#thank you for the prompt!! i had fun <3

[youssefguedira]

V, JoeNicky & Nile

V. An abandoned or empty place.

When Joe pulls the sheet off the couch it kicks up enough dust that it makes Nile sneeze. The couch underneath is old, wooden frame rotting, fabric stained and full of holes where moths have eaten away at it. 

“Sorry,” Joe says to Nile when she finally manages to get the sneezing under control. “Didn’t realise it was that bad.” He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the couch. Nile looks it over.

“There’s no saving that,” she says, wiping at her eyes. She can heal from falling over ten stories, but she can’t get away from allergies.

Joe frowns. “I liked that couch.”

The house is older than anywhere else they’ve brought her, and has been abandoned for long enough that it’s falling apart. But through some trick of posing as their own sons, or something, Joe and Nicky still own it, even if there’s a giant hole in the roof and all the windows are broken. Why they’d decided to come back here, Nile doesn’t know, but it’s a nice enough area, and a good distraction from, well. Everything. Growing back a leg, she’s discovered, is not fun. 

From one of the other rooms – she thinks it’s the kitchen, she’s not actually sure where Nicky had wandered to – there’s the sound of something breaking and crashing to the ground, and a muffled curse. 

Joe makes a questioning noise in the vague direction of the kitchen. A few moments later, Nicky appears in the doorway, covered in dust. “I am okay,” he says. “But I think we will need to go out to eat tonight.”

“Nothing?” 

Nicky shakes his head. “Unless you want to start a fire and go hunt some rabbits.”

Joe grins. “Just like old times, right?”

Nile shakes her head firmly, which makes Nicky smile. She loves them, but there’s no way they’re doing that. 

“We can probably clear out enough space in here,” Joe says, gesturing to the floor. “Get the sleeping bags out of the car. Probably have to start a fire anyway, but…”

Nile looks around again while Joe says something to Nicky in Arabic that makes him laugh. The house is falling apart, sure, but it’s structurally stable, and the bones are all there. It could be something. They’ve got time to make it something. 

Nicky is the one who goes for pizza in the end – he doesn’t trust Nile and Joe to order it if left to their own devices – while they try to clear out a space in the living room. Eventually, though, after Nile has another sneezing fit, Joe suggests they just take the sleeping bags outside instead, which works out a lot better. He sets about starting a fire with practiced ease while Nile sets out the sleeping bags around it. They’re far enough away from civilisation that she can’t hear cars passing by, which is kind of surreal, and the stars are brighter than she’s ever seen them. 

When Nicky gets back, two boxes balanced on one arm and a bottle of wine in the other, he looks over their makeshift camp and laughs. “Just like old times, then?” he asks.

Joe grins. “Except we have pizza.”

“And actual sleeping bags,” Nile says.

“Ah, these modern inventions could never quite match the comfort of a pile of furs,” Joe says wistfully. Nile gives him a look. She’s ninety percent sure that one’s bullshit, but she can never quite tell with him. 

Nicky sets down the pizza boxes, and jogs back to the car to grab the pack of plastic wine glasses they’d bought before they got here. 

“We should’ve bought marshmallows,” Nile says. “Could have made s’mores.”

“Well, we’ll have to go to the hardware store tomorrow anyway,” Joe points out. “And I think it’ll be a little while before we can actually sleep in there.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Nicky agrees.

[numbuh424]

@nearsbday : DAY 8 - "THE WORLD"

The world is too heavy Too big for my shoulders Come take the weight off me now. I'm like a kid who just won't let it go Twisting and turning the colors in rows I'm so intent to find out what it is This is my Rubik's Cube I know I can figure it out.

Based on my favorite song that reminds me of Near, "Rubik's Cube" by Athlete. Happy birthday, Near! 💙🧩🎉💐

[mappingthesky]

planymphia wives honeymoon cutesy fluffy and overwhelmingly emotional drabble pleaseee

take my hand (take my whole life, too)

or: it’s their first week of being married - jane can’t stop referring to nymphia as ‘my wife’, nymphia can’t stop crying, and no one has ever been more in love in all of time.

Jane wakes up when Nymphia rolls over and flings a heavy arm across her torso in sleep.

Jane’s eyes flutter. Sunlight threatens to spill in from the other side of the heavy hotel room curtains all too soon. She’s only half conscious, and her eyes are still a little blurry with last night’s wine, and she’s content to drift back off to sleep, lulled by the gentle brush of Nymphia’s fingertips down her sternum, but then-

A little gasp, a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god.”

“Mmwhat?” Nymphia mumbles, her eyes still closed as Jane grabs for her hand. Again, when her wrist is nearly pulled from the rest of her arm. “What?”

