#prompt: coin laundry

[rockingrobin69]

YES

“Erm.”

Harry looked up from his essay. “Yes?”

“I… erm. I don’t know if, er. Did you mean for me to see this?” Draco’s face was doing something funny. He laid down the laundry basket and picked up Harry’s jeans. “You know you never empty your pockets.”

“Yes.”

“Although I’ve told you repeatedly. And despite being raised Muggle. You don’t bother taking anything out before throwing it in the machine.”

“Yes.”

“Receipts, coins, notes…”

“Yes.”

“Rings?”

Harry got down on one knee.

Draco swallowed. “Harry?”

“Will you…”

He joined him on the floor with a groan, crying. “Fuck you. Yes.”

For @domaystic‘s day eight. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

[meyousing]

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 [𝟐]

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: chrollo + prompt 27 “you know that I’ll find you. I always find you.” + reincarnation(& or soulmate) au

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’re able to find a place to rest before you continue your journey home, but you can only make it so far when your soulmate has so many methods at his hands to keep tabs on you.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this is PART 2 [final part] of a soulmate au where mates have a nen tattoo of the other's portrait on their hand. sfw, manipulation, some violence, implied side character death. 

return to 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 here!

You’d managed to run for half a day, adrenaline taking you as far away as you were capable. When the sun had started to set that same night, your energy began to diminish along with the sunlight, and your legs simply couldn’t carry you anymore, not even in a walk or trudge. Thankfully, you’d made it far out enough from the previous wasteland, that there was somewhat of a city surrounding you now. A city, with more people around, and less of an odour plaguing the air. 

Despite the security you felt from having more people surrounding you, you were very worried about taking a break. You had none of your possessions, so paying for the safety that four walls of a motel room could provide was impossible, short of begging and pleading for one with the receptionist. But you weren’t certain of where exactly you were, your paranoia made it so that you still felt like you were in close proximity to your initial drop off– still in close proximity to Chrollo, who must have been hunting you down this entire time. That thought also had you worried about finding a place to rest outside; the risk of being entirely exposed and out in the open scaring you out of it immediately. It was out of the question. 

“Please, I’ll find a way to pay it back later. It’ll just be one night, I’ll even take a room that hasn't been cleaned yet! I’ll take anything that you have, please…” you begged the receptionist with interlocked hands, your head bowing down in desperation. He only groaned.

“Listen, I don’t want to keep repeating myself. I can’t let you have a room without an upfront payment, that’s how it works here. You’re gonna have to pay here, or go somewhere else. Those are gonna be your only options around here.” 

Rage boiled within you, nails digging into your skin as you glared back up at the man. 

“There has to be something else I can do instead of an upfront, I don’t have any money to pay with right now!” To prove your point, you reached into your pockets and pulled them right out in a dramatic display to show him just how empty they were.

 As you did, a handful of coins flew out and onto the floor. 

The receptionist raised his eyebrows at you. Surely now he must have thought you were a complete idiot who just exposed your plan to swindle him. You blinked off your shock at this discovery, laughing nervously as you bent down to pick the coins up and place the right amount onto the counter; shocked once more to see that you still had some money left over after the room was paid for. 

You were still in your work uniform. To save yourself some time while doing laundry; any money that you got from tips were immediately taken out of your pockets and kept in your purse, which was back at your apartment right now. This money was not in your pocket before… but, whatever higher being placed it there for you would be getting plenty of praise and thanks later on as you fell asleep in a cheap and warm motel bed for the night. 

The room had two single beds, and the water here was lukewarm at best, but you had never been more thankful to have a somewhat heated shower in your entire life, than you were right now. It could have been freezing cold for all you cared, you were just incredibly grateful to be able to fully wash off the parting gift of grime and filth that Meteor City left on you. 

As you hummed a tune and worked the fragrant motel shampoo through your roots, you knew that while this moment of peace was delightful–you couldn’t relax just yet. Tonight was a privilege, you didn’t know if inns or rest stops would be as easy to come by, like this one had been, as your journey home continued. Not to mention the lucky coins appearing in your pocket, would you have to pick up a part time job somewhere to afford transport fees later on? After such an exhausting day, you wanted to at least try and relax, to avoid thinking about stressful matters such as this before the actual treachery of your trip ensued. 

Instead, you chose to live in this moment as immersively as possible. You relished in the feeling of weight being lifted off of your scalp as the shampoo scrubbed out the debris, appreciating the relief that it brought. Then you prepared your conditioner slowly, taking your sweet time as you worked it through your ends. You wished this could last forever, if forever meant confining you to this bathroom in exchange for Chrollo never being able to track or find you. Though all good things must come to an end, so when your hands began to prune like raisins and the air became a bit constricted from the steam, you turned the water off and wrapped yourself up in a bunch of towels. You shivered from the further drop in temperature as you stepped onto the bathmat, remaining there for quite some time until your trembling ceased, keeping your eyes shut and letting the towels warm and comfort you until you were effectively air dried. 

Unfortunately, there was no second miracle of the night with new clothes magically being provided to you, so you had the option of either changing back into your work uniform, or hoping your towel would stay wrapped as you got under the sheets. You decided on the latter, as going back into your outfit would have rendered your memorable shower meaningless.

You unravelled the towel that had wound your hair up, dropping it on the floor and using the dryer that hung from the wall until your hair was more damp than soaked. Usually you’d be more cautious of sleeping with wet hair at all, and would dry it completely. Your mother, friends, coworkers, always warned you of how harmful it could be to let even the slightest dampness remain overnight, but in your current situation, you were just happy to know you’d be sleeping with a pillow under your head in the first place. 

Turning the bathroom light off after you were finished, you wrapped another towel around your shoulders for some extra warmth while the other stayed around you, tied at your chest. You tried to fight off a yawn to no avail as you shuffled over to one of the beds, your exhaustion obvious as sleep became imminent. Your arms felt like jelly as you untucked the comforter and sheet, sliding under them and instantly finding a comfortable position to fall asleep in. Frailty from everything that your body had just been put through allowed you to rest for the night, succumbing to a slumber the very moment your eyes closed. 

Waking up the next day was strange. Being supported by a mattress was lovely, and your reintroduction to consciousness allowed you a few seconds of blissful forgetfulness as you slowly came to. As far as you knew, you had just woken up from your morning nap after work and were ready to get some tasks done for the day. But as you writhed in a stretch, everything came back. No, all of what had just happened was not just a bad dream. 

You didn’t know what time it was either, which only disoriented you further. You had no phone to check, and no watch or clock in the room anywhere to show you. The idea of leaving this bed could have made you cry, but you knew that you couldn’t stay in one place for too long in these circumstances. You begrudgingly sat up, rubbing your eyes and hunching over as you mustered the strength to throw your legs over the side of the bed to stand up. As you did, you noted that the towels you wore stayed on through the night, an indication of how solid you must have slept. 

Walking over to where you had thrown your uniform the night before, you stared it down while fearing the idea of putting it back on–the junkyard scent that still lingered on the material served as a reminder of where you had just escaped from. With no other choice, you slowly changed into it, wishing that wearing a towel dress in public was socially acceptable to save you from that reminder. 

Thinking about parting with the clean towels had you wondering if you could sneak one out with you as you set off. You’d definitely have to deal with that pesky receptionist asking what you were doing with it, since you had to go see him anyway. Not only to return your room key, but also to ask what time it was. As much as you wanted to procrastinate on this interaction after the way your last one went, you knew that too much time was passing and you had to get moving. Keeping one of the towels folded in your arm, you left your room, embracing the soft breeze of the somewhat fresh air as it cooled your face and blew your hair. 

Inhaling softly, you opened the door to reception and cringed at what was coming next; probably a huge eye roll and no show of thanks as you returned your key. The door shut behind you, and what you hadn’t expected was for the receptionist to be standing there facing you, already staring with his hands folded behind him and a wide grin on his lips. Since you were still annoyed with his lack of empathy the night before, you hadn’t planned to go into this too kindly, but the intensity of his smile had you mirroring him subconsciously. 

“Here’s the key,” you stated, dropping it on the desk and waiting for his response. He only blinked–with one eye at a time–which unnerved you greatly. Was this some kind of sarcastic retaliation to show that he was still annoyed with you from yesterday? Whether he was being petty or not, you didn’t want to waste more time here than you already had. “Could I ask what time it is?”

“It’s time to go back home” he whispered, voice quiet and syllables muffled under his breath. You mistook this as some kind of inn-culture joke. Like, obviously you’d be going home after staying in a motel! 

You chuckled, a bit fakely to appease him, while waiting for him to actually tell you the time. But when he continued to stare and not say a word, your smile started to fall and your brief laugh tapered off into silence. Okay…you get it, he’s bothered by you. Asking for the time would be your last question for him, then you could leave and part ways for good. Why was he dragging this out? 

You were about to repeat yourself, saying Can you just tell me? When his next move caught you off guard. You flinched back as his face fell expressionless and he collapsed forward, straight for his desk– he had gone unconscious. Rushing over, you leaned atop the desk’s edge to see him; how his arms had stopped him from falling to the floor entirely and surrounded his head, but his legs contorted beneath him, they looked broken. From such a slight fall? The sight was frightening, and you were about to back away to look for help, when you noticed something that you hadn't seen initially. There was something sticking out of the back of his neck…was that… an antenna? 

