#oh wow writing prompts

[ghostbsuter]

"I can see dead people." He mentions with a shrug, using the chopsticks to fish more noodles into his mouth.

Dick stares at him. "Huh."

"Is that why you help?" He asks, getting more spring rolls.

"Yeah. Once someone becomes a ghost, word gets out quick, and they come to me. Always tatling about unfairness and justice." The kid waves the words around, rolling his eyes.

Dick just pretens to he uninterested, despite his mind racing at the new info. He is piecing past moments together, every shadow leaping away, every note with tips, leads and—

Huh.

"Do you... like it? Doing all that?" Richard approaches thus carefully, brows furrowed at the kid opposite of him.

Danny moves his head, giving a 'so-so' answer. "It's not much to like, I can see ghosts, and they know it and use it. If it brings them to peace or whatever– well, that's just a plus."

Dick stares. He places his chopsticks down and looks at Danny worried.

In turn, the kid sighs. "Sometimes gifts become curses the longer you have it."

And Dick understands.

Mind made up, he throws a pair of keys at the kid, watching fondly as the other catches them with confusion.

"Next time use these, instead of entering through the window."

Danny mock-salutes with a shit eating grin. "Yes, Officer grayson."

[veinsfullofstars]

“Any more stupid questions?”

Bonus live reactions to being saved from a Dark Matter ambush:

Started 07/13/24, finished 07/27/24 | Kintsugi AU Masterpost

[whump-in-the-closet]

"Don't You Remember?"

whumper-turned-whumpee who can't remember what they did to whumpee and a whumpee-turned-whumper who wants revenge so very badly

cw: implied torture, blood, scars, fist fight, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, implied torture of a minor

In the abandoned alley, Whumper stood over Whumpee, blood on their boots and blood on Whumpee's clothes.

Whumpee gasped for air, back arching against the stone wall. They whimpered. “Why– why are you doing this?” There was terror in their eyes, deer-in-headlights-bright.

And all it did was piss Whumper off. They were no longer the scrawny kid that Whumpee had once bloodied and scarred, but their temper still had the same short leash. And this time, there was no one to stop them.  

“Why?” repeated Whumpee, their voice shaking. Blood dribbled down their chin. “Do I know you?” 

Whumper laughed. Bitterly. In the bronze-lit alleyway, it tasted like dirt and metal, bouncing off the walls before dying out. "You have got to be kidding me."

Whumpee's breathing rattled in their throat, eyes locked on Whumper with their bruised fists and dangerous smile. "I--"

Whumper cut them off. “You think this hurts, Whumpee?"

Whumpee coughed up more blood, clutching their ribcage. They nodded, Adam's apple bobbing in their throat.

“Just imagine it goes on for days. Imagine it doesn’t stop. Imagine you’re in so much pain, you can barely breathe, but it doesn’t fucking stop. But you know what hurts the most, Whumpee?” Another laugh, angry and half spat out. “That you don’t even remember what you did to me. Fuck, you don’t even have the-- the decency to acknowledge you’re the reason they all pity me. Fuck. It makes me want to beat you to death right here and right now.” Whumper ripped off their jacket, letting it drop to the gravel.

 “I mean, fucking look,” Whumper smiled harshly, more of a grimace than a grin.

Whumpee's gaze darted up and then immediately away. Whumper's arms were badly scarred-- raw-rimmed and poorly healed-- but the lines were steady, in methodical knife-blade form.

“Hold still, or I’ll have you lick the blood off my knife. That would be a new low for you, wouldn’t it?” 

Whumper shook aside the memories that burned their way into their mind, the ones that played behind their eyes whenever they tried to sleep. 

Oh, god, when was the last time they had slept?  The anger in their voice was venomous and they re-directed it at Whumpee. “You really don’t remember?” 

No answer. 

Whumpee kicked Whumpee. Hard. “C’mon, Whumpee, I know you’re in there.”

Whumpee only shook their head. They didn’t dare to look up, keeping their arms wrapped around their abdomen for protection. 

The street light bounced off the pooling blood, Whumpee's broken nose, highlighting the deep purple color under Whumper's eyes.

“I was just a kid!" snarled Whumper, "Tell me what I did to deserve this! Fucking tell me!" They didn't want closure. They wanted a fight. 

Instead, Whumpee was wiping at their bloody nose and crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  

Whumper bit back a scream. “Fight me!” 

Whumpee stood shakily, clinging to the wall. “I told you, I…I don’t remember…” their voice cracked. “Please don’t hurt me.” 

Whumper grabbed Whumpee's jacket and hauled them close until their faces were inches apart.

Eye to bruised eye.

Breath shaking.

The smell of copper and leather.

Once, Whumper had cried those very same words.

“Please– please don’t hurt me.”

The knife began its slow work and they began to scream–

One final punch. Whumpee's head cracked against the wall and they slumped limply against the sidewalk. 

There was no closure. 

Just bruised fists and blood on the gravel. Whumper left Whumpee in the alleyway, licking blood off their knuckles. 

