#*Throws this out and then runs away*

[maomango-doodle]

Jazz puns, am I right?

Some random doodles

[lostagoodcigar]

Brought to you by a tiktok where this guy was talking abt a girl he was seeing and how every time they had sex she’d give him a little treat afterwards (like a lil candy bar)

Like it starts when you jokingly toss Johnny one of the chocolates you had sitting on your nightstand after he ate you out like his life depended on it- he eats the candy immediately obviously as he laughs

Then you end up with a little candy dish on the nightstand, or in the drawer, any time you and Johnny have sex you give him a piece of candy, throw him a bone so to speak. Not on purpose but you think it’s cute- the way his face lights up when given the candy

You find yourself fucking somewhere in the house that isn’t the bedroom? Johnnys right behind you as you make your way to your shared room for his treat, not even realizing he’s doing it.

Whether you forget on purpose or on accident one day he just kinda stands in the kitchen like a kicked puppy and, “didn’t do somethin’ to upset ya did I hen?” His head tilted to the side slightly.

“What? No- what do you mean?” You are genuinely confused until he mumbles a “didn’t get my treat- ya know-“

You have to stop yourself from laughing as you ruffle his slightly overgrown mohawk before you’re off to the bedroom to toss him his little candy.

Honorable mention: I’d like to think Johnnys somehow ended up explaining this to the others, maybe just Ghost at first. And Ghost immediately understands it and is thankful his smile is covered by his balaclava- leave it to Johnny to get himself trained like a good dog

Basically what im trying to say is doing this to Soap would have him so down bad I think

[alfairy]

Nimona AU where Ballister and Nimona do leave the kingdom and go over the wall to find a new safe home. Years pass. The kingdom is more paranoid than ever because the queen killer and the monster were never caught and could presumably still live among them or return to cause more chaos.

The director decides one day that they need to take the fight to the monsters, strike first before they are stricken again. Knights are sent out beyond the wall to search the surrounding land and burn down the woods in order to “smoke the monsters out.” Destroying everything, trying to fight a monster that was never even there.

During one of these instances, Ambrosius and Ballister finally see each other again face to face for the first time in years since that fateful interaction at the institution. They’ve both changed, physically at least; Ambrosius’ hair is longer, Bal’s got some more grey streaks and a new arm upgrade. But underneath all of that they’re still the same, still got that lingering hurt and romantic feelings. Nimona is still the same as ever and hasn’t aged a day.

(Also idea that maybe there’s other small communities and people living outside the wall that Bal and Nimona ended up quietly settling down in. People who are far more open minded and accepting of others, and who are more concerned about the walled off kingdom with guns pointing at them than this nice guy and his cool daughter. That’s their neighbor and they’re not gonna let some knights storm in and cause trouble for him.)

[sp00kymulderr]

feeling that way

Joel Miller x transmasc!reader

Lover boy series masterlist

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. for sexual implications. reader is afab/has female genitals, no pronouns used (written with the idea of a non-binary or transmasc reader), reader wears a packer, references made to both readers cock (packer) and pussy, pet names for reader (baby, honey), Joel is really horny for reader and their cock :), Joel sucks the strap (mention), bulge worship big time, love love love, beautiful queer love actually, writer got emotional and made this too personal and not at all about Joel oops. Unedited and unbeta'd. (divider credit to cafekitsune)

Words: 1.3k~

Summary: Joel enjoys a new part of you. He loves it, in fact.

Something is different about you.

Joel feels it the moment he opens the door. He's good at that, at noticing.

You're sitting on the couch watching something on the tv, nothing unusual there. But the way you hold yourself today, even the way you sit. There's an air of confidence to you that's different than usual. A hint of something new.

It excites him. You always find new ways to excite him.

“Hey” He mutters, coming round behind the couch and leaning down to kiss the top of your head. The usual greeting, intimate and caring.

“Hey” you say back with a smile, your head falling back so you can look up at him. There’s a glint in your eyes that belies your cool air. 

You’re excited too.

“What’re you up to?” Joel mutters, a gruff chuckle leaving his mouth as he rounds the furniture and comes to sit beside you. It doesn’t take much from there to see what exactly has you acting the way you are. His eyebrow quirks, eyes looking up to meet yours then back down.