“I heard how impolite he was to you last night. Chivalry truly is dead in today’s day and age, isn’t it?” 

That voice was all too familiar, and it certainly didn’t come from the receptionist. You snapped back to stand up straight and try to turn around, but you did not expect your back to collide with someone’s chest. His hands found your hips, effectively stilling you before they slid along your waist, meeting to clasp over your abdomen. You looked down, recognizing and hating how Chrollo’s hands were ingrained in your memory from the countless times you’d held and caressed them before. 

Rather than experience dread and paralysis upon your first meeting like you would have expected (sure, you’d love to lie and say that you wouldn’t ever get caught, you never expected a first meeting. But you knew this would happen, didn’t you?) you only felt defeat. His chin pressed into your shoulder and you cowered, the gentle exhale from his nose tickling your cheekbone. 

“Why did you run?”

Of course he didn’t seem mad at you. All he ever had for you was patience and understanding. This almost made you feel worse, like you were a rebel acting out against a caretaker who wasn’t mad at you, just disappointed. You didn’t know how to answer him, but thankfully he continued before you could. 

 “I knew that you would try to, It’s a natural reaction to have in a situation such as this. I just want to know why…did I do something wrong?”

Was he being serious right now?!

“I paid for your rent…I made food for you, no expenses paid on your part. I did this all without complaint, because I wanted to. How else do you think you were able to afford a room here?” 

So… it was him who put the coins in your pocket? You had him to thank for a restful night after, causing you so much grief to begin with.

“As my soulmate, you deserve the finest. So what is it?” He spun you around in his grasp, embracing you face to face. He was looking right into your eyes, though his appearance caught you off guard; his usual head cloth was lacking, revealing some type of cross tattoo, and his hair was styled back rather than down. He’d never appeared to you this way before–it made you nervous, it had you squirming away but he only squeezed you closer, fingertips caressing you as he held on. 

You were at a loss for words, heart thumping too loudly in your ears for you to even hear your own thoughts. His eyes seemed so sad, like he was on the verge of tears.

“Did you think that after doing all of that, I would just let my soulmate go?” his eyes hardened then, tone dropping a few decibels as if it were only meant for both of you to hear. Nobody else was around to save you, anyway, yet it still sent a chill down your spine. 

You shook your head, not knowing what else to say. Your throat felt like it was full of thorns as you swallowed, eyes welling with hot tears as the reality of this situation dawned on you. 

He didn’t say anything else, only gazing at you for a moment longer before placing a hand on the back of your head to pull you into him fully, pressing it into his chest while his other arm was secure around your waist. You trembled softly, like a mouse caught in a trap, being loomed upon impendingly by its predator. That wasn’t too far off from the truth, was it? Chrollo had a way of hunting you this entire time, even letting you have some time to yourself before making it known that he could have taken you back whenever he saw fit. If only he had given you some more time. 

“Did this teach you a lesson, about how it’s useless to try and run?” He whispered the last part right next to your ear, lips tickling your skin as he nipped at the lobe softly, pulling away with it in his teeth until it couldn’t follow anymore, and nuzzled his cheek into yours. 

The closeness and intimacy of what he was doing, mixed with the implications behind everything he said, had you flustered and panicking. You whimpered as you tried to wriggle away from his grasp, and astonishingly, he let you out. Your body flew back into the reception desk from the force in your movements, you winced from the sharp surface digging into your spine. You braced yourself and tried to find stable footing as the tears that streamed down your cheeks began to impair your vision. Chrollo remained in his place, watching you with sympathy written across his features, moving his hands to rest in his coat pockets.

“If I let you go right now, let you run as far as you liked, or even paid for your transportation; you know what would happen, don’t you?” His head teetered to one side, giving him a flair of condescendence that made you feel utterly stupid. You shut your eyes, unable to keep looking at such an expression and absorbing such an aura that only made you feel so, so bad about yourself. He was surely convinced that he was entirely justified in every aspect of this situation, completely civil in how he was handling everything. He spoke again, and this time his voice was a step closer, making you tense and screw your eyes shut even tighter.

 “Tell me what would happen.” 

You shook your head, the only verbal response you offered being a choked out sob. You raised a shaky hand to wipe your tears away, blinking your eyes open in an attempt to clear them, to gain some form of solidity in this. 

It was when Chrollo’s hand romantically lifted towards your face that an idea came to you. Ever the amorous, the poet that he was, surely if you had expressed your perspective to him in some kind of fairy-tale-esque device, he would be more understanding of you. Of why he was not in the right here, and how what he did was not the only realistic solution. 

You stopped him, daring to press your palm to his, fingers quivering as you held him there. You sniffled before looking up, your voice breaking as you chose your next words slowly and methodically. 

“If you truly love me the way you claim to, as my soulmate…you should let me go.”

As you tried to gauge a reaction from his unchanging expression, anxiety filled your nerves. You tried to drive the point home by forcing your fingers to intertwine, clutching his hand in a (false) show of affection. 

After a moment, one where he looked contemplative, he finally smiled at you. You returned his smile, thinking that your words struck something within him and that he would agree with you. Then his fingers curled around your knuckles and his hand squeezed yours with such bone-crushing strength, you cried out and brought up your other to pry yourself out of his grip.

“Your soul is bound to mine, nothing could ever keep us apart.”

He leaned in, his nose inches from yours as he pushed your hand down and pinned it against the desk, the force in the movement making it vibrate and jolt the rest of your body. 

“Even if I did let you run free, Y/N, you know that I’d find you. I will always find you.”

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Fifteen - Blooming

My blog overall is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 665

Warnings: Pero being soft (Pedro characters are soft in the month of March), salad and bread jokes, maybe innuendo

Notes: I had to write about Pero in a bath for @yourcoolauntie @tinytinymenace @avastrasposts @linzels-blog and @morallyinept because we’re in the Pero pit together. 💕 Especially after being inspired by @iamskyereads beautiful series. 🤗

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenge

Away from his amor (love), Pero contemplates many things. He is gone from home earning coin to take back home. It’s something he’s done since he was able to hold a sword without falling under its weight. Sacrificing his body most often, on occasion his mind with what he’s asked to do to people and for those who pay him.

Now that he has an anchor, someone to bring his coins back to, he no longer frequents the brothels he used to, he instead has found a different indulgence. Something that not even his vida (life) knows about. No, maybe you do a little, especially when he came home the last time and he asked you to add different salts and oils to his first bath at home. A special one to not only welcome him home but to soak away the road. Your eyes had questions that you didn’t ask, setting up the bath for your husband who’d been away.

Pero has asked the bath girl to leave him the soap, oils and such after the first time he took such a bath and after washing himself, pleased with how he smelled, he slipped off the bed after sitting down to finish drying. Never again would he let someone else save for you mix his bath.

Months came and went, he arrived home and stopped into the blacksmith’s to check on an order he’d put a down payment on. The blacksmith had nerve to act like he didn’t know what the mercenary spoke of. Pero reminded the blacksmith of not only who he was but that the artisan’s wife had been seen with the baker putting some olive oil on his baguette and he might want to finish orders timely so she has a reason to stay home.

Pero was able to finally get his order. He’s carrying it home with his well earned coin to you. He sets it out back and spies you collecting laundry from the clothesline. His hands wrap around your waist as he coos in your ear, “Buenos tardes mi vida (good afternoon my life). You look even more beautiful than last time.” Your body had stiffened at first touch, but relaxed when you heard his voice.

“Bienvenido! Estuvo fuera mucho tiempo, mi esposo (Welcome, You’ve been away for too long my husband).” Your hand reached over your shoulder and ran through his matted hair, his lips gracing your neck with their warmth. “I shall ready your bath. Remove your armor and wait inside, I’ll fix you something to eat before I start.” Pero mumbles in agreement but spins you around to face the large steel tub he’s brought home.

“We’ll eat together cariño (dear), then bathe together. I’d rather be skin to skin with you the entire afternoon and evening. Also the sunrise too.” Your head spins at the thought, the both of you would be freezing should that happen. You appreciate what he means as it’s the same thing you want now that he’s home and will be for the next while.

“I’ll have the bath smell like the field of wildflowers we said our vows in with the priest from two villages over. Plus the salts for your joints, you don’t have any do you?” Ever concerned since the one time Pero had gotten in and hissed from salt getting in a scrape he had on his thigh, you’d been cautious about putting more of the salts in his bath.

“No, none this time. Whatever you want to put in the bath is fine as long as you’re in there with me querida (sweetheart).” He grinned while releasing you and picking up two pails to help you fill and heat the water needed for the bath. It would take longer than usual and Tovar didn’t hear one complaint from you, in fact you sounded excited. He wouldn’t use the word even upon threat of death, but his love for you blooms anew every time he returns home.

[thnxforknowingme]

The Same Coin

Pairing: Kurtbastian

Rating: T

Word count: 2200

Summary: Dalton parties are full of surprises - like Kurt ending up in a confined space for seven minutes with Sebastian Smythe, who he absolutely can't stand.

Notes: Written for the @kurtbastianarchive Kurtbastian Prompt Fest 2023, based on prompt #20 by @backslashdelta!