[gipitothefrog]

Whump

@wolfstarmicrofic

Word count: 796

Tw: blood, injury, self harm (kinda)

***

It was the full moon, and for some reason, it was worse than usual.

The night started off normally, with Remus heading down to the shack and the rest of the marauders following after him. When the transformation started, though, they immediately knew something was wrong.

Remus still cried out in pain, but the cracks of his bones seemed louder than normal, and as a wolf, he was far more vicious. Not to the rest of the marauders, but to himself. 

His claws gashed into his stomach and back, leaving scarlet trails that leaked red for a long time after he had been torn up. Nothing the stag, rat, or even dog did persuaded the wolf to stop, and the torment continued the whole night. 

When the morning came, and Remus turned back, he simply lay on the floor, unmoving. Sirius, James, and Peter all rushed to his side, and tried to heal him the best they could, but the wounds were too deep. Reluctantly, they threw the cloak back on and hurried up to the castle.

Sirius paced back and forth in their dorm.

“Do you think Pomfrey’s gone down to get him yet?” Sirius asked the two other boys.

“I don’t know, mate. I hope so.” Was James’s response. Peter simply let out a small, sad squeak.

“I’m going to the hospital wing to check,” Sirius decided after another moment.

“We’ll come with you,” said James, jumping up at the same time as Peter.

“No, it’s early. You two get some sleep. I can go by myself. Besides, you two might not fit under the cloak.”

“Pete can be wormtail, it’s—”

James was cut off by Peter’s hand on his shoulder. “Let him go alone,” the shorter boy said.

Sirius made eye contact with Peter, silently thanking him. Pete simply gave an understanding nod.

Grabbing the cloak, Sirius made his way to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was used to the boys showing up early in the morning, before they were supposed to be out of bed, but this was earlier than normal by at least a few hours. Sirius knocked. No one answered, so he tried the door. It opened, and he made his way into the room, hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

It turned out to be in the middle. Madame Pomfrey had gotten Remus, but he was still in critical condition from what Sirius could tell. She was currently leaning over Remus, around twelve different potions on the table beside him. Sirius rushed over and kneeled near his head on the floor next to the bed.

“Will he be okay?” Sirius asked desperately. 

Madame Pomfrey looked up, only seeing him just then. “Yes, he will. He may be out for a few days, though. You never know with werewolf healing, sometimes it helps out, sometimes it doesn’t. We’ll see.”

Sirius spent the next couple of days at Remus’s bedside when he wasn’t in class. When he was in class, though, he was diligently taking notes, much more thorough than he ever had before, to give to Remus when he woke up.

When Remus finally did wake up, it was the middle of the night. Looking around, disoriented, the first thing he saw was Sirius. Slumped over in an armchair, asleep, with a half-done potions essay in his lap.

“Pads?” Remus croaked out.

Immediately, the other boy sprung up. Awake and alert.

“Moony! You’re awake!” He exclaimed, relief flooding through him.

“How long have I been out? And can I have some water?”

Sirius immediately conjured a glass of water, while saying, “A couple of days. It was really bad. I was- well we were all so worried.” Piping down for a minute, he asked softly, “Is something wrong, Moons?”

Remus took his time, gulping down the glass of water and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before answering. Looking down at his lap, he said,

“It’s nothing much. Just… my mother is sick, and I’ve been really worried. I didn’t realize that it was taking such a toll on me until, well…”

“Oh, Remus, I’m so sorry.” Sirius gingerly embraced the other boy, making sure not to hurt him in any way. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I just, I didn’t want you all to worry.” Remus sniffled. A few stray tears fell down his cheeks, which he tried to hide by looking away. Sirius gently guided his gaze back to him by his chin, then cupped his face and brushed away the tears with his thumbs.

“You can tell us anything, my Moon. You don’t need to worry about us worrying.”

Remus gave back a watery smile, before burying his face in Sirius’s shoulder and having the first proper cry he’d had in months.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Ask Idea! (Any version of these two Links!)

Time being a “Dad” for Legend.

(@thepinklink @hermitdrabbles56 @triforce-of-mischief @servantprincess come enjoy)

The emergency department was fairly abandoned as Time entered. The surgeon made his way directly to the charge nurse station and saw Warriors coordinating some bed assignments to get patients to the floors where they needed to go upon admission. When the charge nurse finally finished his task, he let out a sigh of relief upon noticing Time.

"Your patient's in the 300 block," Warriors said. "Census is finally low enough that I have an actual excuse to kick him out. Please help."

"How many?" Time asked, more out of morbid curiosity than anything.

"This is night eleven."

The surgeon's eyes widened. Eleven? He remembered his residency days when he would work well over a hundred hours in a week and was on the brink of insanity while being expected to work. Eleven shifts... that made for, what, 132 hours?

"Eleven consecutive shifts?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Warriors confirmed tiredly. "It isn't safe, Time. For anyone. I'm not letting management get away with it. Get him out of here."

With that, the conversation was cut off as the phone rang and Warriors had to start dealing with another situation. Time watched him a moment longer and then sighed, heading for the area sectioned off for the 300 rooms.