“Nothing at all” You grin back, and he understands the joy in your features now.

“Fuck, baby. It came?” He says, watching the subtle lift of your hips.

You’d been waiting for the packer for a while, Joel had insisted you go for something quality, something that would feel real for you and even though it meant a longer wait now you were glad he had done that. He’d insisted on paying for it too, ‘let me spoil you, honey’ he’d whispered in your ear when you’d confessed your desperate yearning to wear one.

It felt good to put on. So fucking good to wear. You had floated around the house in elation, a weight almost lifted off your chest at the new addition to you. Your eyes caught in every mirror, traveling down to your crotch at any opportunity. You didn’t feel like a different person, but you certainly felt like a different you.

Joel has a warm hand on you now, his eyes darkening in lust as he takes in the sight of it. Your cock is sitting just so, making a bulge in your tight jeans that he can’t possibly ignore. It makes his own twitch in need.

“Jesus Christ, baby” Joel groans, his hand rubbing lower towards the front of your jeans. Down, down, down… “How does it feel? How do you feel?”

You’re watching as his big hand skims the button of your jeans, stopping just shy of the swell of you. You barely register his words, mouth hanging slightly open, breath coming a little heavier. This is the feeling you’ve been chasing for longer than you realise, longer than you can even say.

“Feels..right” You finally whisper, something about the admittance making you shy away from his gaze momentarily. It feels like a big deal. It is a big deal to you.

Joel pinches your chin between fingers, tilting your head to look at him. Jesus, he looks desperate for it. For you. He leans in and kisses you, more tender than the kiss you expected. A kiss that says ‘I know’, ‘I’m happy for you’, ‘I’m here for you’. You have to fight back the sudden urge to cry. He’s always been supportive, always. You never expected less.

When he lets you go your head falls back against the couch as finally he makes eager contact with the bulge in your jeans. This new part of you. 

And it is a part of you. You feel it when that big hand squeezes gently. You moan for him, breath shaking.

“Looks so fucking good. Feels good too, doesn’t it?” He whispers reverently, and all you can do is nod dumbly and fucking whimper at the sight of him getting down on to his knees, his eyes bright with the wish to worship you for everything you are.

He loves everything you are.

Joel gets between your legs, already spread wider than usual and it’s making his heart hammer in his chest. He looks up at you as he pops the button of your jeans, gives you a look that's so full of desire and absolute need. He looks wrecked and he hasn’t even gotten past the layers of your clothes

“Y-yeah. So good” you murmur as he slowly pulls down the zipper, his eyes flicker from yours and back down to the peek of underwear beneath your jeans. The sound he makes then makes your cunt ache in devastating desperation. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, honey” Joel grunts out, noticing at once that you’re wearing a pair of his boxers - your favourite ones, black with a simple red design, snug against his dick and now against yours too. Your eyes meet again, yours surely glistening with a lust matching his, and the look he gives you makes you clench around nothing. Without a thought your hips cant up to connect the bulge of your cock with his palm again.

“I know, I know” Joel mutters sympathetically, keeping eye contact with you as he very intentionally lowers his head, only breaking away from your eyes when he presses his lips against the firm yet soft barely exposed front of your- his - underwear.

And fuck if your legs don’t start to shake, if your core doesn’t tighten breathtakingly as he plants open mouthed, sloppy kisses there.

“Can feel your cock. That’s your fuckin’ cock, ain’t it?” He murmurs, not moving away but turning his head, his cheek pressed against there and you want to cry again at his words, at the affirmation, at the acceptance of your needs and the love he shows for you even in this filthy moment.

“Yeah, Joel. Yeah…” You stumble out, practically dumbfounded as you watch your handsome, gruff, hardened man worship the bulge of your fake dick like it’s his favourite thing in the whole damn world.

“Say it baby” He orders, voice all grunts and groans as he deftly rubs his nose against you now.