Kurt hadn’t been to a lot of Dalton parties, but as a school for wealthy boys who idolized an a cappella show choir he knew that it would be full of good music, a lot of alcohol, and unpredictable shenanigans.

Still, when Jeff grabbed him and bodily pulled him down to the den in the basement to join some party game, he wasn’t prepared for what he was about to find. When he saw the “game” involved a dozen or so people gathered around an empty beer bottle on the floor, he wrested himself from Jeff’s grasp.

“I am not playing Spin the Bottle,” he insisted. “I have traumatic memories I am not going to relive.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not Spin the Bottle,” Thad reassured him as Jeff guided him to a spot in the circle. “It’s Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“That’s worse!” Kurt exclaimed. “I’m not interested, you hormonal gremlins! Aren’t most of you straight, anyway?”

Being a Dalton party, the gender ratio skewed heavily male. Kurt had seen a handful of girls throughout the house, and only two seemed to be participating in this game.

“That’s what makes it interesting!” Nick insisted.

“Come on, Kurt,” Jeff pleaded. “Stay for a few spins and then I’ll duet with you upstairs on any song that you want. You might not even get landed on!”

Kurt glowered, but he did like the sound of a duet. Besides, it was senior year and he didn’t get to see his old Warbler friends very often - no matter how stupid the circumstances, he didn’t want to say no to spending time with them. 

”I’ll stay for three spins,” he said finally. 

A cheer went up through the room, and Jeff reached for the bottle. “I’ll go first, then.”

The bottle spun erratically and landed on a guy that Kurt vaguely recognized from some classes at Dalton. The players ushered them into the laundry room attached to the basement and shut the door. People took turns listening up against the door, calling out crude suggestions, postulating what might be going on, and continuing to drink from Natty Light cans and Solo cups. 

When the pair came back out their clothes were visibly disheveled and Jeff boasted loudly about how he’d rocked the other guy’s world, but it was so over-the-top that Kurt was pretty confident it was all for show.

The next Dalton student in the circle spun, and this time the bottle selected one of the few girls in the room. The crowd gasped and ooh-ed, and Kurt gathered that the petite girl who followed the spinner into the laundry room was someone else’s girlfriend. Those seven minutes were a little more tense, and when they were released they both seemed demure, but that only fueled the raised eyebrows and rumor-full whispers already spreading through the party.

The other girl was about to take her turn when a voice called out, “What’s this, huh?” and Kurt turned to see none other than Sebastian Smythe standing at the foot of the stairs, surveying the room.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Nick called out. “You in, Smythe?”

Sebastian’s mouth curled into a smile that only emphasized his rodent-like features. “You all need to play a cute little game to get a guy to make out with you?” he asked. He stepped forward and leaned into the circle, gripping the bottle with his fingertips. “Fine, I can play, if you’re so desperate.”

He twitched his fingers to set the bottle in motion, glass rattling against the floor until it slowed, slowed, slowed - and came to a stop pointing directly at Kurt.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Kurt breathed, and looked up to see Sebastian’s head turn in his direction, recognition and then alarm flitting across his features.

“I don’t think -” Sebastian scoffed, but Thad cut him off.

“The bottle has spoken!” he decreed. “Sebastian, Kurt, you’re up.”

“Absolutely not,” Kurt protested, but Jeff was already pulling him up by the elbow.

“You both knew what you were getting into!” Jeff insisted. “That’s the beauty of the game.”

The whole room seemed involved in shepherding them towards the secluded laundry room, chattering in excitement.

“Now this is a new kind of Seven Minutes,” Nick said, “more like a cage fight.”

“Maybe they’ll reconcile their differences,” Thad suggested.

“Maybe they’ll kiss and make up,” Jeff said, and the room burst into laughter and catcalls.

Sebastian stumbled through the doorway, and Kurt was regrettably close behind him. “Or maybe Sebastian will come out with a broken nose,” someone else postulated.

“He’s an athlete in a contact sport,” a voice argued. “I think he could hold his own.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Jeff asked. “Kurt is scary when he’s mad. He’s like a fashionable Hulk.”

“Look,” Kurt called out, one final plea. “This really isn’t necessary!”

“I think it’s time for you boys to be mature,” Thad insisted, a sentiment that was entirely at odds with the juvenile situation. “We’ll see you in seven!”

The door shut, leaving Kurt alone in the dark, cramped space with his old nemesis.

Kurt and Sebastian had started off on pretty terrible terms when they met, since Sebastian was flirting with Kurt’s then-boyfriend. Even long after Blaine had assured Kurt he wasn’t interested in Sebastian, Sebastian continued to be stuck-up, selfish, and obnoxious every time Kurt was forced to be in his presence. Even now that Kurt and Blaine were no longer together and Sebastian posed no threat, Kurt thought he was a despicable human being - and he was good at holding grudges anyway.

Kurt leaned back against the shelves behind him and let out a deep sigh. “This is so stupid.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of this either,” Sebastian retorted. Kurt’s eyes were just starting to adjust to the dark, so Sebastian appeared as a vague mass.

“Then why’d you spin the goddamn bottle?” Kurt demanded.

“Because it’s a party, dumbass. Everyone is here to get drunk and make poor decisions that’ll make a great story on Monday. I wouldn’t expect you to be familiar with the concept of fun.”

“We have different definitions of fun,” Kurt bit back. “Mine just happens to involve less risk of STIs or liver failure.”

Sebastian laughed, mocking. “Are you not even drinking?”

“No,” Kurt responded. “Unfortunately, I’m experiencing this stone cold sober. I’m driving tonight. But there’s no amount of booze that would make you an attractive romantic prospect.”

“I know a few people who’d disagree,” Sebastian said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “You should count yourself lucky for this opportunity. Plenty of guys would like to be in your shoes. Metaphorically, as I’m sure your actual shoes are bedazzled.”

Kurt’s nails dug into his palm as he fisted his hands. “I bet you’re not even a good kisser,” he told Sebastian, stepping forward and matching his tone. “You just only hook up with people so drunk that they’d jump anything that moves.”

Sebastian scoffed, and they were close enough now that Kurt could feel the heat from his body. “Oh yeah, and you’re a paragon of sexuality? You exude frigidity so strongly I bet you’re Ken-doll smooth underneath those flamboyant pants.”

Kurt’s frustration overwhelmed him - he was so mad that he was wasting his time arguing instead of enjoying himself with his friends, annoyed that instead of a fun random kiss he was stuck with someone he hated, angry that nothing he said ever seemed to get through to Sebastian.

“Oh yeah?” he demanded, leaning in closer. He was done with fighting. It was time for drastic action. “Try me.” 

He closed the scant space between them and kissed Sebastian.

It had been a while since Kurt had kissed anyone - months since the breakup - and he’d never kissed anyone like this. All heat and no tenderness, a crash of lips and teeth and desperation. He was driven by blind instinct, his hands fisting in Sebastian’s shirt, caught between wanting to pull him closer or shove him away.

Sebastian trapped Kurt’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Kurt yanked their bodies flush together. There was something both thrilling and comforting about being so close, unsure if he was the predator or the prey.

Sebastian’s hands found Kurt’s hips and gripped them hard, jolting heat through Kurt’s body. Kurt gasped involuntarily, which might have been embarrassing if Sebastian didn’t respond by pushing him up against the shelves and starting to kiss down his neck. The wooden shelves dug into Kurt’s back and he knocked over some cleaning supplies when his head fell back. Sebastian’s mouth was divine against his skin, teeth scraping over delicate veins and tongue bringing flames of heat in its wake. He slid one hand up to the nape of Sebastian’s neck, grasping at his short strands of hair, nails scratching against his scalp. Sebastian grunted and moved his hand down to grip Kurt’s ass.

It was rough and new and so fucking sexy.

He tugged Sebastian’s head back up by his hair, pressing their lips together again and swallowing Sebastian’s soft whimper. In the small part of Kurt’s mind that wasn’t overwhelmed by lust, he was so mad that Sebastian actually did turn out to be a good kisser. Somehow that just fueled his passion - he pushed harder and kissed dirtier, as if trying to prove that he was better than Sebastian, as if one of them could win this wordless dispute. Sebastian slotted their legs together, so close to giving the friction that Kurt fiercely wanted -

There was a sharp rapping on the door and Thad’s voice called out, “Time’s almost up! Are you both still alive?”

They broke apart and Kurt pushed Sebastian away, feeling his warm breath huff out against his skin before cooler air filled the new space between them. Sebastian leaned back against the dryer, eyes lidded and mouth partially open. He took in a breath, as though he were going to say something -

“Oh, shit,” Jeff’s voice carried from outside. “Did they actually kill each other?”

Kurt heard the doorknob rattle, and had just enough presence of mind to straighten his shirt and wipe the saliva off his mouth before anyone else could see him.

The door opened, a crack of blinding light quickly expanding to fill the room. Sebastian and Kurt were standing as far apart as possible, staring at each other.

“So,” Thad said. “How’d things go?”

“I still hate you,” Kurt spit out as he turned to leave.

“Good,” he heard Sebastian’s signature cocky tone from behind him. “I still hate you too.”

Kurt grabbed Jeff as he emerged into the den. “Come on, you owe me at least two duets after that.”

