#His name is Limon

[megamixter]

I have not had time to draw yet this year, but I drew a few things last year that I never posted.

We got my boy a Naruto Halloween costume last year, and I just couldn't help but draw him...

Picture below of the model himself (He is so dramatic).

[jojolimons]

huh i just realized the name of an oc i drew as a kid was taken straight from batman the brave and the bold

[bitterlimoncello]

new limoncello name lore just dropped to the about page but essentially it's just this

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | Javier Pena x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | this is my own entry for the summer lovin' challenge, somehow torturing myself further by writing a fic amongst all my other wips and helping organize this challenge. there's sweaty javi p and office sex, that's all you need to know.

content warning | heavy smut, teasing upon teasing upon teasing, lots of mentions of heat/sweat, perfect use of ice in a situation like this, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, public-ish sex

word count — 5k

You curse quietly over your second paper cut of the day, nursing your pointer finger between your lips and silently reprimanding yourself for agreeing to help Steve—he was good at begging, you could give him that, and a hell of a sweet talker when he wanted to be. He always wore you down, a promise of coffee every day for a week on him, or lunch the following day, anything to sweeten the deal. This time it was neither.

“I rescheduled twice already,” He’s pointed out the reasons on his fingers, extending them out as he numbers them and using his finger to add emphasis as he pressed down on them as he went, “we finally have someone to watch Olivia for us this evening, and you know, you won’t even be alone—Pena’s staying late.”

He wiggled his three fingers like it was the best deal you’ve ever been offered, a smile growing on his face as he attempted to pass over the file that you took with reluctance, blowing out a puff of air and clutching it to your chest, arms crossed over the manila folder as you glance at your dainty watch—four in the afternoon. Not bad. Not great, either. You’ve stayed later—given your commute is only about five minutes. You tended to pick up the slack, for everyone, but mostly those boys. You weren’t sure how it ended up this way, but even Carillo acknowledged it. 

You did grunt work, small and miniscule things in the lives of two DEA agents who were out in the field hunting a notorious cartel leader every day—but you, you were dealing with papercuts and carpal tunnel, it wasn’t nearly as comparable.

And Javier Pena made sure to remind you every chance he had.

You pluck at the group of files labeled La Quica and El Limon, a hefty collection of data that has been compiled for the past several months and felt never ending—you were nearing the point of understanding every piece of information in this room back to front, knowing far too much about the cartel than you originally intended. It was terrifying; even seeing the look on either of the men’s faces when they returned back from a hard day of busts and undercover work.

And, maybe Javier just figured you didn’t care or wouldn’t be able to comprehend half of what was stored away in these files—but he sure wasn’t quiet about it.

It’s been around an hour now, tearing through the unorganized mess that the file room had become.

Mumbling the names under your breath as you drag your finger over the sticky note and kneeling down until your practically on all fours, digging through a box on the floor with your head tucked and oblivious to Javier as he rounds the corner to the secluded room, heavy footsteps falling on deaf ears, too entranced in the task to notice him.

He clears his throat with distinction and your head snaps up, looking clearly disturbed and annoyed—Javier offers a superficial smile and points a finger at the pile on the floor, his shoulder leaned against one of the tall shelves holding boxes upon boxes of crucial information.

Your eyebrows raise in expectation, head shaking slightly at him as you urge him to speak and get on with whatever comment he was dying to make as he continued to stare down, licking his lips briefly before they finally part and—

“Those the files we’ve been asking for?”

That Steve has been asking for—Not Javier, never Javier. He’s too macho and mighty for paperwork and sitting at a desk all day.

“It is part of them,” You say with emphasis, “I still have an entire section to go through. Steve asked me to pull everything we have on those two.”

“Well, everyone’s leaving—and I know where most of the shit is. I got it, you can head out.”

You seethe, jaw clenched and your eyebrow furrows as you stand, a pile of strewn papers in your arms.

“You know, instead of going through Steve to have me fetch the stuff you need—I don’t know, you could just man up and ask me directly.”

He has no idea what you’re talking about.

Except, he does.

He’s shoved off work to Steve who was enough of a pushover for his friend and partner, to pick it up when he had time, but this time it had landed on a busy day, a busy weekend, there just wasn’t enough time for him to handle it. 

“La Quica, El Limon—Carillo was talking to you about them this morning. What’s got you so tied up that you couldn’t handle it yourself?” You ask accusatory, back turned to him as you walk toward the table in the center of the room.

“We’ve got leads to check out, muñequita.” 

Out of your wheelhouse. Yeah—Okay, that explains it.

You roll your eyes at the nickname and drop the stack with a distinct thunk before moving past him, narrowly avoiding his broad shoulders as you walk past him, through the half-open door as you grab for one of the styrofoam cups on the water dispenser before spooning the ice into it and filling it with water, sipping with a distinct look of disdain as you eye Javier up and down, seeing that he’s followed you over, half in the doorway and half out.

“If you’re going to stand there the least you could do is help me,” You tell him, “that way we can both get out of here faster and not have to spend any more time together than we need to.”

“It’ll be faster if I do it myself,” He tells you, a metaphorical shoo-ing away as he nods toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, “I know this room like the back of my hand.”

“Have you been in here lately? It’s a mess. No one ever puts anything back in the right spot.” 

Javier’s got his signature pout on, looking downtrodden and pathetic behind his thick mustache perched on his upper lip, the constant look of being unimpressed by everything.

“I’m not leaving, Javier. You’re welcome to help, stay late, whatever—but I’ve been in this room, in this heat for an hour already and you’re not about to swoop in and snatch the credit for something you couldn’t be bothered doing yourself in the first place, alright?”

Javier looks surprised at that, not as much by the bite in your tone but the lack of snide comment, not calling him an asshole or a prick and storming off. Again, you brush past him with your drink in hand and take your seat, feeling the thin layer of sweat covering your body—it wasn’t that unbearable, but another hour and you would be a hell of a lot more crankier.

“Fine—” You respond, eyes tracking elsewhere as he moves form his place against the open door, only catching the lingering shadow of the door as it closed until it was far too late, “fuck, Javi! The—”

A loud click and Javier’s reaction time, given his ability to pull out a gun and have it propped at the ready in half a second, is far too slow. He turns, seeing the now closed door and turns back to you.

“Door,” You say, voice falling flat.

Javier backtracks and heads for the door, hoping and praying this was one of the days it wouldn’t lock—it was a tricky thing. Only working half of the time. Luckily, any other time it was during the day, surrounded by people who could help. But, now—it’s the two of you and no one else.

If you were pissed at Javier before, you were fuming now.

He jiggles the doorknob. Nothing. Fist pounding against the door. Nothing.

A quick shout out to anyone. Anything. Hoping someone would still be near.

Nothing. Not a sound.

“We’re stuck,” You sneer at him, “—sit down or that jiggling is going to drive me insane.”

He kicks the door for good measure, hoping by some miracle it might actually pop open.

You huff out an exhausted laugh under your breath and spread your hands out over the files, sorting out the important information and pictures from the notes and extra files that weren’t really needed. Javier approaches slowly and you take a sip of the water, thankful that you were at least able to reward yourself with that before you ended up in this mess.

Javier takes a look at his own watch and clicked his tongue before resigning to the fact that things weren’t going to go his way, dancing his fingers along the edge of the table as he took a seat, fingertips pressed into the surface as he settled, watching you casually under the flickering overhead light.

