid says, and laughs. 

[ravendruid]

Being playfully clingy in the mornings when one has an off day and the other has to rush to work

Saying "I Love You" without saying "I Love You" This is my first time writing Beauyasha. I felt like it would fit the prompt nicely. I hope you like it <3

Clingy Mornings

Beauregard feels the warmth of the morning summer sun on her naked skin before she even opens her eyes. She hates how her position at the Cobalt Soul forces her to enclose herself in the cold, dark, musty archive libraries when she could be sprawling out on the warm white sandy beaches of Nicodranas with her wife and her awfully cheerful friend Jester. Beau knows she has to get up soon to bathe herself and dress up in black and blues, to comb and tie her hair and adorn herself with the few jewelry pieces she actually cares for. She will wake up Yasha – never on purpose – who will busy herself in the kitchen preparing breakfast and if Beau is lucky and there is enough time, a nice hearty lunch for later. She will have to kiss her wife goodbye, lifting herself up on her tiptoes to reach her soft lips, and will leave in a rush because she’s late, as she always is nowadays. Beau knows the day will be spent with her nose in the god-forsaken books – oh, how ironic it is that she is the one doing this, while her bookworm friend is lecturing classes and living a more interesting life – and she will spend her short lunch hour gulping down whatever food she can muster to find. 

She drags on the time as much as she can, not wanting to leave the warm embrace of the bed and the soft snores of her wife. But when the sun finally disappears above the higher trim of their bedroom window, Beau knows it’s time. And she tries. Gods, does she try. As soon as Beau touches the sheet pooled at her hips, a strong, scarred arm locks itself around her torso and pulls her aggressively against the chest of the woman behind her. Beau chuckles. Her wife is many things: strong and scary but also kind and caring, and although she knows every trick in the book to ensure her prompt release, Beau simply does not employ them, opting to lean into the embrace.

“I have to go,” She is reluctant in her speech. She doesn’t have to go. She could stay. Fuck the archive. Fuck the books. Fuck everything but Yasha’s painful groan in her ear, reverberating through Beau’s entire body as her wife clings to her like a lifeline. “I really do,” She tries again. And again. And a third time, until, eventually, Yasha releases her grip on Beau.

The bath is rushed, the clothes are put on haphazardly, and the jewelry is almost forgotten on top of the dresser. Yasha pouts at Beau from the bed as she gets ready, and when the last piece of hair is carefully set in place, Yasha is behind her at the speed of light, her strong arms wrapping around Beau again. 

“Stay,” She pleads in her hoarse sleepy voice, the one that makes Beau’s toes curl every morning. On a different day, she might, but today she can’t, and she hates herself for denying her lover of her presence.

There is no time for breakfast – much less for lunch – as Beau tries to finish getting ready with her much taller wife attached to her. Yasha is always clingy in the mornings, but awfully so this morning, and Beau can’t figure out why. Did she forget a special date? Is it their anniversary? She really doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The sun is high in the sky already, and she should have been at work long ago. She will surely earn herself a scolding from her superior and probably have to work extra at the end of the day as she is punished with yet another pile of books. There is, however, time for a languid kiss and a promise of cuddles that night. 

Beau has to wrestle out of Yasha’s tight embrace – having no option but to resort to her well-known techniques – so she can finally leave for work. Running through the crowded streets of Zadash, she curses between her teeth as the looming building of the Cobalt Soul appears within view, dreading the day ahead of her. Beau should have stayed in bed. She should have given in to her wife’s wishes and stayed. Maybe tomorrow she will. Maybe tomorrow is the day she says fuck the books and gives Yasha her full, undivided attention.

[inafieldofdaisies]

💭 I’m dying to know Cal’s thoughts about Cooper

now, this would be in an AU where Sabrina and Savannah aren't staying at the ranch after the start of the Reaping.

we're going Goldilocks-esc hehe (totally blame Calahan for this parallel), with a side of destruction of property and other things. 🤷‍♀️ NSFW, kinda?

"Another one, gorgeous.", Calahan called out to Mary May, who was at the far end of the bar, speaking to a customer. That night, he found himself over John Seed's general existence and stifling presence in the region on an new level. She didn't make him wait long as she refilled his drink again, then asked, "Should I just leave you the whole bottle?" "Fuck. Might be a good idea. Thank you." Minutes passed where he searched for tranquility at the bottom of the glass, but that never came, his desire to cause destruction didn't die down. The Spead Eagle was more full than usual, but people kept their distance from him, sensing his sour mood. Must be something about my face. Or more likely his bloody knuckles after he had gotten carried away with another capture party sent his way. The bell above the bar's door signaled the arrival of a new patron, but he didn't bother to turn around. "A toast to you fuckers. Hope you ain't too hot down there.", he muttered out loud and raised his glass. At that exact moment, the empty seat next to him finally became occupied. A cowboy hat was placed down on the bar next to his hand. "What are we celebratin'?", the newcomer asked, which made Calahan's eyes shift to him. "The death of more of John's men.", he replied as he took in the blond guy he hadn't seen around the Valley before. "I'd drink to that. With pleasure.", the stranger smirked as he lifted a finger to Mary May in a sign he wants a drink. While he waited, he reached out a hand to Hartley, "Cooper McCoy. Howdy, Deputy?" Calahan grunted, letting Cooper's hand hang in the air, as he found himself dreading anyone's company. After a beat, the man took the hint, giving up on the handshake, but still smiling as he concluded, "Someone ain't in the mood tonight, huh?" Hartley took another swig, paying more attention to the liquor as it slid down his throat than to his words, hoping the newcomer would give up on socializing soon. "How about we make things fun?", Cooper broke the silence again, clearly set on turning him into his drinking buddy for some reason, "I sure can use it, you look like it, too." What the hell. I'd bite. "What do you have in mind?" "We hit John's ranch, heard he would be away tonight… why not have his blood pressure raise up a little when he returns?", Cooper quirked an eyebrow. "You're speaking my language now.", Calahan smiled at the idea, at endless possibilities the plan presented.