The party felt crowded and chaotic after the isolation of the laundry room. Kurt pushed past bodies as he headed back upstairs, blinking in the brightness.

Once they reached the living room, Kurt and Jeff monopolized the karaoke machine for numerous songs - but after the initial outcry about cutting in line, the audience enjoyed their performances so much that there were no complaints. Losing himself in the music helped clear Kurt’s head, forcing him to focus on the moment, instead of dwelling on whatever the hell had happened downstairs.

It was a little after 1AM when Kurt said his goodbyes and headed out. He opened the front door to return to his car, and nearly ran into someone standing on the other side. As he regained his balance, he discovered that it was Sebastian he’d almost collided with.

“Careful, Hummel,” Sebastian warned with a lopsided grin. “Or are you hoping for a second round already?”

Kurt rolled his eyes and pushed past him. The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the party. All he could hear were the crickets, the distant sound of the highway, and Sebastian’s breathing.

“Don’t you ever tire of being the worst?” Kurt asked. He paused on the porch steps to turn back and look at Sebastian. He wasn’t sure if it was the general havoc of the party or remnants of their secret tryst, but Sebastian’s hair looked disheveled in an appealingly rakish way. 

“Nope,” Sebastian replied. “Pissing you off only gives me more energy, actually.”

Kurt crossed his arms. Even this late, the air was warm and sticky outside. It felt like a summer rainstorm was imminent. “You know,” he said, “you might actually be attractive if you weren’t such an ass.”

Sebastian shrugged. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet. “And you might be attractive if you weren’t so damn uptight.” He jutted his chin up, a confident gesture. “But I exceeded your expectations, huh?”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s fishing for a round two?”

“You started it,” Sebastian pointed out.

“You didn’t stop me.”

Sebastian grinned. “Touche.”

Sebastian’s admission of defeat sent a thrill through Kurt that he didn’t particularly want to examine. It was late, and he definitely needed to go home. “I’ll see you around, Sebastian.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replied with a knowing smile. “I think you will.”

Kurt turned away, walking through the dewy grass to where his car was parked. He desperately wanted to know if Sebastian was still watching him, but he restrained his urge to turn around.

Kurt hadn’t been to a lot of Dalton parties, but he knew one thing about them - they never turned out how he expected.

[okdeedee]

i have some more seven minutes in heaven with a pedro boy of choice as created/coined/prompted by @boliv-jenta, because i’m a goddamn comedian, and this is fun for me. thank you for thinking this idea up.

this is every pedro boy i have an opinion on:

javi p : 7 minutes pretending I have no idea who he is and treating him like your average joe, just so he gets a break from the incessant pablo escobar questions. i will however be unabashedly checking him out and complimenting whatever obscenely well tailored and bright button up shirt he has on that day.

marcus m: split the time in half. first 3.5mins? sorry i’m just gonna throw metal stuff at him (with consent) and test the magic metal powers. second 3.5mins? a little shoulder massage. he seems tense.

dave york: 7 minutes in Court Ordered Therapy. i don’t like him and i don’t like his hair. he gives me the heeby jeebies.

joel miller: i’ll be honest i’ve got 2 options. 1) sit on a porch and chill out with him and his guitar. serenade me, cowboy. i’ll serenade you right back.

or,,

2) do my level best to (with consent) give him life-changing-make-you-want-to-plan-a-future-with-me-level head. yeah. uh. next.

marcus p: let me at this man!!!! i want to play with his hair i want to be all curled up with him on a couch i’ll watch Casablanca! i’ll watch some movie from the 40s. do i like them? no! would i watch them all day (or in fact for 7 minutes) just to be in his presence? yes!

jack daniels deserves a nice one so here’s a nice one for him as well: 7 minutes at some near-empty bar in the early afternoon. maybe i steal his hat and put it on and maybe that holds implications. perhaps i am unwaveringly normal and complimentary and he’s taken aback by my lack of performance and abundance of genuineness and falls in love with me and ditches the whole arrogance and misogyny sort of act. i don’t know. just spitballing.

din djarin: 7 minutes to watch him train or absolutely decimate a group of ruffians in a brawl. i’d like him use his gadgets and his brute strength and proficiency. i’d start wanting to bite things. after? i’d give him orange slices or a cold washcloth or again, head,,,,. whatever he needs. i live to serve.

pero tovar: talking him through a 7 minute personal hygiene and skincare routine. i just have this feeling he’d really be into soap if he ever got the chance to use it. and then if there was time left over i’d re-do his eyeliner.

max phillips: i don’t much like him. think i’d follow him around with a UEBOOM playing various songs from the twilight soundtracks for 7 minutes. then get the hell out of dodge before he could ruin my life.

javi g: anything. i’d stare at him in that white singlet for 7 minutes. i’d let him wax poetic about nicolas cage. i’d go for a swim. i’m terrified of heights but i’d cliff-dive with him. i’ll let him talk me through the entire nicolas cage collection. hell, i’ll hang his laundry out to dry for 7 minutes. I just want to be in his presence. he’s my dream man. ugh.

ezra: since prospect was taken off netflix in my country and i haven’t been able to watch it in 2 years, ezra in my head is now more closely associated with either @oonajaeadira’s bookshop series or @frannyzooey’s in the dark

(this doubles as a shoutout to them for some gorgeous gorgeous writing in these series and in everything they do. i hope you don’t mind me tagging you in this!)

if we’re in bookshop? i’d like to coexist with ezra peacefully for 7 minutes. all domestic. surrounded by the smell of old books. talking about random things. maybe holding his hand and stroking the back of it with my thumb. something soft and loving. what a sweet and heartwarming series.

if we’re in in the dark i’m sorry, i would lean more towards getting absolutely railed into next week by him. god he’s hot. i’m not immune to a bit of an age gap and this one is done so well and so tastefully.

frankie morales: i think i’d enjoy spending seven minutes chatting with an alcoholic beverage while we’re grilling at the barbeque. so dad-coded of me, but maybe the sun is setting and it’s summer and it’s a taste of normalcy he hasn’t had in a while so it’s romantic. i like him. i like him a lot.

oberyn martell: i think i’d spontaneously combust in his presence. he’s just … wow. and ellaria is so gorgeous as well. I’m just one shy bisexual. i’d need the upper hand or at least to impress them. OK let’s set it that I’m like a travelling bard or something and I’ve come to Dorne. Therefore I’d sing for them. that’s my One Great Skill. and then they go oh nice! and i get a full time job just doing what bards do in Dorne. and maybe i am invited to their bed once in a while.

pedro across the street: forget apple originals - to me, PATS is from oonajaeadiras’ good things take time series. her work has a way of sticking in your brain. would love a 7minute non sexual massage from this one. my trapezius (?) muscles are rock hard.

surely that’s it. i feel like i’ve forgotten a big one. well. thanks for reading if you got this far.

peace out.

[endlessnightlock]

Hey there 👋

Are you taking prompts from the sharing clothing list? May I request #39?

Gratzie! 🌼🏵️🍓

39) Because I’m afraid I’ll never hug you again, and this is the next best thing. 

Continuation of this fluff prompts series.

Eighteen

"Five minutes, Everdeen,” 

Katniss isn’t sure which sister stands at the end of her unit’s table, unnecessarily reminding her meal period is nearly over. Whether this one is Leeg One or Leeg Two. It doesn’t matter. Shes tired of both of them. 

Tired of this place and almost everyone in it. Tired of a war she didn’t sign up for. Tired of living in an underground bunker. 

Madge takes pity on Katniss, answering for both of them. “We’ll be there.”

“See that you are, then.” Leeg says, eyes on Katniss before making her way across the dining hall.

“Isn’t she the worst?” Johanna Mason drawls, reaching across the table and swirling up a spoonful of stew on Katniss’s tray, popping it into her mouth. She isn’t big on personal boundaries. 

Indifferent, Katniss doesn’t reprimand her for stealing off her tray. She’s tired of the food, too, even if they are served three regulars a day. “Help yourself,’ she adds, pushing her tray Johanna’s way.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Madge seems amused by the situation.

“Don’t encourage her,” Katniss warns. 

When the survivors of Twelve arrived in Thirteen, driven there by fire bombs decimating much of the district and most of its residents, it baffled her to find former Victors like Johanna, training side by side with people like her. She thought they should have gotten out of more fighting. Peeta had agreed with her. None of them were hinged too tight. President Coin did not agree, obviously..

Katniss rubs the coarse material of her jumpsuit between her thumb and finger, worrying a loose thread at the knee. The material is stiff, but thanks to Peeta’s shirt layered beneath it, her upper body is comfortable. She wears his shirt every day, washing it out in her family unit’s sink, not willing to risk it disappearing one day with the laundry crew never to return. She tells herself the shirt is a good luck charm, her talisman, and as long as she wears his shirt, he’ll stay safe.

Peeta. She hasn’t seen or heard anything from him in weeks, not since his squad shipped out for the Capitol. And no one is letting any details about their campaign slip out. That does give her a little hope. If Peeta’s squad were decimated, she would have heard by now.

“Katniss?” Madge gets her attention. “We’d better head that way.”

“Alright.”