A few minutes slowly turn into several, quiet aside from the occasional shuffling of paper or sips of your water and you find that when no one else is around, Javier isn’t a total asshole. There’s no harsh quip or snide comment being lobbed your way but you can also tell that he’s just as frustrated as you, knowing that he needed to sift through this intel too.

But, the heat was sweltering—so distracting and despite the setting sun outside, had you reaching for a few buttons on your blouse as you leaned back, sighing as you picked up an empty file folder and fanned yourself in earnest, exposing your neck as you hung your head back.

You don’t hear Javier, but you feel him. His eyes on you as you lift your head back up.

Bewilderment. Annoyance. You can’t place it in the moment, he doesn’t even speak. But, you find yourself responding anyway.

“What? It’s hot.”

Javier throws a casual hand up in defense but his eyes follow your hand as they descend into your styrofoam cup, water long gone but the ice standing strong. You take a piece and cup it in your palm before rubbing it over your neck, instantly sighing at the crisp cold touch of it against your skin and aptly ignoring how it drips down the valley of your breasts, looking up to catch Javier at just the right time, his eyes looked on your movements and more pointedly—your chest.

“Here, try it,” You tell him, noticing the sheen of sweat on his neck, “it helps.”

He plucks a cigarette out of his half-empty pack and places it between his lips.

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself, “ You shrug, but quickly lean forward to pluck the cigarette from his mouth and place it down on the table, “–hey, can you not?”

Javier looks at you in disbelief, snatching the cigarette off the table and tucking it away anyways.

“You smoke in this place all day, you can at least wait until we’re out of here.”

“Do you ever loosen up?” Javier pokes at you daringly, “I mean, what does it really take for you to pull that skirt out of your ass?”

“Not you,” You reply sharply, a smile spreading across your face, “but, putting away the cigarette is a start.”

Javier leans back in the chair with a dignified sigh, scratching at his forehead in frustration at the lack of progress and the fact that he literally has no way out of here.

“You know, he’s been off the grid for three weeks,” You speak out loud, knowing that Javier is well aware, “is there really anything in here that is going to help? Or is it just that all of the leads are dead?”

His demeanor breaks slightly, a shuffle in his shoulders as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Both—maybe. This shit is probably pointless.”

“And that’s why you wanted me to take care of it,” You respond conclusively, “but you’re impatient—you don’t have to argue with me, I know you are.”

“Really, muñequita, you think you know me so well?” Javier asks testingly, tongue swiping over his bottom lip, “What else do you know about me?”

“That you like your ego boosted,” You retort, “and I’m not about to do that. So—”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Javier says with a smirk, eyes glinting with a faint, creeping darkness.

“Shut up,” You say in a clipped town before looking around curiously, “and what are we supposed to do now? Sleep here? I really can’t believe you fucking locked us in.”

“No, no—” Javier's finger wags in a motion that makes you want to bite them off, jaw clenching forcefully, “if you hadn’t wasted so much time then maybe we could have flagged down someone.”

“Okay, but you still let that door close.”

Once again, both arms crossed over your chest, a staredown is initiated. 

It wasn’t the first, it wasn’t the last, but you wanted to ruin him.

Knock him down a beg—hell, kick him off the pedestal and wipe the goddamn floor with him.

That stupid smirk, the boiling tone of cockiness wrapped in self-righteousness.

“Don’t think too hard, cariño.”

You huff out a half-impressed laugh and organize the files after a moment, stacking them to the side and reaching into your cup for another piece of your melting ice, repeating the same motion as earlier as you slide the ice between your breasts, but with the immense amount of eye contact you didn’t give Javier the first time.

Stubborn girl. He knew that much about you.

Javier doesn’t break immediately, but the small flex in his jaw, the slightest of cracks in his hard exterior.

Attack. Attack. Attack.

You wipe your arm against your sleeve, subconsciously pressing your breasts together in the process and Javier looks like he might keel over, eyes flicking up to meet your gaze now—he’s been caught. Gazing. Admiring. Seering to his memory for a later time.

You’re not really sure but you’re not going to let him off easy either.

“Now, Pena—Don’t think too hard.” You tell him in a sickly sweet tone, “It’s just a pair of tits.”

I don’t bite—you want to add. But, you don’t.

Because even if you found Javier attractive…there was just no way. 

No. Not possible.

“What is it?” Javier asks curiously, seemingly snapped out of his stupor, and meeting your gaze like he hadn’t just been staring directly at your breasts for far too long. “About me, I mean?”

You raise an eyebrow, finger circling the styrofoam cup as you center on the table.

“What?” You ask with a soft laugh of disbelief. “It’s—it isn’t your looks, Javier. It’s all of you. You undermine me, you treat me like a fucking lap dog. I might be a bitch but—I am not your bitch.”

He wasn’t expecting that intense of a response, it felt even more eerie as your tone continued on steadily. He considers interrupting but you continue, holding a finger up to stop him.

“You know—I transferred here to help with the assignment, collect the intel and take down Pablo Escobar just like you, but for some reason, you seem to think I’m just a personal assistant. Or one of the few receptionists who all want to throw themselves at you.”

“There something wrong with that?”

You roll your eyes in silence, but the gesture is loud.

“Did I say there was?” You counter, “I think the problem for you is that it isn’t me. That someone might actually find you repulsive, right?”

Javier only looks slightly dumb-founded, following your movements as you stand and fetch the stack of files, returning them to their make-shift home for the moment, buried away on a shelf that could be reorganized later—he turns in his chair, glaring right back at you when you turn on your heels. 

“Your legs don’t work?” You ask him, nodding toward thfew smaller stacks of files scattered about the table, “If you want to get the work done so bad, clean up—or do you want me to—”

“I. Got it.” Javier responds stiffly, standing on his own two feet. He scoops up the remaining files and puts them away opposite of the shelf you had, resting a palm on an empty spot as you lean back to pick up a stray piece of paper. “But, don’t act like I don’t see you kissing Carillo’s—”

You stand and shove the paper into his chest, “Finish that sentence and you will regret it, Javier.”

“It’s alright. No shame in your game and all that.”

Fuck this.

You reach for the cup of melted ice, splashing it promptly in Javier’s face before crushing the cup in your hand out of frustration, a moment of frozen realization coming to you.

Had you actually just done that?

Javier blinks, looking down at his soaked front before promptly removing his jacket in haste watching as you slowly back away, slightly disturbed by his calmness until he’s rearing on you.

Slowly—oh, so fucking slow. 

Your chest rises in slow, deep breaths and is nearly hanging off your shoulders by now, riddled with red, hot rage.

“Tell me I don’t make you even a little bit nervous, muñequita.” 

Is this a challenge? Is this what he’s worried about?

“You don’t.”

Your response is quick, but you find yourself pressed against a file cabinet and a few inches of free space before he’s right there—so close you can feel the heat of his body, your heart races slightly.

Okay, maybe just…a little.

“Again,” Javier beckons, a sneer to his tone as he crowds you in—“Look at me and say it.”

And for the love of god, the words never come.

“You let me flirt with you because you like it. Never correct me when I give you those little nicknames—look at you, you can’t even deny it.”

A half-truth. You didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t some sort of sustenance keeping you alive. Besides, it didn’t make up for half of the times he’s belittled you in front of your shared boss.