“My cock…it’s my…fuck…”

“Yeah it is” Joel smiles up at you, such a beautiful sight, all pride and joy just for you. God, you love him you think as he moves away for a moment tapping your hip lightly to lift your ass so he can pull your jeans all the way down. He’s all but salivating at the proper sight of you filling out his underwear, both your hearts beating a matching rhythm in your chests

“Gonna let me suck it too, huh? Fill my mouth up all good?” He says, voice gravelly with wild desire that makes every part of you feel on fire - a fire you never want to put out. Let it burn forever, let it burn everything but the two of you. 

You watch rapt as he kisses up your thigh whilst his big hand experiments with squeezing your impressive package, facial hair tickling your inner thigh before he moves up again. As Joel practically worships at the altar of you his own member strains against his pants, you can tell from the way he thrusts against nothing - still on his knees, which he’ll regret a little later, hips subtly shifting every time he enthusiastically rubs his face on your crotch.

“I love it, Joel. I feel- feel like me” You finally admit out loud. 

“I know” He says back.

‘Thank you’ you whisper, though perhaps the words never make it out of your mouth before he’s drawing away, standing with a groan and knees clicking. Taking your hand in his with a squeeze and all but dragging you to the bedroom.

He takes one moment, just one, to stop in your tracks and look in your eyes. A gentle, loving, caring look that makes you feel so special. Just like he does every day.

“You’re here, baby. You’re here”

And he’s right, finally you are.

[starcurtain]

Normally I am a very dedicated single-shipper and don't multi-ship too many characters, but seeing Sugilite, I was kind of like "Okay, but Sugilite and Aventurine would be a whole lot of pretty in one ship."

However, then I saw this fanart on twitter and now I'm just like... Hang on, hang on a second.

Hey Star's brain, have you considered: Bi disaster Sugilite who thinks he has an (extremely unfortunate, how did this happen, no way aghhhh!!) crush on Aventurine, so now he's stuck seething over Aventurine's newfound whatever with Dr. freaking Ratio of all people--

But he has no one else to whine about this to, so he's just constantly involving Topaz in his drama.

"Be my cover so I can spy on them--"

"This is not a thing that normal people do, you know."

Three hour phone calls complaining about Aventurine daring to breathe.

Dragging her out with him on fake dates trying to make Aventurine jealous--

Eating all the ice cream in Topaz's freezer without permission because he deserves to feel good about something in life again; Topaz, you just wouldn't understand--

Until finally Topaz is like "Sugilite, real talk here: Do you even actually like Aventurine, or are you just jealous he found someone and you're still single? Because you're the most annoying person I know, but also... I'm right here? We could just go on a real date sometime, you know?"

This is how Sugilite realizes he is actually a certifiable boyfailure™.

And also how I make Sugilite/Topaz a thing. I have a vision.

[a2zillustration]

We lived.

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[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[strqyr]

i spent the whole day relearning how to draw yang. kinda cringe ngl.

anyway. happy pride (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

[thatlittlemouse]

I had gone through a kind of reincarnation, from a young boy to who I was now. What was the next step? When I knew everything, would I become the same innocent Wu Xie again? Was it even possible? (x)

05.03 Happy belated birthday!

[oh-no-its-bird]

I kind of ended up w a small pile of Hatake ocs and lore to fill the early konoha timeline void, and a big thing is like. They all die to preserve the narrative. A lot of them very young bc again, made to fill the time line, so logically, there had to be some Hatake kids/teenagers who met an unfortunate end.

So I'm kinda sitting here considering a 4 part fic where each chapter revolves around a specific Hatake and their inevitable death, w maybe a bonus chapter at the end being about Sakumo

"Death of the Wolves," the unfortunate end of the Hatake's, told in 4 parts

The Hatake's helped set the Konoha standard rule of "a team can only be made up of so many % of one clan" (with special exceptions) after a large chunk of them got sent on a mission together bc of their specializations and all wound up dead, wiping out a solid 90% of the clan in one night.

Actually, expanding on that bc the tragedy is so good -> I already established that in my time line, the Hatake head, Haruka (Sakumo's mother, Tobirama and Hashirama's aunt) died under a week after Tobirama's death, and she would have lead that failed mission. Does that mean one of Hiruzen's first acts as war time Hokage resulted in the accidental slaughter of his beloved dead Sensei's mother's clan? That's amazing actually, so much drama there. I bet him Danzo and Kagami argued like crazy after that monumental fuck up, probably went on to define how he feels ab being Hokage / what that entails. Fun times!