They leave the dining room and head down the hallway to the training area. On the way they pass a spot and Katniss presses her fingertips to her mouth, remembering the brief kiss she gave Peeta before he left. She thought of the way his eyes searched hers, questioning, but she didn’t answer. Katniss isn’t sure why she kissed him that morning, panicked by the realization if she never saw Peeta again, she knew she’d regret not kissing him.

Please be safe, Katniss thinks, wiping those sneaky tears from the corner of her eyes that always pop up when she lets her mind wander to Peeta. She could live without him. She’d still go on getting up, eating, sleeping- the mundane routine that make up her days. She doesn’t need him, but she wants him, wants Peeta back so much sometimes she can’t breathe.

[transandersrights]

Happy Friday!! Maybe for Isabela and/or Merrill:

Enigma - a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.

Have fun!!

(I take prompts! See info here)

Thank you for the prompt! I always love writing about Merrill so :D for @dadrunkwriting, here you go: 1.1k of outsider POV on Merrill (with a smattering of a red f!Hawke). Content warnings for violence and blood, you know the DA drill.

The Dalish woman who moved in at the end of the street defies every attempt Parelli makes at understanding her.

Parelli knows about the Dalish; who doesn’t? She’s never met one until Merrill, but she knows enough. Dalish are free in a way she can’t be. Dalish are resourceful, exciting, and occasionally brutal. They do whatever they can to keep themselves safe and preserve the traditions of their ancestors, and that’s fine by Parelli. It doesn’t touch her life and, until now, she thought it never really would.

Merrill loses her keys on her second day in the alienage, admits it in front of a small crowd of people, and actually seems surprised when she comes home one day not a week later to find her pantry emptied out. Merrill’s greatest passion in life appears to be between entertaining stray kittens and regaling everyone who’ll ask her with the most mundane stories about the Dalish that Parelli can imagine (seriously, who cares about halla who eat laundry?). Merrill is the gentlest person Parelli has ever met.

It doesn’t fit. She’s not what Dalish are said to be. She’s nowhere near. If Parelli thought Merrill had a deceptive bone in her body, she’d think it an intentional reversal of what everyone is expecting her to be.

It’s unlikely. Merrill hasn’t said why she’s left her Clan, beyond vague allusions to spreading her wings, getting some air, having the chance to run free. Twee things that hide what Parelli is sure must be a darker truth. Whatever she’s claiming, though, Parelli thinks she probably just isn’t Dalish enough to stay with the Dalish.

At least, that’s what she thinks until the incident.

Parelli doesn’t normally ply her trade in Hightown; it’s too risky. The guard can chase her off soon as anything, or worse, put her in prison. But sometimes a ship full of rich traders and wannabe adventurers weighs anchor in port, and the payoff is worth the risk. The incident occurs on one such night.

It goes the way so many of her people go: she stays a little too late. There’s coin weighing her pockets down now, enough to see her and her family through the next few weeks. She’s sharp at night as a general rule, but not sharp enough to outrun more than one or two muggers at once, let alone all the ones that flood from three separate streets on her route through Lowtown.

Everything happens too late, too fast, too close to home. She won’t get a night with custom like this for a long time, and she’s unwilling to give this up.

She makes a break for it.

She knows as soon as she tries that it’s a terrible idea, unfriendly knives glinting under the moonlight, boots pounding after her. Oh, this is going to hurt— if she even makes it out alive.

It doesn’t occur to her to scream; it’s Lowtown. No one will come. As it turns out, she doesn’t need to.

Two figures appear behind the assailant cutting her off, one unfamiliar with a sword of her own, and one exceedingly familiar: Merrill. The Dalish woman down the road. The one everyone knows is a mage, logically, but just don’t say anything about because she’s obvious enough and the Templars haven’t even come knocking — she’s protected.

Protected, but never the protector. Not until Parelli watches her slam the top of her staff against the mugger’s head.

“Run!” she calls, and Parelli almost follows her word. Except…

She doesn’t know why she stays, exactly. Maybe it’s just a feeling. Maybe she wants to see if she can help. Maybe she’s just always been curious to a fault.

So when she darts away to the corner and turns around to see the remaining would-be thieves distracted, she’s surprised not at herself but something else.

Parelli hasn’t seen magic since just before the little one down the road got bundled out of the city in the middle of the night, parents feigning mourning for an accident they all know never happened. Yet she knows, more through instinct than anything else — the lurch in her gut, the moment of sheer terror — that this is blood magic.

The muggers start screaming. Not more than a few seconds later, they’re all dead, and Parelli realises she hasn’t even run yet.

“Oh, that was nasty.” Merrill wipes the blood from her hands onto a dark scrap of cloth. “I do so hope… oh! You’re not gone.”

Parelli startles; the other woman whips around to face her too. “I was— I can just get going now—”

“She’s seen rather a lot for someone who should be long gone.” Now, Parelli realises she’s seen this woman before, around the alienage. Helping people, or so she’d probably claim. “She’s seen…”

Merrill looks over at the bodies. She clearly doesn’t know that their blood splatters her face, too; it catches the moonlight. She looks every part the picture of a ghost tale. “You should get home.”

“She should not—”

“Hawke.” There’s steel in her voice and sunshine in her smile as she turns fully to Parelli. Yet when she speaks once more, she sounds different all over again. “Please, go. I can shadow you home, if you’d feel safer.”

‘Hawke’ snorts. “You’re too soft. You’ll follow her home, because it’s dark and you don’t know the way.”

Merrill huffs, but she doesn’t look overly offended. “I’ll be fine, thank you. But there might be more of them, so…”

“Go, go.” Hawke waves her off. “But you get to tell Varric about this, not me.”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I? It makes such a thrilling tale.”

At this point, Parelli just starts walking and hopes beyond hope that Hawke forgets who she is. That would be best.

“Oh, wait! I can’t protect you from this far away.” Parelli pauses for just a moment, and sure enough, Merrill follows; then follows her all the way to her door, waiting by the vhenadahl until Parelli closes the door behind herself, all her money still in her purse and all her limbs intact.

She deflates as soon as the door closes, heart racing. None of that made sense. She shouldn’t be here right now, like this. She shouldn’t be okay.

And yet she is. All because of Merrill.

The Dalish woman who moved in at the end of the street defies every attempt Parelli makes at understanding her. She doesn’t think that’s going to change soon. Everything anyone has ever told her about mages generally or blood magic specifically should tell her that it’s dangerous to even try.

Still. She thinks she’d like to know her better anyway.

[trixiwritesfanfic]

Crackfic snippet - Red Dwarf

Kryten’s cleaning routine had carried him to G deck today, and now he was engaged in pleasant chit-chat with one of the vending machines. Its voice was pleasant and well-spoken, its accent a buttery and smooth Irish. They had just finished discussing the marvels of Mr. Lister’s capacity to consume chocolate bars and had been about to make a start on a conversation about the pleasures of folding shirts when Kryten ran a duster across the top of the machine.

The machine shuddered in its place, a faint purring of motors accompanying a whimper so close to human it could have been mistaken for one in the dark.

‘Oh goodness, I do apologise, Miss. 19X, I ought to have asked before dusting you!’ Kryten whisked the feathery tool away as Shame Mode activated, compelling him to shuffle and twist his hands. His left was far looser than his right, so he strove to direct the impulse productively, wrenching the part as deep back into its socket as possible.

‘Oh Mr. Kryten, sir, I don’t mind at all,’ the machine trilled after a moment, the light in her display fluttering and flickering coquettishly. ‘In fact, I’d rather like a good cleaning, if you don’t mind me saying so! It’s been quite a while, after all.’

‘Oooh!’ Kryten’s excitement expressed itself in the rapid vibration of his chassis, and he quickly turned to the hovercart he’d brought with him, rummaging through his various tools. ‘Let’s see, then – I could go over your outsides and scrub off Mr. Lister’s food stains and give you a lovely polish,’ He placed two separate sets of buffing pads at the top of the pile, then continued digging. At length, he emerged with his vacuum attachment. ‘And then of course I could vacuum your slots, and then restock you!’

‘Oh, please, please, restock me!’

Kryten’s cubic face stretched with his approximation of a human “smile” as he grabbed one of the pads and smeared it with a cleaning agent.

‘Are you ready, Miss. 19X? I should warn you; I have been trained to clean most vigorously by Mr. Lister!’

‘I’m ready,’ the vending machine murmured, its voice breathy and eager. Kryten bit down on his artificial lip as he pressed the wool pad against one grotty metal side of the machine. Somewhere inside the machine, snacks tremored, their wrappers rustling. The odd bottle of juice that hadn’t ever been bought sloshed provocatively. He pressed the pad more firmly against the metal and began to drag it languidly up and down the side of the machine, prompting still more of those deep quivering sounds.

‘How’s this, Miss. 19X?’

‘So, so good…’ The unadulterated enjoyment in the simulated voice was more than enough to prompt Kryten into Bliss Mode, something he normally only reached when doing a particularly demanding load of laundry for Mr. Lister. So he took his time, thoroughly cleaning every inch of the lucky unit with that woollen pad first, and then eventually shifting over to the foam pad and a thick layer of shinebrite solution. This, he applied with a featherlight touch, prompting machine 19X to groan appreciatively.