The heat is suffocating now and Javier’s eyes follow the trail of sweat down your neck, over your breasts, watching your fingers twitch at your side because—

Why do you feel the need to touch him so badly now?

To receive that touch in return and tenfold. 

“¿Qué pasa, pobrecita?” 

His fingers curl around the edge of the file cabinet behind you, barricading you between the wall and him and if you decided to show any signs of discomfort you knew Javier would back off in a heartbeat—you didn’t even need to say anything.

“Is that what it took?” You ask, voice soft in the small gap he’s created, eyes softening slightly as he hears you speak, “Being locked in here with me, nothing else to do—that’s what it takes for you to see me as anything other than some lowly little assistant to you?”

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” Javier says fondly, holding back a chuckle in his throat before his free hand is reaching for your neck and forcing your chin up and back, his thumb rubbing into the soft spot where your jaw twitches under his touch, swallowing hard.

“I thought you hated me.”

“I can say the same for you,” Javier responds, tilting his head slightly.

You’re so hot under his touch, skin clammy and wet from the ice and broken AC.

“I’m not saying I don’t.”

Javier presses his body against you slowly, your hands reaching for his shirt instinctively, curling into the fabric and feeling it stick to his skin, feel the weight of his chest against yours, and the very obvious strain of his slacks against your thin pencil skirt.

“And I never said I did,” Javier counters, “doesn’t change the fact that you get under my skin, querida.”

Javier leans in slow, that heavy eye contact never breaking until he’s there—nose pressed against your own and you sigh, breathing into his mouth as your eyes fall closed and he knows.

His lips are soft, careful. It feels like a test.

Your resolve melts in an instant, damning Javier for whatever spell he’s placed on you but you want more, hands skirting slowly up his front until they’re molding around his neck, kissing back with a similar eagerness, still laced in trepidation.

Things ramp up quickly, Javier’s fingers finding the edge of your shirt where it’s tucked into your skirt, pulling it free and squeezing at your sides, forcing your ass down against his knee from where it's tucked between your legs, somehow finding its way there in the chaos.

“Jav—Javier,” You breathe, pulling away, “maybe—maybe this isn’t the best place…”

Your eyes trail toward the camera tucked away in the corner of the room, knowing that it had to have some pretty damning evidence by this point—the list was long and you tried not to think about it for too long before Javier’s voice is pulling you back.

“That thing hasn’t worked in weeks,” He reassures and the flickering light above dims slightly, almost on cue, “are you scared of getting caught?”

You shake your head slowly and his smile grows, lips pressed against your own as he speaks and his hands tight at your hips, pressing your core right at the center of his thigh and pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched over your ass. You throb at the pressure, breathing out shakily.

“Then let go, muñequita,” He coos.

You hum, breath catching as he pushes his thigh up, your hips instinctively rocking against the pressure and if the heat weren’t already overwhelming, you would’ve passed out from that alone.

“It’s cute,” His hands aid your movement, a slow but steady rock of your hips as you furrow your brow at his voice, “—yeah that, you do that little thing with your brow whenever I talk to you.”

“Because I can’t s—stand you,” You voice falters, feeling him pick up the pace slightly to match your sudden eagerness, months without a proper sexual partner outside of yourself and you couldn’t help but be just a little bit more open to the idea of fucking someone who wasn’t your first option, or second—not even your last. Javier was nowhere on your list, actually. 

But, here he was. Offering himself over to you.

Besides, you had an entire night stuck alone with him—it wasn’t the worst way to entertain yourselves.

“Doesn’t seem that way right now,” Javier counters, his ego shining through.

“Stop. Talking.” You plead, hands pulling at the seam of buttons on his shirt, pulling at it roughly in two quick, forceful movements until it splits open, mangling some of the buttons in the process but if upsets him, he doesn’t say a word.

Instead, he rips it away just as quick, pulling his leg away to descend to his knees, pushing your blouse up your chest until he can reach bare skin, mouthing at the soft skin of your stomach and—christ, it’s distracting. He yanks at the short zipper on your skirt, making a small noise of happy acknowledgement when he’s able to get it undone and pull your skirt down the rest of the way, breath hot over your underwear as he stares up at you, fingers curled around the thread at your hips.

You nod silently and he presses his mouth against your center, teasing kisses along your inner thighs that slowly turn into playful bites until you’re nearly squirming, begging with a softer version of his name that you never tried to let him catch you using.

“Javi, please.”

He pulls your panties down your legs, over your heels and to the floor with little care, too focused on settling your leg over his shoulder before a hand is curling over the top of your thigh, fingertips digging in as he licks a broad stripe through the center of your pussy, his other hand balled into the fabric of your shirt and you need less—less clothing, less restriction.

You fumble with your buttons, head falling back against the metal of the filing cabinet with a sigh as the tip of his tongue slides over your clit and down, a motion he repeats several times in your poor attempts to undress and chuckles against you when you curse, finally getting your top unbuttoned and letting it sag at your shoulders, your fingers buried in his hair as he groans, lapping at you eagerly as his hand rises blindly until he can squeeze at your breast.

You moan loudly, instinctively covering your mouth at the sound as Javier pulls back in subtle shock himself, surprised that you allowed yourself to be so vocal about how he was affecting you.

“Not a fucking word, Javi.” You berate him, pushing a finger into his forehead gently which he takes in stride, laughing quietly.

“No one is here.” He reminds you, “Listen.”

And you do, Javier slowly rising to his feet and pressing his lips against the side of your neck, working at his belt in time, shucking his pants open just enough for you to slip your hand into his boxers, gripping his cock tight in your hand—still, absolute silence.

“Let me fuck you,” Javier begs—begs with fervor, his breath hot against your ear, “please?”

You nod jerkily, feeling him settle his slacks just low enough that they aren’t a nuisance and pulling the thigh that was resting over his shoulder around his hip, his fingers digging into your ass as you tug at him testingly, enjoying the look on his face when you squeeze a little harder than he’s expecting, enjoying the heavy weight of him in your hand.

“Oh, I can fuck that hate right out, querida ” Javier admonishes, “don’t try me.”

“I dare you,” You challenge him, using your free hand to pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, earning a soft grunt in return, “—just remember to pull out, yeah?”

Javier full on snorts at that, a noise muffled into your neck when he leans forward, guiding himself to press against your cunt before he sinks in, both of your momentary hostility turning to full bliss.

His hand curves around the back of your head, a simple gesture but maybe more of a warning, his hips snapping into you suddenly, quickly, jostling you against the hard surface. He was protecting your head from the sharp edge of the cabinet and you almost laughed at the thought, but his impatient, fevered movements are sending you into a spiral, eyes rolling back.

“Stay with me,” He teases softly, lips at the base of your neck,  “want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

And you do, boldly, despite how your heart races. You let your body do the work, shutting your mind off for the moment—the hesitation, the worry, the regret that would hit you five minutes after this was over. 

You don’t remember it feeling like this, either. The full body sensation, his gaze heating you from the inside out, your thumb slipping over his bottom lip curiously, his teeth biting down gently on the digit as he fucks you deeper into the surface of the cabinet, if that was possible. 

There are no words, just sounds—moans that could be heard across the bullpen if someone was close enough and Javier, who is plenty vocal and has shown himself to be, can’t even form words, grunting with every few sharp snaps of his hips, fucking you so thouroughly it aches.