“Nymphia,” Jane whispers, but it’s thin, because she’s smiling. Nymphia can barely make it out through the dim light of the room and the sleep that clouds her vision, but she knows it just the same. She would recognize that smile by the sound of Jane’s words spoken through it, by the feeling of her soft gaze upon her. She would know it anywhere - even in the dark.

“We got married.”

Nymphia’s eyes blink open and look over at Jane. She’s on her back, holding Nymphia’s hand up to the light. She turns it over carefully, fingertips against her open palm, thumb tracing over the silver band on Nymphia’s ring finger. A diamond glitters in the dark.

“I know,” Nymphia grumbles, still half-asleep, still unwilling to be awoken for anything at all. “Spent eight months planning it, ’member?”

It was longer than that. It was the culmination of years of dreaming and months of planning, of Nymphia ironing out every last detail, Jane somehow even more stressed than she was, because she’d wanted it all to be perfect. For her.

(“You have a say, too,” Nymphia had reminded her on more than one occasion. “This day is about the both of us.”

“I know, baby,” Jane said, that spot between her brows that creases when she thinks too hard momentarily relaxing as she kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “But it’s really about you. Everything is about you.”)

Jane pulls Nymphia’s hand closer, studies it for a long while. Nymphia’s eyes are just closing again when Jane presses a kiss to her ring finger, then to her palm, more kisses up the inside of her wrist, the length of her arm, up her shoulder. Nymphia whines.

It comes back to her slowly as Jane coaxes her from her sleep, the only one she’d ever allow. Their night. It was everything they ever could have asked for, more than that. Their friends lining the aisle, swearing that they knew this day would come, arguing over who had really called it first. Jane, who had sworn she wouldn’t cry, who had warned Nymphia not to be worried if she didn’t, dissolving into tears the moment Nymphia emerged in all white. Nymphia, unsurprisingly to everyone, openly sobbing for half of the night, dabbing a tissue underneath her damp eyes at the dinner table. They’d had two glasses of champagne each, and nothing else.  They’d promised, because they wanted to remember this: the toasts, the dancing, each other, every moment.

Nymphia is beaming by the time Jane kisses her shoulder blade, eliciting a hum.

“Was it everything you wanted?” Jane murmurs, brushing a dark strand of hair back to kiss Nymphia’s ear.

A smile splits through Nymphia’s sleep, eyes still closed as she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, deeper into Jane. “It was perfect.”

Jane kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “What was your favorite part?”

“Mmm,” Nymphia hums, because how could she ever pick just one shining moment to stand out among the rest? How could she even begin to split the single most incandescent day of her life into segments? 

“The part where we went home,” Nymphia says, and Jane is pulling her closer. “The part where we went to bed and you let me sleep in.”

“Can’t let you sleep in,” Jane says, chin coming to rest on the crown of Nymphia’s head where it comes to press against her chest. “Too in love with you.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, basking in the warmth of last night as it rolls over to this morning.

“Wanna know my favorite part?” Jane asks, and Nymphia can feel the soft reverberation of her voice through her skin. “The part where we wake up and I get to say that you’re my wife.”

Nymphia can’t help but laugh at the sentiment. “This part?” she says, finally tilting her head up to look at Jane. She’s never gotten used to this - Jane looking at her every day like she’s still shiny and new. She doesn’t think she ever will. 

“Yeah. This part,” Jane beams, one hand coming to cradle Nymphia’s cheek as she smiles. “You’re my wife.”

“This part’s pretty good,” Nymphia stares into Jane, belly burning with butterflies, a love bigger and brighter than she ever thought was possible. “Say it again.”

Jane grins and brings her lips to Nymphia’s, kisses her with a lifetime of devotion. She pulls away, and there’s forever in her eyes. 

“You’re my wife,” Jane smiles. “And I’m yours.”

-

Jane doesn’t travel well.

She puts her packing off until the last possible minute and grumbles all the way to the airport. Nymphia can’t be upset though, because Jane ‘my wife’s’ Nymphia at every possible opportunity - she does it to the disgruntled employee who checks their bags, and the TSA agent who checks their passports, and the barista who makes their coffees while they’re killing time at their terminal. Nymphia rolls her eyes every time, but she’s smiling too, and can’t stop examining the sparkle on her left hand ring finger. 

Jane goes so anxious on the plane that Nymphia has to hold her hand through the takeoff. She doesn’t let go until thirty minutes into the flight, when Jane is finally distracted enough to drop her shoulders and stop thinking about the miniscule possibility that they go plummeting to the ground.