The emergency department was divided into several "blocks" of rooms, usually separated by acuity. The 100s were the "primary care" rooms, where patients who really didn't have an emergency but had nowhere else to go would be sorted. The 200s were the behavioral health area, secluded from the rest of the ER with doors that were always closed to mute the noise of the rest of the department. The 300s and 400s were the acutely ill while the 500s were the critically ill, and the 600s was the pediatric block.

The 300s wasn't far from the charge nurse station, so it didn't take Time long to reach the open area. The nurse station for each block sat in the center of the room so they could easily see all their patients, alongside the "doc box," where the physicians worked. Off to the left side of the nurse's station was the person in question.

Legend sat in front of a computer, a patient's chart open with an assessment half charted. Legend had his head propped on his right fist, his left hand absentmindedly typing words until the computer autocompleted them and he'd tab to the next box.

"Legend?" Time prompted as he approached him.

The travel nurse perked up slightly, some energy lighting his dull eyes. "Hey. Can I help you? They... they didn't put in a trauma consult for the guy in 12, it's a simple fracture. Right?"

"Nobody put in for a trauma consult," Time assured him, resting his hands on the counter in front of him. Legend looked very small and, for lack of a better word, defeated.

They stared at each other for a moment longer, Legend clearly not processing what was going on, and the nurse eventually settled his eyes back on charting with a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement.

"Legend."

The nurse's eyes gazed back up at the surgeon.

"Warriors changed assignments," Time explained. "Someone is picking up your patients."

"I only have one," Legend remarked confusedly. "Wait, what? Shouldn't I be picking up someone's assignment? Why are you even talking about--what?"

"He told me you had one patient, who is waiting for some paperwork from the physician and then is getting discharged," Time said slowly, gently tapping his fingers on the counter as he waited for Legend to process his words. "Which means you really don't have much of a patient assignment right now."

"Yes...?"

"You're going home, Legend."

Legend blinked. Then he blinked again.

Before he could argue, another nurse slid in beside him, stating exactly what Time had just articulated. Legend stared between the two, baffled.

"Then what am I...?"

"You're. Going. Home." Time repeated, stressing each word.

The travel nurse's coworker cleared her throat with a smile, and Legend hastily gave her report before staring at Time once more.

Then it finally seemed to click.

"What kind of bullsh--"

"Legend."

"Why the hell did that idiot think he could send me home--"

"Legend."

"What, does he think things are going to stay calm just because census has settled? I swear, the instant I leave the hospital the waiting room's gonna flood--"

"Legend!" Time finally said a little louder, making the travel nurse jump at his snappish tone. Then the surgeon settled. "Don't worry about what's happening here. That's Warriors' job. You've been working far too much lately."

"They're short staffed," Legend argued, motioning at the barren nurse's station. "What the hell was I going to do, just let them flounder?"

Time sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Your sentiment is admirable and good, Legend, but wearing yourself to the bone isn't going to help, either. You'll burn out and fall apart, and they'll be short staffed all the same."

"You're saying I'm replaceable," Legend grumbled, looking at the ground.

"I'm saying you can't help them if you have nothing left to give," Time corrected him patiently, understanding that the nurse's exhaustion was no doubt going to lead to irritability and false assumptions.

"I have plenty to give," Legend fired back, taking a step away and stumbling. "I'll--"

Here he faltered, scrambling for an argument and unable to find one. Time crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, making the travel nurse wave at him dismissively with an irritated tch.

"Where are you going?" Time asked as Legend walked away.

"To see if I'm needed elsewhere," was the terse reply.

"Legend," Time warned. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

The travel nurse froze, throwing a seething glare in his direction. "What, you think you can boss me around like you do Twilight or Wild? I'm not your kid, and I'm not part of your little war veteran posse either. What difference do I make, shouldn't you be in surgery or something? Pretty sure you have a job you're supposed to be doing."

Time took a steadying breath and walked towards Legend. His silence intimidated the travel nurse far more than his words did, and Legend took a wary step away. "What are you--"

With a swift motion, Time reached forward and slung the travel nurse over his shoulder, Legend squealing in alarm. A curious family member peeked out of one of the rooms, but beyond that Legend's hemming and hawing did little to change the situation.

Time had to admit, he was impressed at the combination of curse words the travel nurse was coming up with, though.

By the time they reached the alcove just outside the staff room for the ED, Legend had settled a little, only occasionally cussing Time out, jumping to different languages when he felt particularly irate.

"You need to clock out."

"Fuck you."

"All right, you can deal with it later."

They reached the entrance to the waiting room, and Time finally paused. "Am I going to have to carry you out of here, or will you walk with me?"

Legend's death grip on Time's shirt eased a little, followed by a defeated sigh. "Fine, dammit, I'll walk with you. Just put me down."

With that settled, Time slowly eased Legend to the ground, watching the nurse stumble a little with a dizzy spell. He steadied him by his shoulders, and Legend hissed, pushing him away.

Time furrowed his brow. "What compels you to think you can singlehandedly save everything and everyone, Legend?"

Legend's glare lost its bite, and he looked away. "It's my job, damn it. I'm a travel nurse, we come in to help departments who don't have enough nurses. This is what people rely on me for."