“Touch yourself,” He instructs, “let me see, muñequita. Wanna know.”

It doesn’t matter if he’s thought about it before—or, if somewhere in the deep, dark shadows of your mind that you might have had the same thought about him too.

There is no convincing, feeling yourself so on the edge already that it wouldn’t take much. And it doesn’t, your hand descending until your fingers graze over your clit, steadily bringing yourself closer and closer, legs shaking under Javi’s grip until he has to bear most of your weight as you come, blunt fingernails digging into his shoulder as you cry out. And he’s there too, so close and hanging on by a thread, the unsteady thrust of his hips a tell-tale sign.

Your heart is racing, mind too, and the words that come out aren’t anything of rational thinking.

“In my mouth,” You tell him, sounding more earnest than you ever have.

“You sure?”

You laugh through the exhaustion.

“Are you really questioning that?”

He shakes his head in amusement before he’s patting the back of your neck gently and urging you to your knees, jerking himself into your open mouth a few seconds before he’s coming, somehow managing to keep the moment tender as he holds your chin and squeezes gently, watching you swallow down the heady taste of him with your eyes locked on his.

“So, what now?” You ask jokingly, taking the hand he offers to you after a moment of him tucking himself back into his jeans, cursing when you shoulder bumps a stack of files on the way up, dropping them to the floor in a pile. 

Javier fetches your clothes and hands them over, redressing himself before plucking at the files hastily.

You’re nearly dressed when you hear him curse behind you.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Hm?” You turn on your heels, busy tucking your shirt back into your skirt when you spot the item in his hands—a small gold key. “Well—don’t fucking stare at it. Try it.”

Javier approaches the door with quick footsteps, followed by your softer ones as you slip on your heels, gasping as the key turns in the lock and suddenly—the past couple of hours dissipates in an instant.

“Look at it this way,” Javier says lightly, “we’d still be stuck in here otherwise.”

Being that, if he hadn’t fucked you against the filing cabinet you’d be spending your night sleeping on the murky carpet of the file room floor—so, as usual, Javier Pena saves the day.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Javier suggests, “it’s the least I could do.”

“I live like three blocks away from—”

“Humor me?”

You chew at your bottom lip hesitantly.

Javier reaches forward suddenly, soothing the worry with his thumb.

“Pobrecita, if it isn’t all gone, we can try again?”

You slap his hand away gently, wordlessly taking his offer as you step past him, watching as his smile grows to a satisfied grin.

“You didn’t say no,” He adds.

Maybe he hadn’t fucked all of the hate out of you, but it was a start.

↝ special thanks to @undercoverpena for taking a look over this for me <3

↝ divider credit: yours truly.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Hungry for you

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 6

Prompt: Cooking together

Rated: M

CW: sexually explicit language

Tags: No UD AU; modern AU (if you squint); record shop owner!Eddie; restaurant owner!Steve; sexual tension; seriously, it's so thick you could cut it with a knife; top Steve; bottom Eddie

Notes: This is actually taken from a waaay longer AU that I've been rotating in my head for a while but haven't had time to expand on yet. So this was actually the perfect opportunity to get some of it out.

Eddie is in danger. 

Mortal peril, in fact. The cold-sweat-beading-on-skin, heart-in-your-throat, limbs-heavy-with-dread kind of danger. He's minutes away from sneaking to the bathroom and calling Gareth, ask him to bail him out under some pretense. 

Only he'd probably laugh at him, the fucker. 

Because, granted, being trapped in your hot neighbor's fancy kitchen with a glass of wine beside you and candles burning on the windowsill does not sound like a dangerous situation. 

But it is.

Oh God, it so is.

Eddie's an idiot. 

Should've known this was a Bad Idea (capital letters, TM) the second Steve said he wanted to invite him to dinner. 

"Sure," Eddie had stammered. (No, answered. He's a grown-ass adult with his own record store, he does not stammer over the sexy restaurant owner from across the street suggesting dinner.) "I'll swing by the restaurant tomorrow, or-" 

"Not at the restaurant," Steve's eyes had lit up with that fond glint, voice dropping into a low timbre. "My place. I wanna take my time with you." 

The alarm signs were all there. Wailing sirens, big fat neon letters spelling DANGER and ABORT and STOP. 

But Eddie's sense of self-preservation has always been a bit skewed. 

So here they are.

"I hope you like pasta?" Steve asked a few minutes ago. "We're making Tagliatelle al Limone with green asparagus." 

"Sounds great," Eddie said, when in all honesty, he hadn’t processed much beyond the word pasta. Too distracted by the way Steve’s shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing trim arms dotted in flour. "I make SpaghettiOs for dinner all the time." 

Steve makes his own pasta. He's currently rolling golden dough into an even layer to cut it into stripes. Eddie forces himself to quit staring at the flexing muscles in his arms and returns to his own task. Namely, peeling the asparagus. With a potato peeler. 

He's peeling asparagus with a fucking potato peeler like a ten-year-old who can't be trusted to not cut himself. Which is a frustratingly adequate assessment, in all honesty, so he didn't complain when Steve handed him the thing. Only now he's feeling like an idiot, standing at this hardwood counter between all these pans and pots and shiny appliances. Christ, his own kitchen is two cabinets with lopsided doors, an electric hotplate, and an ancient microwave pulling double-duty as an oven.

What the fuck is he even doing here?  

The answer to that, apparently, is fucking up his one task, because his hand slips and he almost manages to cut himself on the potato peeler. The stem - or stick or whatever the fuck it is you call them - of asparagus in his hand snaps and the tip flops to the countertop. Eddie swears, which causes Steve to turn and arch an eyebrow. 

"Everything okay?" 

"Oh, I'm peachy," Eddie brandishes the mutilated asparagus at him. "Unlike this little fella here, but y’know… collateral damage or whatever." 

Steve eyes the battlefield of fallen and mangled asparagus brethren on the counter and smiles. 

"That's alright," he shrugs. "We're cutting them into pieces anyhow." 

"Oh," Eddie just says, because one, if it's okay, why didn't Steve tell him before, and two, if it's okay, then why is Steve sauntering over with that ever-so-slight, blink-and-you-miss-it sway of his hips? 

Which Eddie definitely isn't doing. Blink, that is. He thinks he may have lost the ability to.

Before he can recover, Steve is already slotting into place behind him - an entirely unnecessary move in the spacious kitchen - sliding his arms around his waist and covering Eddie’s hands with his own. They're large and lean and graceful, those hands, all long, skilled fingers and soft, tan skin. Eddie has a very unhelpful mental image of those hands on his naked skin. Those fingers in his mouth, that honeyed voice ordering him to suckle, get them nice and slick for-

"You know," says Steve, right by his ear. His hands have started guiding Eddie’s, holding a stem of asparagus on the countertop, slicing the outer layer away with gentle but firm strokes. Eddie can feel his body heat through their clothes, feel Steve's breath leaving a hot trail on his skin. "Asparagus is rumored to have a very special effect on the human body…" 

"Wha-?" Eddie starts. His blood can't decide whether to rush to his face or his cock. It makes him all woozy - which will forever be the excuse he tells himself for what next comes out of his mouth. "Oh, I know! It makes your piss stink." 

Steve's hands freeze. Eddie considers killing himself with the potato peeler. 

