#writing this is like a fever dream

[nothing-impt]

(I lost my mind thinking about how the Fried Chicken Au came about and wrote a crack fic ft. Flying snakes. Also I am terrible at writing but I couldn't help myself)

---- “Ah, darling! There you are, as much as I love staring into your eyes, where is your blindfold?”  Hermes chirped, greeting the prophet as he sat next to him near the Lethe. Tiresias scoffed, “Oedipus came by today and pissed on all of them. I sent them to the wash.” “All of them?” “Every single one. Is everything alright? I was told you needed to meet me rather urgently.” He paused. “Is it about Odysseus? Did something happen to him?” Hermes cleared his throat. “No. My lovely great-grandson’s doing fine! He should be heading home pretty soon!” “So what’s the issue?” “...” “Hermes?” “Uh.. maybe you should just feel me to find out.” “Hermes, I am not falling for your tricks to get me to grope you.” “No, no! I’m being serious! Just trust me.” Tiresias leaned over and reached for where Hermes was supposed to be and his fingers brushed air. He scowled “There’s nothing there. I told you, no more tricks.” “You’re almost there! Just move your hands down a little!” “You better not be lying-” His fingers brushed against feathers. “Am I touching your shoes?” Hermes chuckled nervously “No?” The prophet pulled back “What exactly am I touching?” “Uh.. I’m kind of a dove now?” “Please tell me you’re joking.” Tiresias deadpanned. “I wish I was! One moment I was delivering messages and the next- boom! I was a bird! Here, touch me again!” A nearby soul wolf whistled and Tiresias hushed him, face burning  “Please, don’t say it like that!” he bent down and stroked dove Hermes, who crooned happily. “Maybe I should bring you to Lord Hades. He might have an answer.” Dove Hermes (Dovemes?) squawked out a laugh and ruffled his feathers. “I doubt it, all the Olympians have been affected. Dad’s currently an eagle, Polly’s a crow and Arty’s a quail. Don’t get me started on Uncle P, he’s a blue seagull! But Dio’s a little scary…” “What bird did Lord Dionysus turn into? A hawk?” “Worse. He turned into this purple flamingo-looking sculpture. He doesn’t move. Just stares. He kept asking for a drink though. Dad told the nymphs to dunk him in a bowl of wine so we all didn’t have to look at him. Aphrodite was super creeped out. She’s a swan, by the way.” Tiresias shuddered, “A curse must have been afflicted for Olympians to turn this way. Especially Lord Dionysus, to be deprived of movement.” Dovemes crooned in agreement as Tiresias continued to pet his feathers. “Anyway, it’s highly likely that Uncle Hades is a bird too! Look, he’s here now- Oh. nice eyes Uncle H!” Tiresias reached over to grab his staff and stood to greet the ruler of the Underworld. “Lord Hades.” “Greetings, Tiresias. Nephew, I see you have told the prophet about our predicament?” Dovemes lets out a chirp, “Yup! Wow, Uncle, I’m really digging the dazed look you’re going for- ow!” Tiresias prodded Hermes with his staff once more. “He may be your uncle, but don’t forget who you’re talking to. May I ask what bird you are Lord Hades?”

The sound of the ruffling feathers was heard, “I am a Potoo. Though I suppose we are centuries before its kind is made known to Greece. Excuse me, while I go find my wife to explain why her husband is currently a bird from  unknown origins.” With a squawk and a beat of wings, Hades left. Dovemes sighed, “Well, I better get going.” Tiresias raised a brow, “What? But you’re still stuck as a bird!” “Dad just sent out a message, he wants all of us to gather in Olympus to figure this out. I won’t visit for a while, but you can have this!”

Tiresias felt a small-clawed foot slip a feather into his palm. "Wait. Hang on-"

“I’ll see you around, darling!” And Dovemes flew off.

Tiresias sighed. What in Zeus’ name is going on?

[independent-fics]

Now, you can take that as a gift, or you can take it as a curse. And that's up to you.

Eliot Spencer and Parker Doing the Things Others Won’t

Leverage (2008-2012)

04x01 The Long Way Down Job

05x09 The Rundown Job

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Normal boy spotted.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[steddieas-shegoes]

98. “if we weren’t in public right now i’d have my head between your legs” 👀

READICUS. Okay. Alright. I've caught the context disease from you though.