Eventually, they settle in. It’s a long flight, nearly twenty hours, and they shelled out on first class for the occasion. Nymphia’s got the window seat (partly because Jane knows she likes to look out the window, and partly because she can’t stomach seeing the ocean several thousand feet beneath them), and Jane wastes no time getting comfortable. 

(“It’s for my wife,” Jane tells the stewardess when she requests an extra blanket. “She runs cold.” 

Nymphia stares up from her book just long enough to swat Jane’s arm, muttering “that’s not even true.”

“I know,” Jane shrugs. “Just wanted to see what playing the wife card could get me.”

“Careful,” Nymphia warns. “You’re gonna wear it out.”

“What, calling you my wife?” Jane grins. “Baby, that’s never gonna get old.”)

They’re curled up together, alternating between books and movies and laughing at odd little happenings around them. Jane scoffs at shitty jokes on the screen, and Nymphia leans over to read her passages from her book, and Jane hums like she’s listening, but really she’s just admiring Nymphia in her comfy clothes, dark hair pulled back, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She likes her the best like this.

At the end of her movie, Jane glances over at Nymphia. “Are you excited?”

She thinks she knows what the answer will be, but she’s asking anyway, because she wants it to be perfect - their honeymoon, their first trip together as a married couple, their first foray into the rest of their lives together. They’d debated on a destination for weeks on end. They’d considered a roadtrip across America (too pedestrian - they’ll save that one for another summer), or a week in Vegas where they’d get married again in some cheap chapel (too cliche - they’ll save it for their vow renewals). They’d debated on whether or not to book a room in the most luxurious resort they could find in Thailand, but had settled on a cozy beachside bungalow instead. Jane thought Nymphia would like that the best, knew she would too, because she’d be happy if Nymphia was.

It’s funny how someone can change you so completely and entirely, how they can bring out the best part of you that was waiting to be discovered. Before Nymphia, Jane had always put herself first, even at the expense of others. She was content like that, and then she met Nymphia, and the center of her universe shifted outside of herself. For the first time it wasn’t a chore to care for someone else, and Jane was better because of it. 

“For the honeymoon?” Nymphia asks, folding her book in her lap. She looks down at Jane all nestled in her blankets, hoodie pulled over her blonde hair, and can’t help but smile. 

Nymphia had always been a hopeless romantic, all too eager to hand her heart over to the wrong person. She was a tender thing then, bruising easily in careless hands, burning through her own wells of hope faster than she could replenish them, and after the almost-great-loves of her young adulthood, she felt like she’d been cored. Having her heart handed back to her so unrequitedly time after time, she’d thought she’d been selfish to want a love as big as her own, to expect anyone to be able to return what she gave to them. She’d stopped dreaming of it altogether, and then she’d met Jane. Jane, who reveres her like the Earth reveres the Sun, who worships the ground that she walks on, who straightened out every desire Nymphia had crumpled up inside of herself and gave her more than she could ever dare ask for. 

Now, Nymphia knows she can be selfish. She looks over at Jane and thinks that she wants this for all time - all of Jane, all to herself. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m so excited.” Nymphia reaches over to take Jane’s hand. “Jus’ wanna spend time with you.”

“Good,” Jane smiles, “me too.” She tilts her head up, puckers her lips in a silent request for a kiss, and Nymphia obliges.

-

The plane starts its descent several long hours after they’ve woken up, and Nymphia is grabbing Jane’s hand before she even has to ask, because she knows she hates this part the most. Jane sucks air through her teeth as the last bit of turbulence rocks the plane, and Nymphia rubs her thumb in soothing circles over the back of her hand. As soon as they hit the tarmac, Jane snaps back into place, blocking the whole aisle just to get Nymphia’s carry-on out of the overhead compartment.

“Sorry,” Jane says over her shoulder to a disgruntled passenger. “My wife. She’s pregnant.”

“Jane,” Nymphia hisses through her teeth. “You of all people should know I’m not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Jane kisses her shoulder before they maneuver down the aisle. “But when I’m through with you…”

Nymphia scoffs, smiling into the air, because she knows it’s impossible, but if anyone’s love could defy the laws of science, it would be theirs.

-

Despite their sleep on the plane, Jane and Nymphia are so impossibly jetlagged, and the car ride to the bungalow is a delirious haze. Determined to push through the rest of the day, they tumble out of their room and onto the tree-lined streets, perusing the local offerings and getting dinner while they speak to each other in exhausted, two-word sentences that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. It’s all they need.

And then they’re out under the sky, wandering in this beautiful place with blue-green water that laps in whispering waves over the sandy beach, and Nymphia has never looked so beautiful to Jane as she does under the moonlight. 