"Well, I don't know what your other assignments did to abuse you so much that you think eleven shifts is acceptable," Time stated, his words softened by his gentle tone. "But you have support here. We're not letting you burn yourself out like this."

"I'm not burnt out!"

Time stared at him until Legend withered under his gaze. He didn't have to rub salt in the wound. Instead, he just said, "Let's go."

Legend followed him somberly to the exit. The longer they walked, though, the more confused the young man became.

"Wait, my car's in a different deck. Where are we going?"

"I'm driving you home."

"What?" Legend stopped in the middle of the parking deck. "Come on, old man, I can handle driving myself home. Do you trust me that little?"

"You do realize that the level of exhaustion you're at probably makes you as addled as if you were drunk?" Time threw back. "You're coming home with me, Ledge. Someone has to take care of you since you don't seem to know how to take care of yourself."

Surprisingly, this didn't merit another string of curses or a fit. Instead, Legend deflated, suddenly out of energy to argue. Time left him be, willing to give the boy some space since he'd been manhandling him so much already. Instead, he unlocked his car and walked towards it, opening the passenger door. Legend dragged his feet over, sliding in silently and buckling up.

The travel nurse was out like a light before they even left the parking deck.

[cursedzucchini]

Well fuck me, i just spend an hour looking through my liked posts, to find that one angst Damian and Danny twins. Still didn't find it. Imma describe it lil more bellow, but if anyone knows what prompt I'm talking Abt pls tell me, imma tag it in the morning.

Prompt: Danny and Damian twins, but they hate each other. I think in the og post there were two versions, like Danny hoping Damian likes him now, but Damian tries to stab him, or both of them hating each other. I didn't take any route, i just wrote this prologue thingie. I think i might continue this, but if anyone gets inspired, feel free to add anything?

Something Abt Danny and Damian hating each other (or Damian hates Danny, Danny... Tried to survive, and later Damian regrets everything and Danny is bitter/scared of Damian) just scratches this part of my brain. Anyway yee that's all

Danyal al Ghul was gone.

His body was left to rot in some abandoded bunker. His grave empty, because Damian never bothered to bring his body back. His name deleted from every record, no failure has place between the best.

Damian didn't remember much about him. He knew his brother looked similar to him, they were twins after all. He was also pretty sure the younger one was shorter than him, though that couldn't be correct. There weren't any memories of Danyal being sick, so how could he be shorter than Damian? There was also the distinct impression of an awkward smile, but he might've mixed the memories up. Why would his twin wear such an unsure (pathetic) expression (grimace)? He was also the son of the demon, even if he was a failure. There is no such a place for weakness.

No, it must have been someone else. Damian had another clearer memory where his face was perfectly neutral. There is no reason to make such a face, if you are able to hide it.

Though that... Wasnt correct either?

Richard had recently taken to try and explain more about how their family functions. He reasoned that surely the League and Batman work diffefently, giving Damian many sound arguments. Yet he was sure the real reason for these... Lessons, was to explain more about the mundane side of things.

In one of the evenings spend arguing with the older man over the most idiotic things (if Drake was acting stupid, obviously he deserved a knife thrown at him), Damian somehow found himself talking about his annoyance, with his family uselessly emoting. How is Damian supposed to know, when they are truly proud of him, when they are truly disappointed, when they always show all of their emotions? How is he supposed to see which one is just them being weak, and which one is true?

His brother looked at him. There was pity in his eyes. And guilt. And pain. Damian wished Richard wasn't his brother.

Richard explained it. He spoke of emotions, and how they are natural, and none of them are false.

Damian didn't understand. He's not sure if understabds them now. But. If no emotions are false. And none of them make him weak. [Than why did mother taught them]

He doesn't like thinking about it.

But he hates thinking about Danyal more.

All his supposedly true emotions don't make sense. He... He feels his chest fill up with warmth when he thinks of him. He feels similar pain as when he is hungry in his chest. A strange mist falls and chokes his mind, whenever he is even reminded of his younger twin.

And there is bead of pure hatred inside his lungs, hating his crooked smile, detesting his small hands and despising his bright eyes.

[Wishing death on himself for not remembering their color. How could he forget his own twins eye color? Why does he only remembers the disgusting lightness making his stomach churn, their ugly staring at all his faults, wishing him fail]

Damian is quite sure Richard lied. There is no way all these foolish emotions are true. They don't make sense by themselves, how can they make sense mixed together? And after all they aren't strong enough to overcome hus brilliant self control, so they cannot be that true.

Or they weren't, until he caught the eye of a stranger.

A stranger with bright eyes.

With an awkward crooked smile, but other wise empty face.

A stranger with their hands playing with their shirt in obvious show of nerves

A little shorted than himself and...

A face almost the same as Damian's.

[tastelessleather]

This time on fucking up prompts because I think I can get more creative: boy bands

I honestly want to draw this, or see someone draw it, I dunno I figured it would be beautiful and inspiring, I hope I get around to it (please read till the end to understand)

The prompt : your [male] (yes it specifically asked for male?) character is in an idol group, they're on a Livestream and one of their band mates mentions that they should cover up their legs in the thigh highs they're wearing.