Rated M | tags: language, flirting, dirty talk, so much discussion about sex they might as well be having it, getting together, FWB to lovers

😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉

It was just grocery shopping.

They were in a grocery store.

Eddie should not be getting hard watching Steve pick out the ripest bananas.

Like, genuinely, even he knew this was as ridiculous as it could get.

It's just that they'd been casually fucking for the last few weeks, letting off steam, just dudes helping dudes through their synchronous dry spells, and watching Steve pay so much attention to a fucking banana was a lot for Eddie to wrap his mind around.

Casually fucking might not even be the right term.

It was more like...fucking like rabbits.

Eddie spent more time at Steve's house than he spent at his own, and most of that time was spent either naked or trying to be.

He spent the night last night, and only agreed to come shopping with Steve after a very convincing blowjob against the kitchen counter.

It was working for them.

Except for how much Eddie loved Steve. Not like a friend, or a brother, or the way he loved his Hellfire minions. He loved Steve in the "would marry you in Vegas and have tons of babies with you if you wanted" way.

So embarrassing.

Especially taking into consideration that there was no way Steve saw their arrangement as anything more than convenient.

He watched as Steve finally settled on the perfect bunch of bananas and shuffled back to the cart that Eddie was leaning on.

Eddie leaned forward as Steve leaned over the cart, his lips brushing against his ear.

"If we weren't in public right now, I'd have my head between your legs," he whispered.

Which was bold of him considering the grocery store was packed with weekend shoppers.

Steve tensed, his body freezing completely as Eddie backed away, smiling and waving at an old lady glaring at him.

"What the fuck, Eds."

Steve's cheeks were fire engine red, his hands gripping the edge of the cart like it was the only thing holding him up.

"What? I just thought you should know how bad I want you," Eddie shrugged.

They flirted with each other all the time, that's what led to their situation in the first place: the flirting went a bit too far and Steve ended up on his lap, rocking his hips back and forth until he came in his jeans.

No big deal.

Just another day.

But never in public, barely even around someone they trusted.

"Here? Now?" Steve squeaked out, eyes widening comically.

"Why not? You're hot," Eddie's hand grazed his lower back, just enough of a touch to tease, not enough to really be noticed by anyone else.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Steve hissed. "You want people to see?"

"No, 'course not," Eddie smirked. "I just want you to feel."

Watching Steve struggle to find words, struggle to flirt, was possibly the biggest win in Eddie's book. If he could pat himself on the back for it, he would.

"We're in public."

"Stevie, I hate to say it, but being in public doesn't really stop me from wanting to get on my knees and suck your dick."

Steve's face got impossibly darker, only spurring Eddie on more.

"If I wasn't so worried about being walked in on, I'd drag you to the bathroom right now. Maybe fuck you in a stall. You'd probably like that, huh? You liked when I fucked you against the shower wall the other day," Eddie let his fingers trace along Steve's arm, subtle, easy to pull away if someone got too close to them.

"Eddie-"

"Or maybe you'd wanna fuck me. I know how much you like throwing me around and showing off sometimes. Think that would work for you?"

Eddie watched as Steve shivered, biting his lip and doing his best to hold back a whine.

"But we won't do that, right? Because only I get to see you like that. The way you fuck me, the way I fuck you, that's just for us, isn't it?"

Steve nodded.

Eddie looked around, confirmed no one was close enough to see, and settled a hand on the front of Steve's jeans.

"This is just for me."

"Yeah, just for you," Steve choked out, his hand grasping at Eddie's wrist to either pull it away or hold it in place. "Eds-"

"I know, Stevie. But we gotta shop. That's what you said when you were on your knees in the kitchen this morning."

"I can shop later," Steve gasped as Eddie's hand squeezed once before pulling away.

They were in public and there was only so much Eddie was willing to try to get away with, but Steve's reaction was everything.

He looked away, focusing on the apples in front of him as if he cared at all about apples when Steve Harrington was hard right next to him.

He froze.