Anyways, I'd also be very interested in exploring early konoha politics n stuff. Especially from the multiple views of not the people in charge of making the village but the ones who are living in it. The view from the ground up, instead of looking down from the tower. The younger generations being brought to this new village, going from their isolated clan lands to suddenly being surrounded by others their age from different clans, possible for the first time ever depending on their age and their clans level of secrecy.

Also, I really wanna poke at the outsider pov of Madara and other founders— but mostly Madara bc I find his downfall very fun to think about, especially from the POV of someone not in his clan.

I'm so in love w the take of the Hatake's being fond of Madara bc "he'd make a very good Hatake." Something about the two tropes of the Uchiha being a clan that loves love and the Hatake being a clan w similar values when it comes to family and loyalty just meshes so well.

Comedy moment where Haruka is weirdly insistent on Madara potentially marrying into the clan, not even for the politics or anything but specifically bc she NEEDS a cute squishy Hatake baby with his massive hair. She NEEDS IT, MADARA.

Anyways also just the early konoha inter clan drama but like. From the eyes of the clan kids. The Uchiha kids seem to be having some sort of terf war with the Senju— but it was interrupted by the Hyuuga, and now the Senju and Uchiha kids are somehow banding together against the Hyuuga? But oh no now the Nara kids are teaming up w the Hyuuga, and the Hatake kid (singular bc there's literally only like 1) seems to have an actual blood feud going on with the Hyuuga clan heir— but the older Hatake teenagers are fond of the Hyuuga's baby clan heir so it's just a mess. All the clan drama but with none of the tragedy bc everyone involved is a child.

Meanwhile the older clan members are somehow bonding over their children's fights bc they're all struggling to pull them away, or going "what the fuck do you mean you teamed up with the SENJU??" Then sharing a disbelieving Look(tm) w the opposing Senju's parents before realizing what they just did and having a crisis of faith ab it

Meanwhile the teenagers are having a wonderful time, especially those from smaller more isolated clans like the Hatake. There's so much romantic drama, there's probably a whole shinobi soap opera happening in that direction. Hormonal shinobi teenagers from opposing clans just got dropped into the same dating pool it's gonna be a MESSSS.

Even funnier if you take crumbs from my senju weed empire au and like. Some of these clans regularly smoke n stuff. Meanwhile other clans have never touched a psychedelic in their life. Some are especially vulnerable to drugs due to heightened senses (Orochi, Inuzuka, Hatake) while others have been smoking since they were younger and have an insane tolerance and very much distorted views of a reasonable amount of weed to smoke (Senju, Nara, Shiranui) There is no way in hell that goes well. Someone is going to get fucked up in a MAJOR way.

Well-intentioned Nara accidentally gets a bunch of dog wired guys and one snake high out of their fucking minds, the high lasts a full week for some of them and one sometimes wonders if they ever really came down from it

Anyways I got a bit off track but yeah! Early Konoha fic that revolves around the daily lives of differently aged Hatake ocs, taking a look from different angles of Konoha and all the silly clan drama and daily lives of an early Konoha shinobi— each chapter being different degrees of generally lighthearted, but ending in the Hatake's death. The fact that each Hatake is in with a different crowd and is a different age would make it even more fun and easier to explore the different layers Konoha has to offer! It's for sure on my list of things I wanna write

(Also I'd really love to have it just so I can point to it as a good introduction for my Hatake ocs. I love tricking people into learning ab my ocs it's great)

[corrodedcoughin]

Guardian Angel au where Eddie is sent down as a last ditch attempt to get him to abide by heaven’s rules. He gets charged with looking after Dustin, a kid who has just moved to Hawkins and could do with a friend. Eddie does his best to give dustin a bit of fun in his life, ends up with a good group of friends that really Get Him.

What neither of them count on is Claudia signing Dustin up to the big brother program. A program that lands Steve Harrington on Dustin’s doorstep and into their hearts. Eddie could spend his time feeling threatened by the clear hero worship Dustin has for the guy. Even spends some time doing a bit of background guardian angel-ing to make sure Steve isn’t going to mess anything up for Dustin. Only he ends up falling for the guy. Maybe he falls from grace in the process

[evocatiio]

if chibnall was the one writing this season you lot would be talking VERY differently

[sp00kymulderr]

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x afab!reader

Warnings: 18+. Sickly sweet fluff, unspoken love, kissing, mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Dieter wakes up to you.