Okay so obviously it wants my character to be bashful and flustered about this. Fuck that.

What I come up with: my character and the band mate have an argument on the live stream about what they should and shouldn't be allowed to wear. The band mate starts saying that my character must be a girl of he wants to dress that way. My character tells him he's being sexist and that clothes have no gender. He proceeds to make transphobic comments and jokes, just being disrespectful in general. All on live. 70% of the fanbase is queer. The comments are half mad at my Character, the other half are livid at him.

After that fight my character runs into a fan on the street, a very sweet transfem. She gives him the number of an lgbtqia+ support organization after he asks if she knows any.

He calls the organization, sets up a fundraiser, gives away three hundred tickets to his upcoming concert, and request that any members of their organization attending bring pride flags.

On the night of the concert he goes out on stage with the rest of the band, but he's in a dress, a very frilly short puffy one; Completing his routine as usual, staying close to the transphobic band mate to piss him off. There are pride flags everywhere in the crowd, he takes a few and dances around with them, waving them off in his band mates face.

Description of the character: tall dark haired Asian man in his early twenties. He has long black hair and usually light stubble.

Description of horrible band mate : pale slim Asian man with red hair.

Rest of the band: I don't know, never thought it through, just know that excluding my character and the transphobic dick, there's five more members.

[sad-emo-dip-dye]

No way. Annie finished writing something? That’s crazy

[adrift-in-thyme]

Hehe oh wow I forgot this week is what I dubbed the “rip Time week”

[leedee013]

WIP Wednesday

@justthislazy convinced me to join in @kedreeva 's game this week! Let's see how this goes.

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Here is what I have to offer:

1. Silly Little Jean Moreau Fic 2. Etienne 3. Baby Jean 4. Needle AU

Snippet from Etienne (hopefully) below the cut:

Jean Moreau truly had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. This had been Jeremy’s idea after all, and it made sense on paper. However, knowing that he would benefit from owning a dog was very different from actually getting one. Besides, he’d never even had a pet before. From what the internet told him, it seemed like a mostly pleasant experience. He’d even gotten permission from Coach Rheman to bring a dog along to the stadium, and they were fully prepared to create spaces where an ESA could get away from the noise of the crowd. All he needed now was the actual ESA.

[fancifulflora]

hi! could i request this prompt:[ ATTENTION ]  sender peppers a series of caresses over receiver’s face in an attempt to make them laugh or smile. 

maybe the crown is wearing lipstick

btw could i also have ashti on this? ty! love ur writing!

ahhhHHhh tysm I'm glad you love my writing! I had this idea based off of one of the asks Cherry completed- I can't really find it atm but I really liked the soft vibes

I also tried writing it from another perspective; just for fun really

Warm, gentle sunlight filtered through the silk curtains of the palace, the light dancing across Ashti's restful slumber. Still, she didn't stir from her sleep in the Crown's bed.

Good. She deserved the extra rest.

Now, normally you would have your attendants come in. Perhaps share a small meal and drink with your sorcerer and protector before the day's work began, but it was thankfully a slow morning today.

A morning for the two of you to rest, at least until the afternoon came knocking.

Regardless, a Crown still needed to keep appearances.

Applying your makeup in the order your attendants have done for years took little effort on your part, though the gold still took a little more time to apply than normal.

Leaning away from the desk, you took a look in the mirror.

Hmm...not bad, not bad at all.

Now for the final touches.

Turning your attention to your table, you browsed through all the jars and bottles before settling on one particular one that caught your eye and applying it.

A little lip balm, scented with rose and pigmented with crushed precious gemstones- leaving a soft and gentle glimmer that always did work well under the light of the throne.

"You look beautiful," a smooth voice drawled from behind, a familiar voice akin to a lazy river making its way to the sea.

To you in this case.

"Oh, did I wake you, your Highness?" you teased, hiding your surprise and eying your Royal Protector from the convenience of your mirror- hearing the pops and cracks of her joints as she stretched out her limbs before immediately shrinking back into a comfortable position nestled in your pillows.

A small hum.

"Oh I've been awake for a while," She admitted with a dismissive wave of her hand at both the question and the nickname, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Where have your attendants gone this morning?"

Raising from your seat in front of the mirror, you made your way over to the bed- unceremoniously plopping down into Ashti's awaiting arms, "I let them take the morning off, I'm afraid... so it'll just be you and me this morning."

"Just the two of us?" Ashti repeated, the question alone bringing the ever-present guards to the forefront of your mind.

Right.

Just the nine of you then.

"Either way, I wish to make the most of this free time," You decided, turning so that you were more comfortable in Ashti's embrace, your shoulders pressing together- hazel eyes following your every move with a mix of interest and amusement.

Turning to face you, the royal protector tightened the grip their arm had around your waist. Ashti giving you an uncharacteristically chaste kiss before pulling away- enjoying the whine dying in your throat at the sudden loss of touch.

"Your whole day isn't completely free," She gently reminded, a small irritation growing in your gut at the thought of having lunch with a few of your Ministers later.