Had the humans – or the Cat – been around to hear this, they might have been quite jealous, reflected Kryten as he finished the last long, luxurious swipe down the front of the machine. The display had returned to the indecent flickering and fluttering as he finished up the external cleaning.

‘Now, Miss. 19X, may I vacuum your slots?’

‘Oh god, please!’

Grinning from ear to artificial ear, Kryten fumbled in the cart for his groinal attachment, which he then slotted into its appropriate position. He tested the suction against his hand first, something which the vending machine appeared to take as quite the tease, for a torrid whine emanated from its voice grate and the display flickered yet again, turning to a gentle pink.

‘Goodness, this one’s small,’ he commented as he manoeuvred the nozzle into the coin slot. The machine whimpered as he flicked the switch and began to vacuum.

[geekygirl24]

BL Prompts - Chapter 52 Links

Prompt from LittleBeth09: this is a Be Loved in House threesome au but it is a rare pairing: Yu Zhen x Shi Lei x Zi Tong. Shi Lei never knew how hunk and buff these guys are and that they're exes really intrigues Shi Lei. Shi Lei then suggested to both of them on who can make Shi Lei feel good in bed between them since he really loves big guys. imma leave it to you on who you want to win winks https://archiveofourown.org/works/46255276/chapters/131790529

Prompt from RoseLavenderHaze: From Cherry Blossoms after winter, Hae Bom while cleaning Tae Sung's room found something interesting of a device (aka dild*). Thinking that he is alone, he tries it on himself and never felt so good while moaning his name. Of course he'd be wrong because he never heard Tae Sung comes in and goes to his room and seeing his Hae Bom doing naughty. Without haebom seeing him, tae sung closed and locked his room and proceeds to help (ravage) his desires and maybe punish him for snooping on his stuff. Thank you!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46231810/chapters/131849392

Prompt from: Tesia87: Minato/Shin Minato Shouji Coin Laundry NSFW Kissing finally leads to more. Shin talking charge and Minato being surprised! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46179736/chapters/131911669

[soclonely]

I know I’m super late on this but for the friendship requests might I suggest R- "Hey wait.. Is that my sweater?" with Tup and reader , D- "If I go to jail with you, then who is going to bail you out?" with Jesse and Hardcase, and I- There was only one bed... and it resulted in a pillow fight to see who gets it with the Wolfpack? Dealers choice if three is too many! Also I’m super grateful you’re doing this! - an aroace who struggles at valentines

Listen friend, I love you very much and I am happy to do this for you and many others who have struggles around valentines day. <3 I love love, and it should be spread and celebrated in more ways than just the romantic type this week! I made these into drabbles so I could do all 3 for you <3 I hope you had a lovely and quiet day

Request 1

Friendship: Tup and Reader Prompt: R- "Hey wait.. Is that my sweater?"

"Are you ready to go?" You walk into the entryway, pocketing your keys. "If we hurry, we can beat the lunch crowd and get a good booth at the coffee shop!"

"Dressed and ready!" Tup pops into the landing. "Just had to finish getting dressed!" he slips on his sandals and sighs. "Can't wait to have a nice warm coffee in my hands." He checks his bun in the mirror and smiles. "Lead the way, boss."

You look at him, tilting your head." Hey wait. Is that my sweater?"

"Oh, yeah!" Tup chuckles, holding out his arms to show you. "Sorry. It was in the dryer when I went to do my own load of laundry and I figured you wouldn't mind." He points to the little character on the front. "Besides, I like the little whale friend on it!"

"Not a problem." You smile, opening the door. "And I think Willy the Whale likes you too!"

Request 2

Friendship: Jesse and Hardcase Prompt: D- "If I go to jail with you, then who is going to bail you out?"

"If I go to jail with you, then who is going to bail you out?" Jesse rolls his eyes, looking over to the trooper in the neighboring bunk. "Hypothetically speaking, if we did get caught drawing a mustache and uni-brow on the chancellors new campaign billboard."

"No one!" Hardcase grins. "We frame Captain Rex by putting the evidence under his bunk! They would never arrest him! And besides," He looks over at the peacefully sleeping Captain. "He needs to have something on his record! It builds characrer."

Jesse shakes his head. "Hardcase, no. We are not commiting crimes and blaming the captain. However what we could do is duct tape a shiny to the wall in the refresher and hide the roll under Dogma's bed." He smirks, pulling out a roll of tape from under his pillow. "What do you say to that?"

"I say lets do it!" Hardcase chuckles, standing up. "But instead of a shiny, lets duct tape Fives! He wouldn't rat us out!" He motions for the arc trooper across the barracks, continuing. "We need someone who will play along!"

"Hardcase you are a genius"

Request 3

Friendship: The Wolfpack Prompt: I- There was only one bed… and it resulted in a pillow fight to see who gets it

"What the kriff happened in here?" Wolffe nearly yells, wading through the feathers in the air. He kicks at a ripped pillow. "Why are you all acting like children and tearing up the furniture!" He glares at the wolfpack. "Start explaining. Now!"

Boost clears his through."Y-you see commander, there is only one small bed in the room here and-"

"And we couldn't decide who got to sleep on it!" Another trooper interrupts. "We tried flipping a coin and sharing but no one could agree on who gets to sleep on it so-"

"So we decided to wrestle for it only"

"The pillows got involved." SInker finishes, quickly looking over at the Commander. "Don't worry sir. We will pick up every last feather and place it back in the pillows!"

Commander Wolffe nods."You will do just that. And you will all be sleeping on the floor tonight, Understand?" He hands them each a pillow sack.

"But Commander, who get the bed then?"

"Me. Who else?"

[imakemywings]

For @domaystic day 8: Coin-Operated Laundry.

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Kolyat, Thane

Summary: Kolyat and Thane visit a Citadel laundromat.

AO3 | Pillowfort

___________________________________________________

“For the record,” Kolyat said, “this is the lamest family hangout ever.”

           “What?” Thane blinked uncomprehendingly at him, the way he often did when Kolyat tried with great effort to impart standard social guidelines on him. Perhaps he had been less hopeless when he was younger, or else Kolyat marveled that his mother had ever thought Thane possible to domesticate. The man seemed flummoxed by the most basic standards of a life that didn’t include sleeping in a mob boss’ ceiling or sewing up bullet wounds with dental floss. “You needed to come, I needed to come…doesn’t this work out nicely?”

           “We’re at a laundromat,” Kolyat said, in case the chintzy neon flamingos along one wall or the groovy new wave geometric art plastered on the front windows didn’t give it away. Or the row of clothing dryers which Kolyat was leaning back against. “Congratulations. You actually beat the time Uncle Qulax took me to see his tax lawyer on my birthday.”  

           The accusation did not have as much bite as Kolyat had imagined it in his head—that was the case annoyingly often these days—and Thane never bristled or took a defensive tone or ignored him. Instead, he always seemed to take everything Kolyat said with utmost seriousness, looking at him with this hangdog-seeking-forgiveness look, expecting—welcoming­—Kolyat to heap more guilt or chastisement on him.

           It took all the fun out of berating or guilt-tripping him.

           “Did he do that?” When Kolyat did not elaborate, Thane prompted him, as usual taking note of the wrong thing.

           “Yeah. Auntie had an emergency at work so she couldn’t pick me up from school,” he said, wondering as he said it why he was telling Thane such a pedantic story. It was barely interesting to him and he’d been there.

           “I see.” It was hard to tell if Thane didn’t know what to say to him, or if he was just not a talkative person. Kolyat was beginning to suspect it was both.

           It was terrible. Kolyat didn’t want to say things to him. But he had learned from the world’s most uncomfortable lunch outing that if he didn’t intervene, Thane might assume he preferred not to talk and they would spend hours in silence (a state which did not seem to unsettle Thane in the slightest—more proof of his oddness).

           Kolyat exhaled loudly and a turian in the corner cast an annoyed glance at him, as though Kolyat were unconscionably harshing the mellow of the laundromat.

           Blessed Arashu took pity on him and Thane interpreted the sigh as a request for filler conversation.

           “How are your friends?” he asked. “Xeto and…Trevor?”

           “Not recovered from finding out that I know Commander Shepard,” he answered, feeling his throat heat up. He wasn’t recovered from learning his connection to Shepard was closer than he had thought.

           “Ah.” It was an audaciously mild response for a man who had until recently been content not to mention that he was dating Commander fucking Shepard. “Did Trevor ever get his autograph?”

           “Hell no,” Kolyat said. “He’d have stapled it to my eyelids by now if he had. I thought he was going to pass out seeing her in person.”

           The washing machine in front of them abruptly stopped and Thane frowned at it as his laundry came to a sloshing halt.

           “You got to hit it,” Kolyat grunted. “Punch it.” Thane did not stop to question this advice; he got up and clocked the laundry machine, which shuddered back to life and carried on with its cycle.

           “What about you?” Thane asked, turning back to Kolyat. “Are you seeing—” Kolyat let out a gurgling cry of disapproval, throwing his head back in order to smother the question before it was complete. Doubtless the turian on the folding chair was seething at this despoiling of the peace of the laundry sanctuary.

           “You have got to stop asking me that,” Kolyat said. “And by the way, you have some real krogan balls asking me that when you were keeping your mouth shut about the Shepard thing.”

           “It just didn’t seem relevant.”