A/N: comments and reblogs forever appreciated! To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist. Credit to banner maker.

It’s early. Too early to fathom. The breezy white curtains of the hotel room are thin and through them shines just a slither of dawn light. There’s the beginnings of the cheeping of birds outside of the window - left open to peter out the stuffy air in the room from last night. It had been hot, so hot, he’d cracked a window open just to cool the burning skin a little. It hadn’t helped.

Dieter raises his head from where it is buried between the pillow and your shoulder and groans softly, his eyes squinting and his head banging as soon as he lifts it just a little.

“D…” he hears you murmur when you feel him stir and it’s enough to make him drop his head and bury his face down against your neck and shoulder. His scruff tickles and his breath is hot. You make a little noise of annoyance that’s so damn cute to him and Dieter smiles against your skin but doesn’t move.

For a while he is still and closes his eyes again, just breathing you in. You smell of sex, of him, and fuck if he’s going to be able to fall asleep again when he realises that. He feels his stomach tighten in arousal and kisses your neck lightly. You mutter something unintelligible again and roll away from him on to your side.

“Too early” you finally say gently, dozy and sweet and perfect.

Dieter grumbles slightly but doesn’t push it. Instead he moves on to his back and stares up at the ceiling when he slowly opens his eyes.

God, his head hurts. Last night had been a whirlwind; it had started with booze, and ended with the hottest sex of his life. The middle was murky but he knew for sure that it had been something sensational, like every moment with you.

He listens to your soft breath as you sleep and that sweet noise calms him to no end. You’re so fucking beautiful it makes him ache. The words don’t get to be said out loud, but Dieter knows his heart beats faster for you and your touch. His jittery brain jumbles words like ‘like’ and ‘want’ and ‘love’ and ‘soulmate’ in ways that he thinks might scare you off, so they’re kept secret in his never-quiet mind.

There’s a lot between the two of you but it’s always been kind of foggy; a random hookup at a boring after party that turned into occasional booty calls and eventually whatever this is - monthly check-ins to a hotel in the nearest location you could meet for uninterrupted weekends of euphoria. 

And it is euphoric. Sure he’s been dramatic once or twice, but there’s no exaggeration in that thought as he ponders last night and what he can remember of it. His eyes squint as the blurry memory becomes a little clearer in his head; you bent over the useless little hotel desk; that would explain all the stationary on the floor. Him on his knees between your spread legs for so long; which he supposes is why they ache now. There’s wine stains on the table, the bottle knocked over in the eager moment of finding the bed between molten hot kisses. Starlit memories flit in deep purple plumes through his cloudy mind; your warm body on his, your pretty lips pressing against his throat, the drag of teeth and tongue against his burning skin. 

He smiles at the flickering memory. You enticing him all angelic on the pristine white bed sheets that now lay bunched around you and partially hanging off the bed. Your face half-pressed against those sheets when he’d had you from behind. Yeah, he remembered that. You practically drooling onto the bedding as he turned you into a beautiful mess. His favourite masterpiece. But you’d had your payback on him not long after, the torturously slow roll of your hips - your hands grasping hard enough to mark as you leaned back and rode him slowly til he was near tears.

There are wet towels on the hotel room floor. He thinks for a moment, hand absentmindedly reaching down to where he feels himself twitching with the memory. Yeah, there had been a shower after that…an attempt to cool down and calm down, but it had ended in another untamed encounter - you held up against the cool tiles of the shower wall, legs wrapped around him, desperate and aching until he made you cry in pleasure. No wonder his back hurts today, but it all seems worth it at the memory of your face as he’d made you come again.

He feels unstoppable with you.

Dieter looks down at you now, your peacefully sleeping form making the sweetest little noises in your slumber. God, he feels privileged to get this view of you. It’s better than anything; no awards or good script or large sum of money compares to the thrill of you. He’d throw every single damn trophy away as a way to show you how much you meant. You'd just laugh at that though, you would give him that brilliant smile, and tell him he was an idiot. He couldn’t argue on that.