And with the bright sun rising by the minute... it appears that there wasn't that much time for the two of you to relax.

How unfortunate.

A small huff from you earned yourself a smile from Ashti in turn, feeling them loosen their hold on you allowed you to settle your head back against the pillows- golden eyes boring into the ceiling above in thought.

Ashti still had to go and arrange the last-minute security details before lunch too.

Joy. Even less time to spend together.

But what should the two of you actually do?

"What's on your mind?" your protector asked, leaning on their elbow as they hovered over you, the sunlight bringing out the traces of shimmer you had left on their lips.

Hmm...

An idea in your mind began to take root.

"Say, Ashti, are you fond of games?"

"It depends," Ashti murmured, eyes narrowing a bit at you and the mischievous look you failed to hide from them. "What kind of game?"

Putting a mask of boredom on your face, you averted eye contact and feigned contemplation. "Less of a game, I suppose, and more of a challenge."

A challenge?

Well, now you certainly have Ashti's attention now.

Using their nature against them, you propped yourself up onto your side- Ashti mirroring the move so you faced each other.

"Tell me more about this challenge." your royal protector grinned, their eyes shining at the chance to one-up someone.

Even you.

Void, maybe especially you.

"You have an impressive amount of self-control." You admit.

A hook.

"I'd certainly like to believe so."

"Though... perhaps not enough for this challenge."

Line.

Ashti huffed slightly, clearly invested in whatever game you had concocted for them and willing to play along with the obvious trap you were setting. "I don't suppose you plan on teasing me all morning, do you? Tell me what I'm to do. for this challenge of yours."

"Stand still."

Sinker.

"Truly," The Royal Protector raised an eyebrow at the challenge brought before her. "Is that all?"

"It sounds easy," you admit, getting on your knees above Ashti and pressing a hand to your lover's chest- a gentle push guiding her back up against the board of your shared bed. "But I assure you it is anything but."

Her smirk made butterflies of your stomach, Ashti following along with your guidance obediently. It seems as if she'd play this game of yours... for now.

"Do you plan on doing something improper to me, my Crown?" Their gaze was intense- voice low and teasing, a small bite of hunger behind their eyes. And while the notion was indeed tempting, you had other plans in mind.

"Nothing too untoward, I assure you, now, remember-" you started, hips straddling Ashti as all four of your limbs caged her in; hands on either side of her- palms pressed flat against the wall.

"No moving," Ashti solemnly repeated, their eyes fixated on your golden ones as you moved in slowly.

So. Agonizingly slowly.

Just to press a kiss on Ashti's temple.

The touch itself seemed to melt away at the tension in your protector, the bodyguard clearly having expected something a little more intense.

"If you wished to kiss me, you need only ask."

Hushing her, you move to another spot- evenly spacing out each and every kiss till you were satisfied. Each time you'd pull away, hazel eyes met your own, Ashti's face simmering in heat under your treatment. Her expression wanting for more than to hide from the embarrassment she was feeling.

Still, she kept to the rules, keeping as still as a statue while you moved to each of her cheeks.

One.

Two.

Now, her nose. You also couldn't dare forget the space between her eyebrows nor the areas just underneath those beautiful eyes of hers.

Pulling back to admire your progress almost made you regret choosing this colored lip balm.

If only it was gold, then perhaps you could have seen what Ashti would have looked like if she was the Crown.

"Are you doing alright?" you ask, wanting to make sure that your lover was comfortable first and foremost and that she was fine continuing second.

Ashti's head twitched, clearly tempted to nod in response but then remembering the rules. Taking in a slow breath, the Royal Protector spoke with a clear, calm tone. "Naturally."

That brought a smile to your face, bringing yourself closer to Ashti to leave slow, drawn-out kisses on each corner of her lip before finally pressing your lips together.

A small hum in Ashti's throat was all the response you got, the Royal Protector probably figuring that kissing back would be in violation of the rules you had set.

Shame, really.

Leaving one last kiss on her chin, a wicked grin spread across your face as the real fun began.

Making a show of it, you purposefully brushed your cheek against Ashti's, leaving specks of sunlight on her as your lashes tickled the side of her face.

One kiss, right underneath her ear.

Still, she did not move.

You then turned to the other side, the sound of her heartbeat drumming against your ears.

Still, she did not move.

"You're nearly there," a small piece of encouragement- one small act of kindness for your bodyguard.

But then you turned back to the mission at hand.

Moving in at a snail's pace, you decided to be especially vigilant as you seared kiss after kiss down Ashti's neck, finding a spot against their shoulder to the rest the side of your face on.

You could see their raised eyebrow, the Royal Protector matching your gaze from the corner of their eye; lips, still glistening- parted ever so slightly.

Their resolve was shaking.

Good.

Coming in for one last blow against your protector, your lips grazed her collarbone- teeth brushing against smooth skin.

Ah. There it was.

A single shudder was all it took for you to win the game.

Mercilessly leaving Ashti without a parting kiss on her collarbone, you opted to instead take a seat on her hips, admiring your work.

She sparkled like the ocean's edge- every wave of the curtains, every beam of light shattering into a million pieces across her features.