He thought about everything he'd just said, how possessive he'd sounded, how he'd never quite crossed that line before.

How into it Steve was.

He looked back at Steve, who was still staring at him, face almost back to a normal shade, but lips bitten red and eyes glassy.

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want that to be just for me?" Eddie should not be having this discussion in the grocery store.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want to be mine? Like, more than just...fucking?" Eddie should not be having this discussion in the grocery store.

"Is that...an option?" Steve was letting him have this discussion in the grocery store.

"If you want it to be."

Every once in a while, Eddie saw this look in Steve's eye, only ever when he was looking at Eddie doing something stupid or funny or when he was messing around with the kids.

He never let himself think that it was anything more than just Steve getting distracted while looking at him.

He could see it now, though, and he couldn't ignore what that look actually was.

"I want it. I want you."

Eddie was fucked. In more ways than one, it seemed.

"You do?"

"Why is that so hard to believe? You've practically been living with me for weeks, dude."

Eddie's lips curled down, disgusted.

"Don't call me dude, oh my God."

Steve laughed.

"I'll make it up to you when we get home," he winked, turning around and pretending that he didn't just make Eddie's brain short circuit.

"I- what-" Eddie sputtered.

"What? Can't handle my mouth? You handle it fine earlier."

God, Eddie loved this man.

"Stevie, how fast can you finish shopping?" Eddie started pushing the cart away, not even sure if he was going in the right direction.

"If you stop distracting me, ten minutes."

"I'll be in the car, then."

[dearmyloveleys]

broke: fangs of fortune is a trash of a cdrama with poor story writing, little focus on CP, the only thing redeeming is the aesthetics

woke: fangs of fortune is a story about myth and legend, how its editing, colour grading, costuming and aesthetic choices provide a sense that the characters are constantly living in a dream as it proposes that many myths are—dreamlike and where things are just are because people believe in them, things get incoherent, and with said characters developing relationships with each other that intrigue the heavens, all while challenging the traditional tropes of love and fate

bespoke: fangs of fortune is a once in a lifetime moving picture art form that compels the audience to suspend their belief of reality to follow the story, making them feel as though they are submerged in a long dream with the characters. it is only when the story ends, that we wake back up to reality. did everything really happen?

[ponchizs]

I’m in love with how they are giving so many subtle hints about Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship and how important it is to Alhaitham, despite the way they always seem to be bickering.

Throughout the 3.2 archon quest Alhaitham tells us that the reason why he is so interested in helping Sumeru is because he doesn’t want his daily life to change. After that Kaveh starts being mentioned very frequently by him or we hear other people in the akademiya complain about how they daily argue.

Then, of course, we meet them both arguing with each other in the House of Daena, which was quite the argument. We also know many of their casual interactions and how they go to the café/bar frequently together. Furthermore, Alhaitham pays all of Kaveh’s bills (something no one would do for someone they don't care for).

And now, during Alhaitham’s quest, their tones were so soft (At least in JP and CN) and also domestic. Kaveh seems to worry a lot about Alhaitham and exchanges glances with him, which made me melt inside. I also love how Alhaitham is constantly smiling while bickering with kaveh. Remember, we dont see him smiling like this that often. Which means he really enjoys it. I really liked how after the second time Kaveh asked him if he is okay, he replied with a tease about the painting Kaveh had mentioned before. Also smiling.

But most importantly, something I see no one talking about: the moment when Alhaitham was explaining why he resigned from being the Grand Sage to being the scribe again and he tells us that “It’s important to keep your priorities straight”, the camera points at Kaveh.

I know this game will probably never have any canon ship because they need to make everyone happy, but we do get hints like this from time to time and I think this was one of them.

After all, why would they bother to add all of those scenes with Kaveh when the quests had already concluded, if not for showing us how is what is Alhaitham’s daily life he wants to protect that much? We saw how happy he is, how eager he was to get home and go have dinner with Kaveh. We also see how Kaveh had been waiting for him as well.

I’d like to know more about their relationship, even if it ends up not being romantic (though how do you explain that face Kaveh made when paimon asked if they are friends).