He blinks his eyes awake a little more and turns on to his side, facing you. He can never fight the urge to be close to you. He doesn’t get enough time with you. It’s never been talked about but he ponders on the future as the orange glow of sunlight starts to flood through the gaps in the curtains. 

He has to touch you, it’s like he’s scared he’ll forget what you feel like if he goes too long. Your warm skin makes that familiar yet unspeakable feeling flutter in him. Dieter’s fingers run a gentle line from your shoulder and down your side, tracing the curves your body has. He is enraptured. Has been since the first moment. It probably isn’t healthy, all things considered.

All things considered. He’s not in the position to have a real relationship - flitting from spot to spot, taking job after job, like he has something to prove in his career. He does. Besides, you’d never made a mention of making things more. 

Not a mention, but there were moments in your kiss that he felt things were already at that more. Whatever that meant.

Even if it isn’t a relationship you take it seriously, every moment with him. You take him seriously and god it’s like a breath of fresh air after all the people in his past who wanted him for reasons that were not him. You listen, you care, you want to hear about his thoughts and ideas and his art, not just gossip and get wasted and use him as some show of status. Whatever this thing is, it isn’t just some silly fling for either of you. It’s special, it’s important. Always had been, always will be. He’d like to keep this thing going forever, he’d never let it end. 

Lost in his thoughts, Dieter doesn’t notice you stir until your entrancing voice mumbles out.

“Daydreaming, pretty boy?” 

He turns to look and gives you a lopsided smile. Your hair is a mess and there’s smudged mascara under your eyes. Still gorgeous. Always gorgeous, he thinks.

It's like the breath comes back to him fresh and full as he sees you half-awake and there with him. You're mesmerizing when you're sleeping by his side, tucked up in your dream world, but you're dazzling when you're awake and real and there with him. Sometimes the glassy flit of his gaze upon you makes him feel like he's high, just off your presence. No one’s ever done that before.

"Daydreaming..." he sighs, leaning down to nuzzle tenderly against your cheek and give you a gentle kiss now that you're hopefully more receptive to it. 

"Yeah? About me?" You ask with that cute smile that had first enticed him, the one that tells a whole story of who you are.

"You..." he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then to your temple, "Last night..." he adds in a lazy low hum, his lips landing back on yours with something that is far more precious than either of you can give word to.

"Last night" You sigh, stretching your tired and still achy body, noticing his eager glance as the sheet pulls down over the swell of your breasts.

He sees a bite mark left on you from him and gives a groan, half hard and fully wanting, but too tired to act on it.

"C'mere" you mumble, laying a hand on his shoulder and pulling him down fully. His head lands softly to rest on your chest facing away from your head, and the tickle of his breath on your skin makes you sigh. He gives a happy huff as he watches your nipples harden against his warm breath.

"Had fun last night, baby" You tell him, gentle, as your fingers trail up the nape of his neck and through his untamed hair. He moans a little as you massage very slowly against his scalp with the tips of your fingers.

The touch of his hand on your stomach makes you shiver pleasantly, and he rests it on your lower belly with no intention of taking it anywhere else right now. Just skin-on-skin. 

Just you and him.

Dieter is happy like this. Cared for. Made for you, in ways. He's molded to you, to the feeling of you with him. It doesn't happen enough. You linger on his skin for weeks on end and yet Dieter never has enough of you. He wanders through his life from point to point waiting for his next dose. He's alive when with you. Resting in between.

"What if we stay another day?" He mutters, unmoving as your fingertips stay sweetly pressing on his scalp.

"Baby...we both have work to go back to. You know I can't do more than a weekend" You tell him, but he knows you well enough now to note the hesitancy in your voice when you deny him.

"Fuck 'em" Dieter says with resolution "We can be sick. Laid up in bed. We can spend the whole day like this, then it’s hardly a lie. I’ll get that desert from room service, your favourite"

Your hum of contemplation is soft against his ear, a melody that eases the headache from the excitement of last night.

"The one with the cherries?" You ask, and he doesn't even need to look at you to know there's that pretty little smile on your lips again.