What a sight to behold.

"Are you done basking in your victory?" Ashti laughed, a little lightheaded after the intimate encounter, and above all else- thankful that she wasn't the only one affected by this challenge of yours.

Reaching for the edge of your desk, your fingertips snatched up a small cloth- touching up the edges of your lips where your makeup undoubtedly smudged itself.

"Nowhere near done," You admitted, "but I really ought to get off of you before we truly engage in something untoward."

Moving off of your lover, you move to adjust your clothes- mind wandering to the time. You really needed to get going now before Ashti fell behind on her duties.

The Royal Protector on the other hand, finally free from your binds took the cloth from your outstretched hand- cleaning themselves of the traces of your love, the markings of their challenge lost. The speed of their movements meant that the very same thought had crossed their mind as well.

"You-," their breath was even now, gaze finding great interest with your bookshelf across the room. "- may want to reapply."

You spare a glance at the mirror.

Oh. She was certainly right about that.

"We surely have some time left," You mutter as you turn your attention to the sun just out the window.

Seems like it.

Sliding off the bed in one fluid motion, you reached for the jar settled on your desk. "Might I ask for help, Ashti?"

Quick on their feet and having recovered from your little game with them, Ashti got off the bed as well- her face now clean of all markings. On instinct, they reached for the nightstand and looped her daggers and khopesh around their belt, trailing along to your side.

She was swift to settle back into her duties for the day.

Though certainly not enough to stop her from getting some revenge on you.

Purposefully tracing her fingertips across your bare knuckles- the Royal Protector carefully took the lip balm in hand. The lingering warmth from their touch giving you one final tease- one act of retribution as Ashti purred.

"Anything for you, my crown."

[xivu-arath]

things you said 6, mayhaps with omen? :D

things you said... in the shade of a tree

“How is your hand?” Eris asks. They are again beneath the Tree of Silver Wings, but both it and Omen are much changed. The pale branches curve ever more tightly inward, but they are tarnished now. Something murky ripples over and within them.

Just looking at it makes xyr hand hurt, sharp and pounding.

“Tolerable,” Omen says, extending xyr arm to show her. “But it is still growing.” The bark approaches xyr elbow now in thin, scraggly layers. Where it first took root is now smooth and dense to the touch, nigh-impossible to pry at. There are still outcrops of growth though, sprouting from xyr knuckles and over xyr fingertips. “How are the Seeds?”

“Serving their purpose well,” Eris says. “But not unharmed.”

“It’s dying.” Drying up as if starved of water and good soil, just as xyr arm cannot seem to stop growing. A balance wrested apart. “Will they wither with it?”

She frowns, looking up at the closely furled branches with xem. Still and brittle, somewhere between metal and bone. “That remains to be seen. But it is likely. Yours may well be the only survivor.”

Omen cannot help curling xyr hand when speaking of it, as though proof of its existence may still be needed. It no longer creaks and splinters no matter how xe flexes it. The question of how much of xyr original arm is left beneath the bark occurs to xem often, but after the first time, xe isn’t eager to cut into it again.

“So much could have been learned.” Still could be, if this last wayward seed was not so entangled with xem.

“Do you resent it?” One of the several reasons Omen visits Eris of xyr own volition – she asks questions with answers that require digging for them, that provide clarity in the search.

Nor does she mind letting that question hang as xe thinks. She is not troubled by Omen’s silence, or xyr stillness. It is a comfort.

“No,” xe says at last. “I have... regrets. Lowering my guard and failing in my task. I regret that these will all die, and the remnant is bound to me. But it could not be anticipated. No one could have known.” A rare flash of insight as to why she is asking, more surprising because Boon does not have to guide xem to it. “None can be blamed for it. Not I and Boon, nor the Tree, nor you for leading me to it.”

She makes a low, thoughtful noise. “My regret is that you did not emerge unscathed. But even unwelcome changes can... have their uses.”

Omen has managed not to ask what she is capable of seeing, but xe often wonders.

“If it becomes a hindrance, you will tell me?”

Xe might not have told her to begin with, if failing to deliver the Seed had not required it. If it had been up to xem alone – but it never is, and xe cannot begrudge Boon for contacting her, or Ikora later. Since that is the course xe is set on, keeping to xemself now would be pointless.

“I will,” Omen says, and it becomes a promise.

[orcelito]

Honestly manga Midvalley and trigun 98 Midvalley are basically two different characters

Yea I wanna punch manga Midvalley constantly, but I also find him interesting & a compelling character. The times I've seen 98 Midvalley he just looks so sleazy lmao it makes me REALLY wanna punch him

Tough choices

[idanwyn-et-al]

(XIV||22-28): Vainglory.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

That two-faced hypocrisy rankled her, though she had to admit it did not surprise her. After all, Anne-Sophie wasn’t the one who nigh-singlehandedly brought down Thordan and his Knights Twelve; the Holy See feared the Warrior of Light (and Darkness, she always amended the title internally) but they did not fear her.