[pencap]

they warned me that i cannot want you. mother told me wanting you would get me hurt. father told me wanting you would get me scarred. you told me wanting you would get me killed.

foolish heart, do you think i do not know? i have known from the moment that i laid eyes upon you and the devouring void in my chest woke up and named itself wanting and stretched and stretched and never stopped stretching that you would be the death of me.

foolish heart, i am not afraid.

it was always going to get me killed, this life of mine this life of yours this life of ours. and if you are going to be the death of me ( you are, you are, you are ) i would rather die for wanting you than die for hating you. i would rather die for the hope of having you than die for the fear of having you.

be my sun, my winds, my ocean and i will make myself icarus and i will find my joy in your blinding light and i will find my freedom in your touch and i will find my death in your waiting arms.

and you can melt me down like a candle under the flame or you can cast me about like a leaf in the skies or you can swallow me whole like a memory.

i will still be yours and wanting and wanting and wanting.

[vro0m]

Can't believe we're only halfway through the season and at the same time I can't remember what happened so far.

Someone send me a summary please. What happened. What did we do. Where are we.

[the-love-witch-roleplays]

[fernsensei]

while me fucking electricity is out have this nsfw gabriel i drew a while ago. full is on my patreon ((i dont have a patreon))

[blindmagdalena]

Hiii, Amy, how are you? Like really, how are you? I hope you're well.

I saw you reblogged this post and a fic about Homelander literally eating a supe!reader who has fast healing would be awesome! Imagine, she's not bulletproof, she can't fly, her thing is just really fast healing, like Wolverine. One night, she offers Homelander her fresh because she loves him so much that she wants him to literally consume her, would he accept, would he say no, what would he do?

girl. i cannot believe you inspired me to write straight up erotic cannibalism. (yes i can.)

dead dove! do not eat! smut and literal eroticized cannibalism under the cut. lite blasphemy? 18+.

It all begins with a bite.

Your hand in his hair, moaning in his ear. "Harder," you gasp, his teeth at your throat, teasing the delicate flesh there. He thinks you mean for him to fuck you harder, and he snaps his hips hard enough to rattle your teeth, but you shake your head.

"No, darling–bite me harder," you urge, legs locked tightly around his waist.

He obeys without a thought, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder. It doesn't matter how rough he is with you, it doesn't matter if he shatters you, your body mends by the time he draws back for the next thrust.

He likes the way the pain makes you moan, and he loves the way it makes your pussy clamp down on his cock. He's not convinced you even feel pain, not with how wet it makes you.

"Harder," you say again, yanking his hair roughly. "I want you to taste my blood."

Homelander is delirious with his own pleasure, so near to the cusp of release, he doesn't question it. His sharp teeth slide through your skin like butter, and the copper tang of your blood fills his mouth in an instant.

It makes you scream. He fucks you hard and fast through your orgasm, lapping up the blood from where you've already healed. If not for the familiar sweet taste of you, it would be like it was never yours.

You take him by the face and kiss him with more fervency than he's ever felt, licking your own blood from his teeth.

"Take more of me," you plead against his lips. "I love you. I love you so much. I want to give you everything." He doesn't understand what you mean. He has you. More than he's ever had anyone before you, more than he ever will.

So he thought.

“Bite me harder,” you keen, digging your nails into his back. You’re frail by superhuman standards, only a little stronger than a human, but your regenerative healing makes you practically indestructible. “I want you to fucking eat me.”

He moans outright when you drag your nails along his scalp.

Because you demand it, he does it again. He bites down, and both your hands cup the base of his skull as if you're nursing him against your body.

His lids flutter.

You feel incredible. You taste even better. Your touch has always made him salivate. His love for you has not been an end to his loneliness, it has become an extension of it.

When you're gone, it's as though the sun loses warmth. Color loses saturation. Food loses flavor. Where he once thought love, ever present in his heart, would reinvigorate the world, he has found this is only true when your hand is in his, when he is inside you, when the taste of you is raw on his tongue.

He must always keep you near. Without you, the world feels too much like a sterile white box beneath fluorescent lights.

"Eat," you whisper, quivering in his hold. "Feel me inside you."

Yes, he thinks. Stay with me.