He turns anyway, kissing the tops of your breasts goodbye before he sits up and faces you again. He feels the sparkle of hope bubble in him. One more day this time…maybe next time he can convince you to stay at his place. Stay for a week.

Stay forever.

“The one with the cherries” He repeats, swiping his thumb over your cheek to remove the smudge of makeup there. 

You grin and nod and Dieter’s heart does a little stutter. Another day with you, that’s all he could want.

“Okay. One more day” It’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said, in his ears. Plays like a symphony.

Dieter doesn’t answer with words, expression breaking out into a bright smile - not the one he shows on red carpets but the real one - the one that’s a little lopsided, a little dopey. The one that’s just for you, now.

He lays back down beside you and kisses sweet and familiar against your neck. Your skin tastes like sweat and him as he trails down between the valley of your breasts, a subtle nip of teeth right next to that mark he left last night. His movements are slow, lazy, loving.

A tapestry of adoration laid against your skin as he listens to your slow breath above him.

"Dieter" You whine quiet, tugging on his hair just slightly. 

He travels back up with lips and tongue desperate to taste every peak and dip of you. Kisses your chin and then nibbles it with his teeth before you’re pushing him to how you want him.

He smiles at your insistence to move him, pushing him back onto his side of the bed and directing him to lie on his side, so you can wrap yourself around him. Protective. Affectionate.

He feels the press of your breasts against his back, as you mold your shape into his, holding him close with that familiar feeling of your hand over his heart. It beats surprisingly slowly, he's suddenly hit with the weariness of an early morning after a late night, of too much of everything but never enough of it.

The kiss you leave between his shoulder blades before you nuzzle your head there makes him sigh out loud, something happy and breathy and true.

"Another day. Just one more" You tell him again, eyelashes fluttering against his skin and it makes him want to cry, just a little when your breath gets soft again as you hold him like you want to keep him safe from everything.

One day there'll be more than just another day. You know it, it's in the way you tenderly lay yourself against him with arms wrapped tight like you'll never let go. He knows it, it's in the way his breath comes easy only when he has you by his side.

He's yours. Given to you, his own heart. Dieter doesn't think the words even need to be said, just felt. Just like this.

[experimentaldragonfire]

love, in context B24-16 G, M/M, ~12,000/? words, 3/4 chapters

There’s a boy leaning against the fence. He’s putting most of his weight on it, arms propped up by their elbows and staring with rapt interest at the excavations. It’s been half an hour, now, and he hasn’t moved an inch. If he hadn’t been otherwise preoccupied with delicately troweling between third-century cobblestones, Edwin might have worried about the boy’s mental state. As it was, he’d been studiously ignoring the way he can feel eyes tracking his every movement. He thinks he’s been quite successful, so far. or: archaeology student Edwin Payne didn't expect the chatty tourist at the excavation fence to become someone he couldn't imagine life without

Chapter 3: ~5,700 words

in which there's rain on the excavations, impromptu museum dates, and a dramatic ending--or, this fic grew a plot and i'm so, so sorry

oops, it got serious and I made an actual promo post for this fic. if you like modern AUs of the ghost boys in very niche situations, you might enjoy me sticking them in some archaeological excavations based quite heavily on ones I've done myself. This fic keeps demanding each chapter be longer than the one previous and at this rate I'm fairly certain the next one will be about 8k. send help.

[goblin-king-jay]

maybe there's something here for us to glean for you to teach and me to try to learn...

[arrowheadedbitch]

Idea where there's an artifact that shows a random memory you have when you touch it, probably not random but it feels kind of random even though it never chooses bland moments like eating cereal or something, and ezekiel touches it in front of the others

Imagine this: after ezekiel escapes mi6, he breaks into the British museum and steals back something they made him steal for him as a way to try to make himself feel better, he steals some priceless ancient vase that the British had no reason having. And when he got away, he ended up breaking it, throwing it at the floor as hard as he could.

He was a kid holding a reminder of something that had deeply hurt him, let's say this art piece was the first thing they ever made him steal, it felt nice to steal it back and destroy it, therapeutic even, he was just a kid, he didn't care about the artistic value, he just wanted to feel better and it helped for a second.

Of course, this is the memory it shows everyone.