And then Steve laughs. Rumbly noises from deep in his chest that send vibrations all through Eddie’s body. 

"No, silly," he says, voice dripping with that gentle condescension that should make Eddie livid but somehow only serves to kindle the coiling heat in his abdomen. "It's an aphrodisiac."

Eddie blinks.

"So it … makes you horny?" 

Steve hums. "Allegedly." 

Eddie gulps. Stares down at the potato peeler lying limply in his hand. Steve's hands have migrated to his hips at some point during their exchange, thumbs pushing up the hem of his shirt just the tiniest bit. 

"Crazy," he hears himself say. "Haven’t even eaten any yet." 

Steve presses his lips to his neck in a not-quite-kiss, just a coy smile touching skin. 

"So it's working?" 

Eddie wants those lips and hands on his skin, wants Steve's tongue and teeth all over his body, voice and touch and warmth seeping into him until he forgets how to think, forgets his own name, until all he knows is Steve and this burning, all-consuming want, want, want-

Steve laughs, pats his ass lightly. Eddie yelps as if slapped. 

"All in due time, baby. Can't have dessert before dinner." Steve winks. "Better continue with that asparagus." 

Eddie is not going to survive.

Part 2

All of my holiday drabbles

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you'd gone to the school, hoping to find Wally or Shy Boy or Bitnik Girl. hell, you'd settle for Mina Volkov and her volatility, adamant that you'd had to have practiced the right procedures to join her in the rafters. At that point, you'd been willing to do just about anything (exposing your abilities included) to help course-correct after Simon had been hauled away by the cops.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.21

You'd almost been willing to do as Xavier had asked. To stay home and rest—not that you'd have been able to do so successfully, earlier events churning together in a wild storm of tragic memory, frayed thought, and sick emotion. You'd been curled up on Aidan's bed, holding Limon like a lifeline, Xavier long gone after promising to pick you up in the morning.

Then Simon had texted; had told you about Mrs. Grace striding into the interrogation room and disarming the deputies' aggressive questioning with a single look before they'd had a chance to dig in. Apparently, Simon was due back at the station the next day, informed he was to give a formal statement that would be recorded and observed by the right parties.

In the aftermath, his parents had been frantic to the point of guarding the exits and refused to let him out of his room. He'd been allowed access to his phone for ten minutes until he'd had to hand it back to his mother.

Things had gone from abstract to real too quickly for you to fathom, everything utterly and completely fucked, and you were scared. Scared for Simon, for yourself. For Maddie. It'd been Simon's texts that had spurred you into action. They think I had something to do with it, Simon had relayed, they aren't even looking at Anderson. After that, there'd been no chance you'd sit idle, twiddling your thumbs through the night until Xavier returned before school.

You'd snuck out without trouble, quick-marched the path to Split River High, keeping to the shadows to avoid late-night weirdos, and possible Neighborhood Watchers who would tattle on you. You didn't have a plan, knew the school was locked and a night guard was on duty. Either Al or Barry, the two rotating shifts between day and night week by week.

Al was old, watermelon-round, and slow; wouldn't give you more than a lazy warning if he caught you trying to break into the building. Barry, on the other hand, was young, loud; had some kind of point to prove, and acted like his uniform made him the voice of authority. He wouldn't hesitate to tell Principal Hartman who he'd caught in the halls after dark, jaundiced teeth on display as he sneered through a heavily embellished version of the truth just to make things worse for you.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you hurried across the parking lot, practically jogging to the back of the school where you stopped a few feet short of the door. You were relying—perhaps too much—on the connection between you and Wally, blind hope warring with better judgment as you chanted his name in your mind. Over and over, infused with pleas to come find you. It was stupid, you thought, the dumbest idea anyone had ever had, begging a ghost to ride in like a white knight on the back of the telepathy neither of you had. What was worse was that, even upon entering the school grounds, the connection had only murmured to life, a barely-there purr reaching outward like a cat stretching after a nap. It was unbothered, the way you'd noticed it was when you and Wally weren't within a specific radius of one another.

While it made it easy to concentrate in class, that little mechanism made you want to punch a hole through the fabric of the universe and throttle whatever divine entity had thought it up. Motherfucker. Still, you prayed it would be enough to get Wally's attention.

Minutes passed and you paced a groove into the grass, hands shoved into the kangaroo pocket of Andrew's hoodie when you weren't combing your fingers through your hair or flapping them along with the angry conversation you were having in your head about weaponized bias. Because who the hell were those deputies to suspect Simon of anything? Of course, you didn't know the whole story. Simon had only had ten minutes to talk and he'd also been texting Nicole. Probably Mathilda, too, since she'd been on the verge of rabid by the time he was released into his parent's custody.

Fuck this. The connection wasn't working, or maybe Wally was preoccupied, or, who knew, he could be in that strange state of suspension that you'd read about; a whole chapter dedicated to the way in which ghosts linger between the hours, as if not existing at all, until something roused them. You didn't know enough about the connection between you and Wally to question whether or not it would be cause enough for him to come to.

Out of patience, you decided it was time to do something. You stomped around the side of the building, trying to guess where Wally would be at that time, and, god dammit, you both really needed to have more conversations about things outside of Maddie and mad teachers. Finally, you halted in front of the gym's exterior. You checked the ground for something to throw at the grated window, a stone or stick big enough to rattle the metal and make noise.

Stone in hand, you positioned yourself to hurl it at the school. Arm raised, body angled back, hyping yourself up in your head as you counted down from 3. Best case scenario: Wally came to get you. Worst case: Barry got to you first.

With a shuddery breath, you swung your arm and—

"Don't." An unfamiliar voice said from behind you as your wrist was grabbed in a hard, though not painful, grip.

You dropped the stone, "What the shit!?" and swirled around, irrationally terrified that it was Mr. Anderson come to do to you what he'd done to Maddie.

It took a moment for the fear to recoil, for your heart to slink down from your mouth to your chest. You took in the person who'd stopped you. A tall boy with South Asian features wearing autoshop coveralls, the top rolled and bunched around his waist. He studied his hand, as if touching you had caused some kind of reaction, before he looked back up and regarded you in awe.

"Uhm...hi?" You said for lack of anything better. The longer he stared without saying anything, the more time you had to process. With a thick swallow, cold dread crept over you as it slowly clicked who was standing in front of you. Arjun "Ajay" Khatwani. Died in 1992. Crushed under a car in autoshop. "Oh, fuck me," You bemoaned, scrubbing your hands over your face.

Great. That was great. Another nail in the coffin of keeping a secret you'd been sworn to by ancestral blood. He seemed to notice your despair, his posture changing from loose shock to rigidly unimpressed, arms folding and one brow arching.

"You can't be here." He said, "Especially not now." And what the hell did that mean?

"Look, buddy, I don't mean to be rude, but I really need to get into that school," You hooked your thumb over your shoulder, "and I am going to find a way to do it."

His shoulders squared, a determined expression hardening on his face, "And, trust me, I want to help. But you can't just fly in there and expect Wally not to get found out."

That was...what just happened? Wires sparked and the control board short-circuited as you tried and failed to respond. Mouth gupping as a rush-hour-of-traffic's worth of words clogged your throat. Had Wally told Ajay about you? No. He wouldn't. Logically, it was impossible to know, but something deep within you rejected the idea as soon as it manifested.

"Come again?"

"Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret. How do you think they'll feel when they find out Wally—our dopey, naive, puppy-dog mascot—betrayed everyone as well, hm?" He took a step toward you, a deep V between his brows that looked foreign on his face. "I know you have a lot to lose, too, but you have family who will support you no matter what. Here," He said, indicating more than the school, you recognized, "We only have each other."

"You just said everyone got over Charley—" Was he the kid with the glasses and the Timberlake frosted tips? "—why wouldn't they do the same for Wally?"

"It's different. Listen to me—" And then he said something that startled you back a step, your eyes bulging. Your name tumbled from his lips like he'd known you his whole life. Not your full name, no. It was the nickname Aurora had used when you were a baby. Ajay raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Please, just listen. I'll go get him, but understand," There Ajay paused, reluctant and no less determined to get his point across, "He's with the others right now and I can't think of a reason to get him alone at midnight on a Thursday. Not after everything that happened today."

"So bring them." You challenged, eyes narrowed, standing taller, because, honestly? If Ajay knew about you then what the fuck was the point anymore?

He might not have openly confessed that your sister had interacted with him of her own volition, but he didn't need to. You could sense his sincerity; his willingness not to disrupt the status quo. He wouldn't have sought Aurora out, and you hadn't seen anything from him in your years at the school to indicate he was the type of ghost to stalk the living. Not like Dreamy Dawn who insinuated herself into students' spaces to rifle through their things.

So, Aurora had dallied with a ghost, too, and no unearthly horrors had been unleashed upon her, why not say fuck you to a lifetime of indoctrinating magical gospel and do the same?

Ajay seemed uncertain, momentarily quiet as he thought about what to do. Clearly, he'd assumed you'd back down. Run home to bed, hide under the covers, and wait until tomorrow to find Wally. Yeah. Not happening. Not while Simon was on the cusp of expulsion. If you didn't find something to incriminate Anderson, something that would get Simon off the hook, you'd never forgive yourself.

"Do it, Ajay," You said, just a tiny bit smug when his head snapped up at your use of his name. "Bring. Everyone."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally had felt your presence as soon as you'd stepped through the barrier. A sweet honey tug in his gut that made his gums itch and his scalp tingle. He wanted to get up, go find you, hold you, kiss you, tell you how much he'd missed you since you'd left in a state that had broken his heart.

But he couldn't. Rhonda's change of heart toward Maddie and Charley had been hard-earned and Wally was far too nervous to do anything to rock the boat. Rhonda sat at the coffee table, an old yearbook open in front of her as she explained to Maddie what had happened to cause the Devils to become the Bandits.

Charley was curled up near Wally, back rested against the couch, at peace now that his place amongst their group had been reinstated. To Wally, it'd never been in question, and he doubted Rhonda would've let Charley's exile last more than a week, but still, it was nice to see Charley comfortable and content. Right where he belonged. With them.

The question of telling Mr. Martin about Maddie and Simon came up, Maddie making a promise that Wally and Rhonda had discussed at length after Simon was dragged away by police. Wally and Rhonda had just suggested they follow Charley's lead instead, Charley then wondering where to go from there, when Ajay poked his head into the library.

He must've heard what Charley had asked because he stuttered, "Um...guys...there's someone here who I think can help you," gaze darting around the room before resting on Wally.

In that second, Wally knew exactly what was about to happen.

He leapt to his feet, ready to dash circuits around the school to find you, when Ajay halted him with an intentional, hard stare. Something akin to how his mama had looked at him when he'd been about to blurt information she hadn't wanted her Book Club to know.

The others stood, circling Ajay with a dozen questions, Maddie's voice above the rest as she pecked for answers about Simon. "Is he here? Is he okay?"

Ajay quieted them with a wave of his hand, "All I can say is I'm sorry for not telling you about her sooner." He leveled Wally with a look. It spoke volumes, told Wally to keep his mouth shut and follow Ajay's lead or Ajay would do unspeakable things to him for the remainder of their shared afterlife. Wally gave a minute jerk of his chin that Ajay received with an almost imperceptible quirk of his lips.

"She can see ghosts," He explained to the others, "And she wants to help."

"Who are you talking about?" Maddie questioned while Rhonda and Charley stood behind her in varying degrees of shock. "Who is it?"

Ajay swept an arm, a gesture for everyone to follow him to where he'd tucked you away. "Just. Come with me."

He set a quick pace and, as Wally caught up to walk beside Ajay, he understood why. The others had shorter strides and, although keeping up pretty well, lagged behind a small distance. It was still wide enough that Wally could whisper without being overheard.

"What's going on?" He had to know. "Is she okay?"

"I swear to every god in the Hindu pantheon, Clark, if you two get caught, I am not holding your hand through whatever Charley and Rhonda do to you," Ajay warned under his breath, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

Ouch. Violent, but okay. Wally got the message, loud and clear. Despite Ajay's stiff manner, Wally deeply appreciated his friend helping him avoid disaster. He realized it wasn't just for his sake, but for yours as well. If not handled delicately, shit could hit the fan. He didn't think those in the Afterlife Support Group were too big a risk, but he couldn't be sure how knowledge of your abilities would affect the Loopers. Mina notwithstanding, obviously.

Ajay led them up the flights of stairs to the roof exit—a hatch ladder that scaled up to the already open portal above. "You come up last." He said, hushed, before the others joined them in the cramped space, "And for the love of God, Wally, do not get too close to her. "

"Got it," Wally replied, shuffling back to allow Rhonda, and then Maddie and Charley, to climb up after Ajay. There was no way to know how the connection between you and him would react once he laid eyes on you, but he'd do his best to honor Ajay's wishes...there'd be some kind of effort made, at least.

Already he felt the connection stirring to life, his blood pumping faster, pulse humming in his ears, breath quickening. Fuck, he was sure his pupils were completely blown, the smell of vanilla on the breeze reminding him of how your skin had tasted as he'd nipped and licked your neck in the theater last night, the tight little keens you'd made driving him crazy—

Ajay's head appeared through the portal, a look of total disappointment on his face, "For fuck's sake, bro, pull yourself together," he growled and reached a hand in to help Wally over the metal lip and onto the gravel rooftop.

Chagrined, Wally took a few deep breaths through his nose—which helped about as much as you being pressed flush against him would have—and he shook his head, his hands, one foot after the other, in an attempt to work out some of the electricity that sparked under his skin.

When Wally finally glanced up, the others had you surrounded, Ajay sticking close to your side and putting everyone in their place with a matronly stare.

You were so damn close and all Wally could think of in the moment was sweeping you into his arms and holding you forever. You were adorable in the same oversized sweater you'd worn yesterday, looking particularly tiny under the bulky fabric. Your hair was mussed as if you'd just climbed out of bed and...oh shit god damn. He blazed a hot trail down your body with his eyes and had to bite back a groan when he saw that your thighs were bare, your cutesy sleep shorts doing nothing to help Wally's steadily worsening predicament.

Ajay flashed him another look of disdain which served to reel Wally's desire back in. Alright. He could do this. He could be normal about you. For sure.

The others seemed to part like the fucking Red Sea as Wally stepped toward you. In his periphery, he could just make out Rhonda's deeply suspicious expression, Charley's narrowed eyes, and Maddie's woe. Shit, that's right, you probably had no idea Maddie was there. Had he mentioned that to Ajay? Crap, why couldn't he remember?! Should he say something?