Your body gives beneath the press of his teeth like it was made to. Blood carries bite-sized portions of you down his throat like the tide brings driftwood to the shore.

"That's it, baby," you moan, voice breathy. You sound as you do on the precipice of release, a swelling of need and incomprehensible pleasure. "I love you."

He believes you.

He tastes it in the spill of you down his throat, and in the white-hot clench of your body. The wet of your cunt, your blood, the saliva you swallow back.

You're hungry, too. You're left drooling as he feasts. He thrusts faster, lips pressed deep in your sinew.

To love is to devour.

To give.

He will give unto you as you have given unto him.

From the moment he met you, he was animal-like in his craving of you.

Perhaps this was always his natural trajectory. He has never known a love he did not choke down, swallow, tear apart at the seams.

You are the first capable of enduring him.

Every bite he takes of you replenishes itself in seconds. He can drag his tongue along his own teeth marks and feel your flesh push back against it, mending itself, born anew to be swallowed again.

This. This is what he has always needed. Too long have love and affection been a finite resource dangled at the end of the very stick they used to beat him. He bore this gnawing emptiness for so long, it grew teeth.

How did you know how to feed it?

He screws his eyes shut, keening into the bloodied crook of your neck.

"Let go," you whisper. "Let's fill each other." Your fingers are delicate in his hair. Your tenderness is relentless, worming deep into the rotted thing that drums in his breast. You dare his heart to beat for you, and suddenly he can't remember a time when it didn't.

"Come for me, baby."

Climax hits him so hard, he forgets how to breathe. He thinks he feels you shatter beneath him, but he can't be sure. You're whole again in seconds, your arms around his neck, your lips against his, your hearts beating against one another like caged birds as he pours himself into you in load after load after load after load.

You're both left panting. Sweat, blood, come and tears all salty and wet between your bodies.

He has taken your blood and your body into himself, and given you all he can in return.

Is this what they meant by holy communion?

He's convinced that it is.

This is the closest he has ever felt to heaven.

[just-more-pr0mts]

Danny was not here.

It's the only way he could describe how he felt. He was walking, talking and breathing. But it wasn't him, yet it was? It was all so complicated and confusing.

He was supposed to be walking, talking and breathing with his his family, his mom and dad, his sisters dani and Jazz. He was supposed to be walking, talking and breathing with his friends, Tucker and Sam.

But he wasn't he was sitting at the end of an extravagant table where he had been all of his life.

Danny was walking, talking and breathing in someone else's body. He felt like a spectator of his own life life he was in a fever dream. But it wasn't his life. Yes he was controlling how he moved and how he spoke, he wasn't possessed after all, yet it felt as if he were.

He was walking down halls he's been in for years, knowing the layout like the back of his hand, yet it all looked so new.

He was talking to people, his siblings and parents who he'd been through hell and back with and knew what made them tick, but he struggled to recognize them as they waved hello.

He was breathing in air that reeked of death , air that tasted like the electricity of the portal air that was so polluted you hardly ever saw the moon at night yet he'd been breathing it in all his life and yet never before.

Aka

Danny wasnt able to save his planet from the asteroid, and in that fiasco he gets thrown into an alternate version of himself that grew up in Gotham with the wayne family (can be twin au or whatever) and now he's stuck there pretending like his danny as he has old Danny's memories.

[twstbookclub]

Please Look at Me

Summary: Can you stop calling Epel cute? Can you not look at and gush over him like a cute toddler? Please, just look at him as someone you can love for once. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender Neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Fluff, Romance, Two Idiots in Love, Unrequited was actually Requited Feelings, Angry Epel Felmier and his Country Accent, Abusing the word Cute, MC is a bit Silly and Goofy like that Word count: 1,790

“I wish I was as cute as you, Epel.”

The Pomefiore freshman’s eyebrows rose so high that they disappeared behind his fringe. Epel turned to you in disbelief. Sat beside him on a stone bench in the courtyard, you fiddled with your popsicle stick as you stared at the clouds. Your eyes absent-mindedly drifted from one cloud to another. Epel could see flecks of gold in them as the scattered rays of sunset gave you an ethereal glow. Your lashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, and your lips turned a bit redder after you gnawed on it.