           “Uh-huh.” Kolyat rolled his eyes and shook his head, not dignifying this line of conversation with another repeat performance. Thane resumed his seat in the chair by the eco-plastic Ficus (a true exercise in modern performance art: plastic made out of plant material, formed to look like a fake plant), which Kolyat had permitted him to take without discussion. He had the irritating sense that Thane was soft balling the progression of his illness when he spoke of it to Kolyat.

           Thane sat fidgeting quietly in the metal chair, making Kolyat grind his teeth to ward off a sense of obligation without saying a word. He looked up at the paneled ceiling. Around the upper perimeter of the room, there was a loop of silent advertisements playing. There was a crack in the ceiling panel just over Kolyat’s head.

           “You know,” he said, already annoyed with himself for speaking, “you can’t just suck information out of people like a damn interrogation. It’s supposed to be a fucking exchange.” He hadn’t cursed, back in Anikah and Qulax’s house. They didn’t like it. At first, on the Citadel, he had wanted to seem less like a quaint, prudish drell from the Nowheresville, Kahje, and now it seemed to have become a permanent part of vocabulary. Ah, well. Bigger things to worry about; he'd reign it in if Auntie and Uncle came to visit.

           “Pardon?”

           Kolyat heaved himself off the dryers with a narrow-eyed look at Thane.

           “You can’t just spend all day quizzing me about my life and my shit and never tell me anything back,” he said. “That’s bullshit. Why should I tell you anything if you won’t tell me things?”

           Thane folded his hands in front of him and stared down at the pink-and-yellow tiled floor.

           “I hadn’t considered that,” he said. “I suppose you’re right. I didn’t realize there was anything you wanted to know.”

           At that, Kolyat could only cover his face with one hand. Didn’t consider there was anything you might want to know. Presently, Kolyat was forced to recall precisely how little Thane knew about parent-child relationships. Auntie had said he entered the Compact at six. Sometimes Kolyat repeated this fact to himself several times in a row when he felt like storming off in indignant outrage about some present failing of Thane’s.

           “Let’s just. Start with something simple.” Kolyat exhaled again, folding his arms and resuming his lean back against the dryers. “Like, what the hell made you join up with Shepard, for one.”

           “That’s…not simple,” Thane said slowly. “I believe I have answered this for you already, Kolyat.”

           “Humor me,” Kolyat said. “You were skimpy on the details.”

           “I suppose it was an act of atonement,” Thane said. “A way to…make up for…the rest of my life.”

           “Is that really how you see it?”

           “Giving my life for the greater good seemed the best way I could think. I believed in Shepard’s mission.”

           “No, about your life,” Kolyat said. “That it’s…all some big mistake that needs to be made up for.” Thane lapsed into silence, and he had that thousand-yard stare that often preceded solipsism. However, he pulled himself back this time.

           “I have made many mistakes, Kolyat,” he said, his voice so soft it was nearly a whisper.

           “But is that all? Just a bunch of mistakes? A bunch of shit to clean up?”

           “Not only,” Thane replied, delicate for all Kolyat’s coarseness (He was like that when he didn’t have cause to be otherwise—soft-spoken, polite, even-tempered. The little old human lady who lived near Kolyat positively adored Thane. It somehow made it only more unnerving that he had killed so many people, probably with that same serene expression.) He looked up, his brow ridge relaxed. “There was you.”

           Goddamn.

           He’d spent his whole life with Auntie and Uncle telling him his father loved him, it was just complicated. At some point, he’d simply decided they were full of it and trying to spare his feelings, because no father who left him like that could actually give a damn about him. The golden memories of his youth, when his father was home and played with him and sat reading on the corner seat of the couch in the afternoon faded into a hazy distance, and he embraced the cold reality that his father did not, in fact, love him.

           He hated to think Auntie and Uncle might have been right.

           “The cycle is almost finished,” he said, flushed about the throat, pointing to the washing machines.

           “So it is.”

           They went quiet, Kolyat rocking uneasily on his heels, looking over at the dusty strip of floor beneath the windows where the cleaning bot didn’t reach well. Jeez. He should’ve come done his laundry on his own time.

           “If you would move things into the dryer,” Thane offered, rising to his feet, “I can go and find us something to eat.” Kolyat snorted, and Thane tilted his head slightly.

           “Because between the two of us, you’re the one familiar with what’s edible around here,” he elaborated. Thane was pulling up his omnitool to send Kolyat the code for his credit account. Kolyat swatted impatiently at the air. “Stop. At least I have a job.” It wasn’t much of a job—he still thought sourly at times of what he had been offered for the hit on Talid—but it was something. It would be better when he wasn’t spending hours still on community service for C-Sec. Thane was coasting on what remained of his savings, and he had not planned on returning from Commander Shepard’s suicide mission. “I’ll get something.”

           He straightened off the dryers, patted his pockets to make sure he hadn’t set anything down without remembering, and turned for the door. Thane took his seat again. Kolyat paused and considered asking if there was anything Thane didn’t eat, then decided if Thane didn’t like what he brought back he could go get his own laundry snack.

           “I’ll wait here,” Thane said, as if that had been in question.

           “Yeah. Sure.” Kolyat exhaled carefully as he exited the laundromat. As he headed for the street corner, he resisted the urge to turn back and make sure he could still see Thane sitting in front of the washers.

           “Don’t be a baby,” he muttered to himself. “Where the hell would he even go?” Shaking his head, he settled in for a brisk walk to his favorite street vendor. Someone had to introduce Thane to what was decent eating in the Wards.

[petruchio]

(haymitch anon again) !!! def agree on how haymitch is so significant and underappreciated as a rebel and as an influence on katniss. I love their relationship so much, esp the complexity of katniss feeling So similar to him but also being in conflict with him and trying not to be like him at many points. for some reason, the fact that he writes about all the tributes he's ever mentored (at the end of mj) always gets me. it's so much

re: gale, while i still feel like the possibility of katniss choosing to side with gale (philosophically) could have been explored more, it's probably one of those things where i'm like "hey, there could have been some interesting extra character development here!" even though it wouldn't necessarily serve the overall narrative well. as you brought up in the long gale ask, gale's underlying desire to protect his family/community gets twisted (by coin's regime) into something dehumanizing. it makes sense in context that katniss doesn't entirely realize that this manipulation is happening, so on the surface it seems like gale is just choosing revenge over love. but the propaganda works because it makes revenge (against the capitol) seem like an act of love (toward one's fellow rebels/workers). it would have been very interesting if katniss were influenced by this kind of messaging at some point (maybe it'd come from the other victors as well, not just gale) because her motivation to protect others started out similar to gale's. well, that's something to explore in fic lmao.

now that i think about it, tbosas Does get into a lot of the concepts that were implied/left somewhat unexplored with gale. snow and some of the other capitol kids are understandably skeptical of the first wave of games propaganda, but they still end up falling for the next wave because it uses their own trauma, empathy, and distrust of authority against them. plus all the ambiguous motivations -- whether snow is acting selfishly or unselfishly, whether he's making independent decisions or being manipulated. the scene where gale resents madge for not taking tesserae (knowing that it's not her fault) even has some parallels with the reaping scene in tbosas where snow resents sejanus for his wealth (also knowing that it's not his fault).

i'll definitely give all of this more thought during my reread of the trilogy (!) i feel like collins does a great job of making some characters who support "the corrupt system" sympathetic *as human beings* while not showing sympathy for their beliefs, which is a very difficult balance to strike. thanks so much for the response!

yes these are all really good points!! and yes everything about haymitch fills my heart i love him ;’)

i will say i do think to an extent the propaganda of 13 does kind of influence katniss (and haymitch!) i mean not to the extent that it does to gale i guess, but like, both of them do get pretty involved in the propo films and i think haymitch is implied to be pretty high up in the command structure. and i mean, isn’t the scene where katniss shoots the capitol woman in a laundry room supposed to be the culmination of that dehumanizing propaganda? like, it’s no surprise that moment hits right around the novel’s climax — it’s a turning point for katniss as a character, it prompts her realization that she doesn’t want to be someone who can think like that.

again, i totally hear how it might have been interesting to explore more of that vis a vis gale, though imo it is done to an extent. they have some pretty involved conversations in mj. the prep team scene, the nut, the weapon design scenes, etc. yes it’s clear by the time we get to mockingjay that she’s going to choose peeta, but i think that’s mostly because i would argue that she really makes her choice in catching fire. so in mockingjay it’s less about her seriously considering whether to align herself with gale philosophically (because in a way, she’s already rejected his worldview) and more about her coming into her own and being able to define how and what she thinks. not sure if that makes sense lol. but just kind of my ramble on the topic. again if you wanted more gale that’s completely valid.

also it’s interesting to think about the connection to tbosas! i do think tbosas does a lot to flesh out the commentary collins is making and it’s definitely a good and rich thematic addition to the world. i wonder if we can consider lucy gray a precursor to haymitch as much (if not more!) as she is to katniss. your comparison of snow and gale is a BOLD take but i think you’ve hit on something interesting and i’m inclined to agree, especially in those scenes you bring up.

anyway all good thoughts!!! much much to think about!! all interesting and good food for thought :)

[thornbriar]

Late piece of Domaystic 2022 prompt: coin laundry

[dreaminghour]

doMAYstic 8

Prompt: coin laundry Fandom: Star Wars. Characters: Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon. Words: 426. Rating: G. SFW. A/N: More from the coffee shop AU I've been writing! This is set before the main story while entomology grad student Obi-Wan is doing fieldwork with botanist Qui-Gon. Just a bit of silliness...