He had to keep his eyes on everything except you—the ground, Rhonda's Oxfords, Charley's shoulder—as the connection crackled and licked like fire inside him. Wally tensed every muscle in his body, stiff as a board and probably emanating the most awkward vibes the others had ever seen from him, but he managed to maintain control.

Of course, keeping a level head and maintaining control wasn't really in Wally's wheelhouse. Not off the field, anyway. And especially not around you.

Like chimes in the wind, your voice clinked through the silence, a simple "Hi," forcing Wally's head up and his gaze to lock on yours, beautiful, marbling swirls the color of galaxies.

His breath caught and it was at that moment that he knew he was fucked.

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY - PART TWENTY-TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[nipuni]

Weekly photo blog update! Ramble about these and life under the cut 😊

We found this amazing collection of books from 1945 about historical fashion second hand for super cheap! It's illustrated, in color, and in excellent condition, I'm over the moon 🥰 also the antique book fair is back in the city and we can't wait to go visit, I'll probably go next week so I'll share more later! although I really need to stop getting books, I've been out of bookshelf space for months now and they already took over half of the dinning table 😆

This little shop in the photos is where we get spices and dried fruit and it's very pretty so I thought I would share

Today we went out for sushi to one of our favourite places! It's venezuelan-japanese fusion and it's so so good, the drink is papelon con limon and I highly recommend it!

And last are these amazing thrift finds!! The skirt and sweater are perfect aaaaa I'm going to style so many autumn outfits soon after the weird heat wave passes, I can't wait!!

On a more depressing note, yesterday was my father's first birthday since his death a couple of months ago, and I also saw his tomb for the first time, my aunt sent me a picture at the graveyard and it's such a strange sight, seeing his name on a cross on the ground feels unreal. I try not to think about it too much, it's like if I stop running or look back it will catch up with me. We lit a candle last night with Nicolas and talked about him, it's getting easier to remember the good over the bad with time so I'm happy about that 😊

I hope everyone is having a great beginning of autumn!

[sailoryooons]

Hi it's me, your favorite demon sailor scout. I recently hit another follower milestone and I want to take a second to wax poetic about how grateful I am to have all of you here! I am not doing a milestone event for this celebration because I am in the works of setting up Hali's Happy Agust, but I wanted to give some thanks.

First and foremost: thank you to everyone who follows me. Whether you are a silent reader or someone who comments/reblogs/chats often - you are so appreciated and you make my day in whatever context you exist in this blog space. I hope you remain happy and healthy.

Second: I am very blessed and happy to be here. Writing in this community has given me more than I ever thought that it would. I have met the most outstanding people, some of which will be my best friends for life. Writing has always been my greatest love, and it means the world to me that I do it in a space with so many wonderful readers and writers. Being here has turned my life around for the better in so many ways.

Third: The road on Tumblr has not always been very easy. I have seen a lot of terrible things come across my dash and within this community over the last few months, and a lot of toxicity and time spent in the negative spaces of this fandom. I encourage everyone to choose kindness, to block when you're uncomfortable, to cultivate real and honest friendships, and to say kind things to others as often as you are able.

I want to give a special thanks to the following people who are readers and writers who have made me feel loved, seen and supported on this sight - I don't talk to all of you every day but you have made a huge impact in my experience here:

@here2bbtstrash @gimmethatagustd @yoongukie-ff @jjkeverlast @daechwitatamic @theharrowing @caelesjjk @eoieopda @jihopesjoint @madbutgloriouspond @blog-name-idk @kth1 @moni-logues @kithtaehyung @sleeplesseliza @mapleleaf000 @kittycat1dsn @borahae-k @amethystwritesbts @echotoyou @sweetestofchaos @chryblossomjjk @jimilter @rapline-heaux @matchy6812 @sal-jimin-limon @violetsiren90 @pamzn @minholykingofkorea @sabiekay and every single person in the BTS Fantasy and Fangs server!

[dimension20npcofalltime]

Round 1D - Bracket Seven [Dimension 20 NPC of All Time]

Limon Longhalls vs The Hangman

Propaganda under the cut

Limon Longhalls - He/him

Campaign: A Crown of Candy

Who is he?

Limon Longhalls (pronounced L'moan) is a squire studying under Sir Theobald Gumbar and an attendant to the Princesses Jet and Ruby Rocks.

Why is he the NPC of All Time?

He's into falling down the stairsNo

He's literally perfect. Self aware king.

The Hangman - It/its, He/him

Campaign: Fantasy High

Who is he?

The Hangman is the infernal motorcycle that Fabian looted from Johnny Spells after his death. The bike is named after William Seacaster's pirate ship of the same name. The hell hound that possesses the bike is thousands of years old.

Why is it the NPC of All Time?

Just a wonderful dog bike, cracked in all fights he takes a part in

[triptychgrip]

The Katsuki-Nikiforovs Take Vanity Fair's Lie Detector Test

I'm such a huge sucker for writing post-canon Viktuuri content involving media appearances, and absolutely love Vanity Fair's Lie Detector Game series, so writing my new fic about Yuuri/Viktor filming an episode (with Phichit/Yurio/Otabek also present) was such a blast!

Chapter 1 features Viktor's turn in the hot seat, and Chapter 2 will feature Yuuri's turn (plus some very relatable Reddit content of their fans reacting to their episode)

Below is an excerpt that I hope will pique your interest in this or my other Yuri!!! on Ice stories!

-------

“Is your name Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov?” Yuuri read off of the page, aiming for an impassive tone.

However, the smile that crept over his face was involuntary; how else was he supposed to react when Viktor’s heart-shaped one immediately emerged?

“I am! During my very happy engagement, I was just ‘Viktor Nikiforov’, but life got exponentially better when I married my soulmate back in April 2019 and got to add on his surname,” he smoothly replied, after which Phichit and several of the filming crew members loudly awww'd.

In contrast, Yura gave a very put-upon sigh, followed by a mutter of what sounded like “Jesus…it’s already begun.” (And out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri thought he saw Otabek laughing at his best friend’s dismay).

“Good answer, lyubimiy,” he responded, blushing and feeling fond. “Moving on…are you thirty-two years old?”

A small pout immediately formed on his spouse’s lips, and when he answered, his voice sounded sulky.

“Unfortunately. A veritable fossil, as my much grumpier student makes sure to remind me every day,” he replied, jabbing an accusatory finger in Yura’s general direction.

The Ice Tiger exchanged a smirk with Otabek and they both laughed.

Having fully expected Viktor’s forlorn tone, Yuuri grinned but otherwise chose not to comment; if he really did state everything that flitted through his head over the course of this game, he and Viktor would be here all day and end up missing their group dinner reservation at Casa Limone: a restaurant that Celestino had personally vouched for when Phichit had reminded him about the trip.

“In addition to being the best figure skater in the world, are you also a skating coach and choreographer?”

Viktor’s reply was immediate and exuberant.

“I am! A skating coach and choreographer to two extremely talented athletes, that is. But given that I’m retired, I don’t know about being ‘the best’ anymore,” he said, before surveying him, shrewdly.

Yuuri had a sudden sense of foreboding around what his husband was about to say, and wondered how possible it would be for his blush to deepen even further.