Epel shook his head. He shouldn’t get distracted by how pretty you are when you literally said you wanted to be cute like him.

“What in tarnation made ya say that? And I ain't cute.”

You huffed, propping your elbow on your lap, and placed your chin in your free hand. Epel noticed the frown before he even processed the next words that came out of your mouth.

“Yes, you are! Literally, everyone mistakes you for a girl, and they start liking you for how adorable you are!”

Epel didn’t know whether it was a compliment or an insult. Judging by your pinched eyebrows and pout, you were praising him for his looks. He leaned back on his arms and tilted his head at you, as his gesture to elaborate.

“I…” You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “For once, I just want someone to look at me like that. Just someone who would like me at first glance, or think that I’m attractive enough to flirt with.”

I do, Epel thought. I always have, so why can’t you see me?

“Ya say that like it’s a bad thing,” Epel gritted out. His harsh grip on his popsicle stick made his knuckles white, and the poor stick was on the verge of breaking into splinters. “Ya don’t need someone ta complete ya, y’know.”

“But I want to,” you sighed, wistful eyes brimming with longing. “I want someone to cuddle with me at night. I want someone to hold me close and exchange sweet nothings with them. I want someone to have arcade dates with. I want to make dinner with them, then eat together while talking about our day. I want to experience all of those moments with a partner at least once.”

So, why can’t you do them with me? Epel couldn’t find his voice. He settled with, “Maybe someday, you’ll find someone to spend the rest of your life with. Then, ya can experience all that mushy lovey-dovey stuff.”

You snort, turning to Epel with the grin that held his heart in a vice grip. “I swear you don’t want anything to do with romance because of what you say about it.”

I don’t mind it if it’s with you.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Epel stood up from the stone bench and held out his hand towards you. “We can’t have Vil hounding us for staying out past curfew.”

“You mean, Vil hounding you. I’m the Ramshackle prefect, remember?” The grin never left your face, and Epel wished he could just kiss you right now. “I can make curfew any time I like.”

As he felt your hand softly squeeze his, warmth spread from his fingertips to his entire being. Like a soft, fleece blanket in front of a gentle fire during winter in Harveston. It reminded him of home. It felt like home with you. Epel wanted to be with you, if you let him. He wanted to do all of those things with you and more. He’d do anything for you, even if it meant the world turned against you two.

For now, he’d settle with being your cute, effeminate friend who’d roundhouse kick anyone who looked at you wrong.

The next few days were the most dreadful ones Epel had. His conversation with you that day never left his mind. It haunted him every time he saw you glance at every passing student in interest. Hell, you even looked at the Vil Schoenheit as if you were considering dating the strict and demanding housewarden. Great Seven, no. He’d rather die than see you hanging off of that royal pain in the ass.

Every glance of yours was another drop of frustration for Epel. The proverbial cup was dangerously close to spilling over. It didn’t help that most of his competitors are literally taller and bigger: two things that Epel aspires to be, but cannot be. You could pick anyone, and still deserve the happiness they’d give you. Epel, though? He didn’t deserve you. You deserve someone big and strong enough to protect you whenever you, yourself, couldn’t; someone who could drop everything to cheer you up. Epel isn’t any of those. He’s tiny and dainty and cute.

“Ah, you’re seriously so cute, Epel!” you cried, hugging him after he handed you another popsicle for your Thursday hang-out. It’s been a full week since that day, and you never stopped gushing about how cute he was.

It was that vile word again. Cute. Was that how you saw him? Was that all he’ll ever be to you?

“You know,” you hummed. “I think… I found someone already.”

Epel froze, his popsicle melting in his grasp. The harsh heat of the sun felt blistering on his skin, yet his hands grew as frigid as snow. The forgotten treat started dripping onto the ground as the sound echoed in his ears.

Drip.

“What?” Epel gaped, lips slightly parted in surprise. “Since when?”

“Since a few days ago,” you hummed with a smile softly curling the corners of your lips.

Drip.

“It’s only been a week,” Epel exasperatedly claimed, desperately holding himself together. “You found someone already? Isn’t this happening too fast?”

The gentle smile on your face never left. “I mean, yeah, but… I’m sure about who I want to be with.”