"Shall we then?", Cooper didn't wait for a reply, instead he put his hat back on and grabbed the bottle left at the bar and strode outside. "I'm heading out, gorgeous.", Hartley announced, and Mary May gave him a nod paired with "Stay safe." As he passed through the door and was hit by the night air that sobered him up, his eyes found Cooper standing by a pickup truck. The second he saw him, he climbed in the driver's seat, and Calahan wasted no time before he got in as well. He laughed internally at the thought of how Sabrina would warn him about going places with strangers he'd just met, but in the times of a war with a cult, you had to learn to lean on people. He couldn't deny he had a good feeling about McCoy as the man sped off towards John's ranch. Minutes later, they were breaking the side door's window of the bastard's house and letting themselves in. It didn't take long before the first floor was completely trashed. A record truly. "We're just getting started, Deputy.", Cooper cheered as he threw Joseph's portrait in the fireplace while Calahan took a swig from the bottle of liquor before passing it to him. "I'm heading upstairs, have been dying for a proper, uninterrupted shower." Hartley took the stairs two at a time as he heard more sounds of destruction coming from the living room and dark laughter. He checked each door until he found John's bedroom, taking his sweet time to rummage through every drawer for anything of interest before emptying out whatever he could on the floor. The bastard's clothes ended in a huge pile at his feet.

Should I burn them? Or throw them over the balcony? Nah. Focus. Shower first.

He marched over to the bathroom, eyeing the crimson bathrobe that hung on the door with disgust. For him, it was another symbol of John's hypocrisy. Living his best life while we're all fighting to stay alive. He striped off his clothes, jumping in the shower, reveling in the quiet and the feeling of the hot water against his tense muscles as it finally washed away the blood from his most recent fight. When he exited the stall, he grabbed the robe and put it on, then picked up his clothes on his way out. When he returned to the bedroom, Hartley found Cooper lounging at the edge of John's bed. "What are you up to, Goldilocks?" "It got boring without ya.", Cooper chuckled as his blue eyes ran over his body, "Damn, even his robe has their goddamned symbol?" "Yeah.", Calahan muttered as he lit a cigarette and made a move to grab the bottle from Cooper's outstretched hand, but the man had other ideas. He discarded it on the bed and rose up, coming closer to Hartley. His gaze was glued to his as he snatched the cigarette from his lips and took a generous pull from it. "Stealing my nicotine now, Cooper?", Calahan teased. "Want me to return it, Deputy?" Before he could remark anything about the strange suggestion, Cooper clashed his lips to his, blowing the smoke into his mouth before backing away with a satisfied smirk and passing back the cigarette. Now, that's a surprise. They stood with barely any distance between them, facing each other while Hartley smoked, Cooper's gaze darkening more and more as the cigarette shortened. "Up for some more fun?", he muttered as Calahan put it out finally, tossing the bud on the ground for John to find. His partner in crime's face revealed nothing of what he had in mind. "I'm listening." "Maybe we try that bed of his? Get rid of your bad mood completely… Been told I'm good at that." When Hartley didn't reply right away, uncertainty flashed in Cooper's eyes for a brief second. "Taking the Goldilocks role seriously, I see.", Calahan uttered out as his hand tangled in his blond locks, pulling him closer as he added, "Sounds like a plan." Their lips met in an actual kiss this time while Cooper's fingers undid the belt of the bathrobe and slipped underneath the material as Hartley asked, "You gonna put that hat back on for me or?"

Prompt: Send 💭 to hear my OCs most recent thought about your OC.

[terrainofheartfelt]

21 for any ship that it fits ❤️

I'll be real, I was stumped on who to write until today and it just CAME to me :)

warning: references to past self-harm / suicide attempt

Eric/Jonathan + 21 …on a place of insecurity.

“Nervous?” Jonathan’s voice hits his ear a split second before Eric sees him approach through the mirror. 

“Um –” Eric glances down catching himself scratching at the scars on his left wrist, like they were erasable. He does that sometimes. Which Jonathan knows, because he knows him. Even the graceless, twisted, darkened parts of him. Knows and loves anyway.

“A little,” he admits, turning away from the full length closet mirror to face Jonathan. “You know how it is. Whenever my mom and all my siblings get in one room there’s a thirty-five percent chance of bloodshed.” 

“I seriously regret ever doing that math for you,” Jonathan mutters, taking Eric’s left wrist in his hands, doing up the cuff Eric got too lost in thought to finish. 

“Because you know it’s true.” 

Purely by Eric’s ability to get along with everyone, he often finds himself in the middle of one family feud or another. It used to just be Mom and Serena, but as their family’s expanded, so has the potential for beefs. Jenny and Serena, Dan and Serena.  Lily and Jenny, Rufus and Dan (and vice versa). Hell, when Blair married into the family that upped the quotient even more. Eric should know. His fiance has a PhD from MIT. 

“Hey,” Jonathan says softly, still holding his hand. “This is our engagement party, and if any of your sisters try to cause trouble, I will pull a full groomzilla and remind them that this is our night.”

Eric’s mouth curls up into a smile. He can’t help it these days. He’s so happy. Happy in a way he used to believe he never could be. “Thank you.”

Jonathan presses a kiss to his wrist, right over the spot Eric was scratching at minutes ago. “You’re welcome.”