“My Yuuri is the reigning Olympic Champion in Men’s Singles figure skating, as well as a 3-time World Champion, and a 2-time Grand Prix Final Champion!” Viktor crowed, looking directly at the camera and holding up 3 fingers on his right hand, and 2 fingers on his left. “His quad flip and quad lutz are better than mine ever were, plus he continues to have the most stunning spins and step sequences in the field!”

“He’s telling the truth, he really does believe that you’re the best, Yuuri,” Funmi confirmed, making Yuuri feel the urge to hide his head in his hands.

More cooing cut through the air, and he decided to offer a counterpoint.

“I know he’s not lying and that he actually believes that, but Vitya will always be the best, end of story…sorry to everyone else in the field, including our very good friends,” he commented, dryly, with a glance to the side at the spectating trio. “Oh, and he’s also wrong about my quads.”

Holding a hand up when Viktor made a clear attempt to retort, Yuuri hastily rushed onwards.

“Continuing on with the last calibration question,” he firmly announced, “are you married to me, Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov?”

His rebuke seemingly forgotten, his love positively beamed . In response, Yuuri couldn’t resist stretching his hand across the table so that they could interlace their fingers.

“Yes! Very, very happily so, luchik,” Viktor earnestly answered, hunching down a bit to press a kiss to his wedding ring (causing the seemingly unruffled Andressa to direct a very dreamy expression their way, which made Yuuri giggle).

“Is anyone else feeling horrified right now?” Yura loudly interjected, prompting Kariesha and Otabek to let out highly spirited laughs. “For God’s sake, those were the calibration questions . This thing hasn’t even kicked off yet!”

Phichit’s commentary couldn’t have been more different in tone.

“I know, isn’t this excellent!? I already have like 4 different sappy clips for my Instagram reels!”

Yuuri ignored the two of them in favor of kissing Viktor’s hand in turn, and didn’t bother to lower his voice when he reciprocated his spouse’s tender sentiment.

“Likewise, Viten’ka,” he replied, smiling warmly at him. “Getting to call you my husband is the absolute best part of my life.”

[a-flickering-soul]

Tamsyn Muir, Gideon the Ninth / Ada Limon, "Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds" / Sarah Ruhl, The Clean House and Other Plays / Tamsyn Muir, "The Unwanted Guest"

[transcription under cut]

Image 1: --whole body surging in spasm. Gideon's heart started up again. Before she could move, Palamedes was there, and with terrible tenderness-- though they were alone in the room and the world alike-- he kissed the back of Dulcinea's hand.

Image 2: There once was a very great American surgeon named Halsted. He was married to a nurse. He loved her-- immeasurably. One day Halsted noticed that his wife's hands were chapped and red when she came back from surgery. And so he invented rubber gloves. For her. It is one of the great love stories in medicine. The difference between inspired medicine and uninspired medicine is love.

When I met Ana, I knew: I loved her to the point of invention.”

Image 3: "The Warden,” she said, “has been exchanging letters with Dulcinea Septimus for twelve years. He’s been—a weenie—over her. One of the reasons he became the heir of the House was to meet her on even footing. His pursuit of medical science was entirely for her benefit."

Image 4:

Palamedes: (Pause) Look-- I doubt I'll get another chance to say this, so...

Voice: Don't. You don't have to.

Palamedes: I loved you. I love you still. I would have worked out how to love you better over time.

[jojolimons]

yessss got my cute pink qwilfish!!!

[itsaboutyourstruly]

If DL sakamaki bros had Bangladeshi names 🇧🇩:

🎻 Shu -> Shubuj (the colour green. It just rhymes with his name), Shushant (Calm)

🧬 Reiji -> Ronojit (Conqueror of War), Rafi (noble)

🏀 Ayato -> Ayat (proof), Ayman (lucky or blessed)

🎹 Laito/Raito -> Roshan (Daylight), Limon (Flame of Fire)

🧸 Kanato -> Karna (ear), Kamrul (Moon)

⚰️ Subaru -> Shuvo (good or holy thing), Samir (loyal or charming)

[sonic-oc-showdown]

ROUND 1 BRACKET A

Myo belongs to @limon-florcempoalli

Bolt belongs to @addysfandomdump

Find out more about them below!

Myo:

Myo is an ocelot of around 18 years old. They live in an small mobian town in the coast where she is native from, she spends her days taking care of the nature that surrounds their town and guiding tourists thorugh tours around the jungle. They love all about the natural world, plants and animals; Myo will do anything to protect her home and friends. She has a very strong sense of justice, comunity, identity and loyalty. Myo is considered a local hero for their deeds around the district, helping to make things better is her goal and passion. They also have several abilities like great agility, speed and knwoledge about ecology; but her most remarcable is her hydrokinesis, swimming and controling their movement underwater. Because their principal color is blue, Myo is named after the scientific name of the forget-me-not.

Bolt:

Bolt is best described as a nervous wreck. He's extremely anxious, a massive crybaby, and a huge coward. To be fair, it isn't entirely his fault. His almost-roboticization from Eggman Nega has left him quite scarred by the whole ordeal.

Bolt was kidnapped by Eggman Nega to test out his roboticization technology. Bolt was about 90% of the way through the process when out of sheer desperation his latent electricity powers activated and blew up the machine he was kept in. He used the opportunity to escape and has been living on the edge on insanity ever since.

Bolt is exceptionally powerful and incredibly fast. Despite his cowardice he can defeat most of his opponents in battle and can give Sonic a run for his money in the racing department. This is all immediately brought down by the fact that he's a giant loser. A pathetic little meow meow, if you will. He is transgender but has no t-boy swag. Absolutely zero sauce. He can beat the hell of out you if pressed but he will be shaking and crying and shitting himself the entire time while he does it. Sopping wet cat. I hope he loses the first round lmao.

Oh and he's also Blaze's distant cousin but that isn't really relevant in any significant way at all.

[peggy-sue-reads-a-book]

Hey! ✨🤓 I'd love to hear more about your poetry: it's best + current inspirations and your life reflections for this Halloween season? I just found your Dante/Judas poem. It is really brilliant and beautifully written art. I hope you light, peace and halloween's spirits. Best from one random heretical soul. 🙌🏻🎃👻💫

Hello! I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

I am currently in the process of looking for the right home for my debut collection. My favorite contemporary poets right now are Ada Limon, Nicole Callihan and Richard Siken. You might enjoy them if you don’t already.

As far as Judas’s Picnic goes, I suppose I was considering that at the last supper, Judas and Simon each received a prophecy that he would betray Jesus in the end. They both did and were immediately horrified by their own actions, Judas to the point of taking his own life. I feel arrogant and uncomfortable assuming the is no mercy and no peace for someone who does not survive their own mistakes. I believe mythology around Judas Iscariot is deeply etched by medieval attitudes toward suicide, which, to me, are still around and worth challenging. I think it raises questions about us as people that we feel fine naming our kids after the likes of David and Paul but a suicidal sinner … that’s the villain of the whole Bible. Dante places him literally in Satan’s naval.

Or maybe I’m just inclined to adopt an upsetting little man as my personal underdog.

Thank you for asking. It’s always an encouragement to hear my work has touched someone.

— Peggy

[limoncelss]

Forgot to post something I did a couple days ago ! His name is Manchas !! She's a Xoloitzcuintle bug hybrid (thinking on this! Not yet sure) He's really fun to draw and make stories abt so maybe you'll see her more !!

𓆣🗯️ -> Limon