Drip. Drip.

“Do I know them?” Epel whispered, barely heard among the chirps of the birds and the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. Somehow, you heard him through it all. He just hoped you didn’t hear the sound of his heart starting to crack and break.

You laughed, smiling so wide that your eyes narrowed into crescents. Epel grew jealous of the person in your mind that made you smile so happily. “Of course you do!”

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Oh.” Epel stared at the grass peeking through the crevices of the cobblestone. His mind grappled for something—anything—to ground him back to reality. He’s slipping. He’s losing. Epel should have taken the poison of rejection over the sting of losing you to someone else.

Your smile felt like a slap to his face. What once brought him so much joy and warmth filled him with dread and misery. Epel drifted in and out of consciousness, only catching bits and pieces of what you were prattling on about.

It was when he heard the word cute again that something inside him spilled over into tears and screams.

“Stop calling me cute!” Epel snapped, abruptly standing to face you. The popsicle fell to the ground with a splat, melting into dirt and stone. The world stood still and held its breath while Epel lost his own to his pent-up frustration.

“I feel like you only see me as—as a cute lil’ kid,” the petite freshman struggled with his words, but he was too afraid to stop lest he lose the sudden courage to tell you the truth. “Cute, tiny Epel. Dainty, harmless Epel. Well, that’s enough of that!

I can cuddle you. I can—I’ll hold ya close and tell ya everything I like ‘bout you. I’ll take ya to the arcade and win y’a plushie for our date. I’ll be the one to make dinner and talk about our day over the table. Just—see me as someone who can be with you!

I love you, dammit!” Epel yelled, chest rising and falling from spilling his heart out. You stared, eyes wide and mouth agape. He noticed how you clutched your uniform coat tightly, right above your heart. How you had forgotten your own popsicle that the orange juice stuck to your fingers and trailed down your palm. How you dropped the stick to reach a hand out to him. Although, you retreated when you saw the mess from your ruined treat.

“Epel, I…”

Oh no, Epel thought. Oh hell no. He did not just ruin his friendship with you.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You dingus,” you laughed, but tears started pooling in the corners of your eyes. “It’s you. It’s always been you. Why do you think I gush about you being cute all the time? How I always hug you whenever I could? I was about to confess until you beat me to it.”

Oh. Epel robotically sat beside you again and buried his tomato-red face in his hands. Oh.

“Oh Seven above,” he muttered, voice muffled by his hands. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot.” Epel felt your hand, the non-sticky one, slide into his. Your fingers found themselves intertwined with his, warm and accepting. He squeezed your hand, still too embarrassed to look you in the eye after his outburst. Despite his shame, his heart still jumped at the affection in your voice. It was reserved for him. Just him. Epel couldn’t ask for anything more at that point.

“I kept dropping hints, but I thought you didn’t want to date anyone since… Well, you always call it mushy, cringe, and cliché. I tried to forget my feelings for you, but I just can’t,” you caressed the back of his hand with your thumb. Thoughtfully looking at your joined hands, you continued, “Stay with me? For as long as possible?”

“Always,” Epel replied, squeezing your hand and sliding his thumb over your knuckles. “You bet I’ll make you the happiest person alive. I swear it.”

Your smile, wobbly and wide, said more than enough. Epel felt the brush of your lips on his cheek. Light as a feather. Gentle as a warm summer breeze. The kiss lingered for what felt like hours, and he wished that you two could stay like this forever.

Your lips left the spot on his cheek, searing and begging for more of your kisses. Epel looked at you, who leaned back and laughed at his wide, doe eyes and red cheeks and parted lips.

“I’m counting on it, cutie. You better not disappoint me.”

Epel smirked, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge you. With his cheeks still rosy red, he pulled you close and grabbed your chin to look into your eyes.

“Then, I’ll just make sure you’re always looking at me, darlin’.”

[mirllop]

inferral

kirishima: bakugou, here's some medicine. bakugou: ARE YOU CALLING ME WEAK!?!?!? kirishima: ...