Obi-Wan sat in his trunks and loafers, trying to appear as relaxed as possible even as the sweat was slipping between his back and the flimsy plastic chair. The laundromat was thankfully empty, and he hadn't brought much clothing… which was part of the problem.

"There's just been a bit of rain," Professor Jinn had said. "There are sometimes storms so bad that trucks can't pass through the region for weeks!"

The man had grinned as he had said that. Obi-Wan should have known better.

Across from him he watched the brown sludge grow more and more dilute as the washer rinsed and sloshed his shirts and shorts around. He'd only brought a few changes of clothing, thus when he had fallen into the mud pit, he had lost everything clean. The only thing which had survived, ironically, were damp things he had bagged separately to keep from leeching into the other clothing.

He sighed, sliding down in his seat until he nearly slipped onto the floor. It was hot. It was humid. He was desperately trying to not let his impression be soured by a few bad experiences.

The door chimed as someone walked in, and Obi-Wan self-consciously crossed his arms before he turned to see who had walked in. The man was tall, his hair damp, and his clothes were impeccable — and entirely unlike himself.

"Professor Jinn…" Obi-Wan could not finish the sentence.

The suit was overly formal, starched beyond belief, and had that air of dustiness which suggested it was never used.

"I asked Madam Jamila to keep a suit for me, should I ever have need of one." The botanist grimaced. "It isn't too dreary, is it?"

As long as Obi-Wan had known him, Qui-Gon Jinn had worn clothing at least as colorful as his specimens of flora, preferring sensible khakis and comfortable aloha shirts with bright patterns; to see him in black and white was unsettling. If Obi-Wan were inclined to hyperbole and dramatics, he would have said that he knew that they were in dire straights if Professor Jinn was dressed like that.

"We'll pull through, professor." He stood up and pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. "Load it up and I'll get it running for you."

Professor Jinn did so, and seemed to lose himself in contemplation for a moment, watching his own clothing slowly begin to be cleansed.

"Not what you expected your first day of Fieldwork to be like, eh, Obi-Wan?" the man asked with a smile.

"Not at all," he replied with a grin.

[chocolatepot]

Coin Laundry

Today's @domaystic prompt was "coin laundry"! So we're back to Howl and Sophie because they can at least travel to Modern Times.

fandom | Howl's Moving Castle (book)

words | 527

notes | I have Thoughts about Howl's past and I actually have the start of a fic on that, but here's some fluff with a bit of a knife in it!

“This is very strange,” said Sophie, poking dubiously at the machine. There was a button next to the slot, but when she pressed it, nothing happened – why was it there, then?

“Everything here is strange,” Howl pointed out. “That makes coins come back out, if you’ve put them in.”

It had been Sophie’s idea to go to Wales for a holiday. She had told Howl that she was curious about how the people there got along with all their machines, but in fact she had an ulterior motive: she was pregnant, and since she’d got all of the normal first-time pregnancy worries out of her system with Morgan, she’d found an entirely new set springing up in their place, ones that were a little less immediate.

“You shouldn’t think it’s strange,” she pointed out in return.

He cocked his head to one side, his blond curls brushing over his shoulder. “It seems strange to me now,” he said. “I could make a broad generalization about how quickly you can forget your old life, but I think it’s really just that I was always more … well, Inglish than Welsh. Never thought I’d be saying that.” 

“Why?” Howl paused, with That Look on his face. Aha, so it was a reference to something to do with this world, and she said so.

“You’ve been awfully curious about Wales lately,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the machines with a suspicious expression. Morgan was seated on another machine down the row, playing with his little toy air-plane (how could people possibly fly in them?) and drumming his feet against the door. “Tell me, Mrs. Nose, what are you trying to ferret out?”

Sophie busied herself loading the washing machine to avoid having to look her husband in the eye. She could face him very easily when either of them was angry, or loving, or anything in between, but talking about his past was different. “Well, it’s your background, isn’t it? Which means that it’s Morgan’s, and the new little one’s, when it comes. I think maybe they should know about it.” Then all the laundry was inside, and she shut the door and stood again.

“There’s nothing here for them,” he said. “I mean – there’s history and all kinds of stories, but not on a personal level.” When Sophie had suggested that Megan might be kinder since they had Morgan (in stories, cantankerous relations were always softened by small children), he had smiled tightly but not said anything, and Megan had quite disappointed her by being as sharp as ever, following Morgan with her eyes as though she were worried he would suddenly start tearing into the furniture with his teeth.

“Well, then,” she said, taking his hands and squeezing them, “you should tell us both some of the stories. Perhaps over lunch. Can we leave our things in the machines or do we need to stay with them?”

He leaned down. It was not the most romantic of situations, between the clatter of the machines and Morgan shouting, “Yuck!” behind Howl, but as far as the kiss itself went, it was very nice indeed.

[syrupwit]

Slight misunderstanding about how this works corrected; fenders B16 in the continuity of your two posts about them already? Thank you!!

Hey, no worries whatsoever! Thank you for the prompt. B16 is, at the moment: "I’m going to stroke your hair but it doesn’t mean anything because I still hate you." This is in the same continuity as a couple of previous short fills (both NSFW, though this fill isn't -- Part 1, Part 2).

Under the cut, please find ~730 words of Anders/Fenris for @dadrunkwriting.

-

Fenris was finally at rest. He lay unconscious on the cot, his breath coming even and slow.

“Just dump the elf at the clinic,” Anders grumbled, as he carted an armload of torn and bloodstained linens to the bin where he stored soiled laundry. “Anders won’t be busy, it’s only his one day off to clean! Great idea, Hawke.”

It should have been a routine job, Hawke had told him, except that the smugglers they’d ambushed had been carrying some special Qunari poison. Fenris had been standing too close to a crate when some unspecified fool split it open.

The poison was nasty stuff, but not fatal. It was mostly used for torture, Hawke said, and declined to offer further explanation. The blood was from Fenris clawing at himself, as the poison created an unbearable prickling sensation that seemed to pull from inside the skin. Again, no details on how Hawke knew this. 

Fenris had thrashed, and screamed, and shredded his first set of bedding beyond hope of saving. He was on the third now. In between refusing healing potions and antidotes, he had cursed Anders fervently in at least two languages, but not Hawke, which seemed unfair. She was hiding something, Anders was sure of it.

Anders reached the bin, where he spent a moment considering if the linens were too badly torn to be mended. He decided they probably were, dumped them anyway, and stalked off to wash his hands. 

-

Steam rose from the water basin as Anders scrubbed at his skin.

“I’ll send him a bill,” he said, meaning Fenris. “Maker knows he can afford it. What’s he spending his coin on besides wine?” Thinking about Fenris’s possible pursuits irritated him, and he scrubbed harder. What a waste, that someone who could do what Fenris could would be such a stuffed-up bigot.

Anders continued, “He owes me, anyway. How many of my blankets has he ruined over the past three years?” The answer was “not that many,” because Fenris generally refused to seek help from Anders unless they were stuck on a mountain or underground or somewhere, but the question was rhetorical. 

Despite his efforts to redirect it, Anders’ mind wandered toward less unpleasant ways to… well, hopefully not ruin blankets, but cause them to need laundering. Fenris never came to the clinic for that, though, nor did he let Anders into his mansion. They always met somewhere else and Fenris always left first. 

“Ungrateful elf,” said Anders, although it sounded weak. 

He had thought that he didn’t care about seeing Fenris in pain. At one point, he’d even thought that he liked it. Now it had turned out that he didn’t anymore, not for real, not at all.

His hands and forearms were flushed bright red when he finished washing.

-

Fenris was still sleeping when Anders returned to his side. If Fenris awoke and lashed out again, Anders thought, he would have to break his promise to Hawke and cast a paralysis on him. He didn’t have a fourth set of clean dry linens available.

He drew nearer and looked at Fenris. 

His expression was tense, but blank except for the occasional twitch or grimace. Sweat had made his hair lank and plastered it to his forehead. Without thinking, reacting to an impulse that went against both his standards of conduct as a healer and experiences with Fenris, Anders reached out to smooth it back.

Fenris stayed still. He did not open his eyes, catch Anders’ hand, or break his wrist, nor did he show any sign of preparing to leap up and kill him. When Anders repeated the smoothing motion, he sighed, and Anders froze; but his face had relaxed a fraction, not tensed.

It was wrong to touch someone like this when they were vulnerable, someone who wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise. But didn’t Anders deserve some recompense for his trouble?

“If you were an animal, I wouldn’t think twice,” he murmured. 

He moved his hand fully to Fenris’s hair. It was matted with sweat and oil, not soft, and he could smell dirt and smoke in it. He imagined the runoff from washing it and suddenly, badly wanted to bathe Fenris, or bathe with Fenris, which was a very stupid thing to think about.

He petted Fenris’s hair until his expression went peaceful, and then he removed his hand.

Fenris’s eyes flew open.