Perhaps that was not entirely true; the entire premise of her trial was based on their fears. As the wagon parked near the Holy Stables and two Temple Knights stepped forward to pull her out into the morning snow, she ducked her head so that they couldn't see the smile that sprung unbidden to her lips.

Neither Warrior of Light and Darkness nor Azure Dragoon that accompanied that esteemed personage, yet still a threat to their Order. She tried to hold on to that small flame of courage and conviction, placing a little cover around that candle so the winds of her guilt and self-doubt could not extinguish it.

---Previously, at the Gyshal’s Greens on the Shroud-Coerthas border:---

Despite Rae-Hann’s sound advice, Anne-Sophie hadn’t bothered to wash her hair black any longer. She’d already been caught twice, and she fully expected it to happen again. Though she had a wanderer’s heart, it seemed she did not have a fugitive’s required expertise. Somewhat ironically, the rest of her journey back to the Gyshal’s Greens was entirely peaceful. The few travellers she and Vendredi encountered on the road seemed more intent on their own business to pay hers any heed, and aside from a polite nod in greeting, they left her and her chocobo alone.

The Mystic Knight turned Vendredi to the right after a particular waymark on the highroad. Though the final stretch of their journey was through the forest itself, the pathway to their destination largely overgrown, Vendredi’s steps were light and merry. He knew what awaited him at the end of this erstwhile hunting trail carved by minor nobles that had once wintered here; a cozy stable, fresh greens from the nearby gardens, and his beloved Madame Kweh, the Comtesse of his heart.

Once Anne-Sophie settled her steed in with all three of his favorite things, she checked the postbox, retrieving the three letters addressed to her. She settled down on her favorite log; one of the only remaining signs that this garden had but recently been an overgrown ruin. She, Trineaux, and Miovont could have cleared it away with all the rest, of course, but she had taken a fancy to it, so it remained, gathering moss and mushrooms that bloomed and faded with the seasons.

Chilly rain spilled forth from the clouds, and Anne-Sophie absentmindedly surrounded the letters with a bubble of wind aether. She opened each envelope in turn, tucking them into a leather pouch on her belt after taking in the words. Once all had been read, she dismissed the bubble and lingered in thought. Gelid droplets fell at arrhythmic intervals from the pine branches above, dotting her cloak and hair with what felt closer in temperature to snow than rain.

The cold steadied her musings; she was still a daughter of Ishgard, after all, even if far from the most favored one. The first letter had been from Trineaux, assuring her that he and his adoptive parents were quite safe for the time being. That was a relief; though the Inquisitors surely knew Trineaux was her squire, it seemed her brief time within his family’s manor had gone unnoticed. He’d kept his missive brief, but there was much between the written lines; yearning to meet up with her again soon, to protect her as she was sworn to protect him. Anne-Sophie hoped she would get a moment to speak with him in person again before her trial.

Her sister Noémie had sent the second letter. This was even more brief, and peppered with the language the two of them had invented as girls. Anne-Sophie knew she would discover more information once she was inside and could hold the letter to flame; her younger sister was fond of adding additional information in specialized ink. Still, she could guess at its contents; that her family stood firm in their support, though they were doing all they could to remain above suspicion themselves these days.

The final missive was from Miovont, wherein he thanked her for her assisting himself and his ship’s crew with a family matter. In truth, she wished she could have spent more time on that endeavor; working with her fellow Knight Errant was always an adventure, and teaming up with Rinh Relanah, a scholar after her own heart, had been a delight. Her presence endangered their crew too, however; the Nixie had even been mentioned on that damnable wanted poster that far too many people had seen.

So many friends and loved ones, both old and new, united under the banner of the Mystic Knight’s vainglorious rite. Rain could not cool the shame that burned hot on her cheeks. Anne-Sophie walked over to the garden patches and tended to them for half a bell; a sort of penance, though she didn’t directly consider it as such. A compulsion born into many Ishgardians of faith, however far they strayed; to punish oneself until guilt is expunged.

Once there were no more outdoor tasks to complete, she entered the cabin, leaving a trail of mud and water behind her as she sought the showers in the basement. After she’d cleaned herself up and consumed a cup of tea, she tied her hair up and mopped up the mess that had followed in her wake. If only all the chaos she’d wrought could be so easily remedied.

(Continued here!)

[skyetheprophet22]

Now/Then

It was the first time he had ever spoken of his childhood.

Looking back on it all, this may have been a touch my fault. My brothers’ faults, too. My little sister’s fault. We had never considered this side of our father. We assumed he had had a wonderful, parent-filled childhood just as we did.

Halloween night sported an eerily fogged moon to fit the occasion, which pleased me greatly. I had returned from trick-or-treating with April to help man the door. I would be lying if I said I had only taken my sister out around the neighborhood because it’s what a good sibling would do. I really just wanted candy without the judging looks I would no-doubt receive by going alone. I sat beside my father clad in chainmail, equipped with a sword and ale horn as he waved for the stream of children at his doorstep to take a few pieces of candy from the bowl by his boots.

I have no idea how we came to the topic of his parents.

[heavensinhell]

person a: you hid me, you hid me, from your family — like you were ashamed.

person b: please, you don’t understand.