I'm CONVINCED this is how it would go. Bakugou would immediately view the flu as an MMA Match, Bakugou VS Flu, and refuse help from anyone. "i wont be defeated by a sickness," he'd say before passing out in hero training.

recovery girl would get within two inches of his face to heal him before he'd wake up like the devil just slapped him and be like "NO!!!" and fucking book it

it would be a full-class effort to wrangle his explosive ass back to the infirmary where he would proceed to book it ONCE MORE, this time out the window

"why does it always have to be a battle to help you, bakugou?? we just care about you!!" midoriya would sigh, turning back to the crowd of classmates that had assisted the intervention.

"FUCK YOU!!" bakugou would screech before passing out again and falling from the sky.

**note: he was ok. midoriya jumped out and caught him. our favorite explody boy found out later and was pissed

[bolithesenate]

i showed a friend the really weird short story (?) i wrote in a heat-induced state of delirium a few days ago eight after waking up and her first comment was

"oh wow, one can tell you were traumatized by german classes."

and you know what? she was right

[cricketnationrise]

Congratulations 🎉 500 followers is amazing!! Lots of people out there with good taste 😉

My prompt:

2205

Catherine

Backyard of the Austin farmhouse

Into the Mystic

okay gonna be honest here. i have no idea what happened here. like, i really adore what i wrote, but i have NO EARTHLY IDEA where it came from or if it's even at all close to what you were aiming for. lots of catherine/arthur feels ahead and like, a little magical realism? i guess? anyway here's wonderwall...

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

10:05pm, texas farmhouse

It’s odd, really, that an ocean and half a continent away from their shared home, that Arthur’s spirit feels so strong here. Here, in Henry and Alex’s backyard, deep in the heart of Texas.

The boys—they’re still boys, no matter that they’re closer to forty than thirty—are inside, cleaning dishes, rinsing out bottles. Catherine can see them through the window above the sink, laughing and chatting easily before Alex flicks water in her son’s face. The affronted look on Henry’s face sends her right down memory lane, a slideshow of the dozens of times she and Arthur did the same thing playing in her mind.

It took a while, a shove from Bea, and a lot of therapy, but the memories no longer hurt her, no longer make her feel like her soul is being ripped away every time she thinks about her husband. Now, after everything, she can let the memories pass through like a draft through windchimes; she might get knocked around, but what sweet melodies they make.

A cool breeze makes Catherine pull the quilt Alex draped over her earlier closer around her shoulders and she looks out over the dark backyard. The only light is from the stars, the crescent moon, the dying embers, and the occasional lightning bug. Catherine inhales deeply, breathing in the smell of the earth, of burning wood, of the lingering scent of the beer that Alex knocked off the picnic table earlier. The sound of crickets chirping is accompanied by grass rustling in the breeze and the quiet pops of the fire. It’s peaceful here, in this place where there’s more sky than anything else—a sky big enough for dreams and memories alike.

Arthur would have loved it here. He would have been first in line to learn how to work the grill from Alex. He would have laughed easily at their son’s carefree antics. He would have been their biggest supporter in buying this place. Catherine knows that their siblings were confused, Alex’s parents were a little more understanding, but Arthur— Arthur would have seen the house for what it is: a sanctuary, a place to recharge, a place where they can truly be themselves, stripped of the pressures of both royalty and politics.

She knows that they chose Texas for Alex, but the feel of the place has more than a little to do with Henry; Catherine finds echoes of the cottage in Wales around every corner. The farmhouse is a monument to the love they have for each other and to their families. The house is so full of affection and care that one could almost taste them, almost trip over them on the way to the kettle. 

Another breeze sweeps through the yard and Catherine shivers, but not from the chill this time. She can feel something—someone—here with her now. She gets a whiff of Arthur’s cologne, a faint trace of pine and leather that always made her feel safe. She holds her breath, and she can faintly hear Arthur’s laugh, bright and full, over the sound of her heartbeat. Impossibly, she feels the weight of an arm across her shoulders, tucking her close into the faded imprint of a warm chest.

The back door opens and the boys’ chatter spills out along with the kitchen light. Their presence breaks the spell the night was weaving around her, but between more jokes and reminiscing, between dessert and a cup of decaf, Catherine feels ghostly fingers slip between her own, and hold tight.