She’s running up the beach, shrieking as the water splashes at her feet, or when Jane chases her up the shore and catches her, spinning her around and pressing crazed kisses against her hairline. Nymphia is laughing, and then her cheeks are wet with tears, and Jane is wiping underneath her eyes.

“Hey,” Jane says, pushing Nymphia’s hair behind her ears, a careful concern crossing her face. “Why tears?”

“I’m just so happy,” Nymphia blubbers, smiling through the silver-wet stars in her eyes, because it’s all been such a beautiful blur, and it hasn’t hit her until right now that this is the rest of her life. “I can’t believe we get to do this forever.”

“God, you’re unbelievable, you know that?” Jane smiles. “Here I was thinking you stepped on a sea urchin. Or you got stung by a jellyfish. And I’d have to pee on your leg or something. Wouldn’t that be a great start to our honeymoon?”

“Shut up,” Nymphia sobs. “You’re ruining the moment!”

“M’sorry, my love,” Jane coos, wiping another tear from Nymphia’s face. “You’re the most sentimental girl alive, you know I can’t keep up with that.”

Nymphia just laughs, because yes, she’s endlessly sentimental, but, secretly, so is Jane. She still remembers the first time she’d opened a card from Jane and was met with pages filled almost entirely with ink, letters squished together to make room for as many as possible, words winding around whatever tacky quote was stamped in the middle. Jane had a way with words, despite whatever she’d tell you otherwise, and never ceased to amaze Nymphia with the sincerity she seemed to save just for her. 

(It crosses Nymphia’s mind then what her favorite part of the wedding really was - when Jane had recited her vows from memory in front of all their family and friends, had taken those impossibly beautiful things that were usually relinquished to their most intimate moments and had loved Nymphia enough to profess it in front of everyone. Not that they didn’t know already. You can’t hide a love as enormous as this one.)

“You keep up just fine,” Nymphia says softly, resting her cheek against Jane’s hand. She swears Jane’s eyes go misty just before she kisses her right there on the sand, beneath the stars, beneath the universe that brought them together.

-

Nymphia smiles when Jane crawls into bed. She’s in a gray crewneck that’s cut across her shoulders, and she’s propped up against fluffy pillows, and Jane is pushing the book out of her hands.

“Dinner was perfect,” Jane kisses her cheek before slipping into bed beside Nymphia. “But is it bad that I just wanted to get back to the room?”

“It’s terrible,” Nymphia turns over, slotting her back against Jane’s chest. “Is this the part where we get old and boring?”

“Yes,” Jane envelops Nymphia in her hold, fits against her in the way they’re going to for the rest of their lives, slides a hand down the length of her torso and up the inside of her thigh. 

“Not even gonna call you a whore or anything,” Jane kisses her ear. One hand cups Nymphia’s breast, the other dips between her legs. “Just gonna fuck you good and tell you how much I love you.”

“So boring,” Nymphia sighs, already melting away.

“So boring.”

(It’s not boring at all.)

-

Now that it’s hit Nymphia, she can’t stop crying every time the sheer enormity of it washes over her.

She’s always been emotional, but sometimes there’s a delay. Her life moves so fast, always swept up in the current of whatever dream she’s chasing, and sometimes it isn’t until she has a second to slow down that she realizes just how special every fleeting moment has been.

It’s been a whole week of being married, of wandering through villages and long hikes up mountain sides and afternoons spent sunning on the shore, of dawns and dinners and keeping a distance from the rest of the world as they know it. Now, Nymphia is sitting in a hammock at the edge of the beach, and she’s looking out over the water, and she’s basking in the overwhelming perfection of this moment. It’s something out of a dream, the sort of thing she’d long thought would be impossible for her to experience, and she can’t help but want to slow it all down, to draw out every precious moment long enough to memorize them, to make them last forever.

She’s sniffling just a bit when Jane finally finds her. She slides into place beside her, knees tucked into her chest, and stares quietly at the last of the sun as it sets over the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Jane murmurs, and it’s about the sunset, but it’s about Nymphia too. She presses a soft kiss to Nymphia’s shoulder.

“I don’t want it to end,” Nymphia sighs, unwilling to look away from the heaven that’s in front of her. They still have another day of this, one more perfect day at the edge of reality, and then they’ll be packing their things, leaving the quiet paradise of their bungalow and flying home. Back to work, back to their crazy, stupid friends, back to the never-ending rush and whirr of the city.

It’s not just that Nymphia doesn’t want the honeymoon to end. She doesn’t want this to end: her and Jane, so head-spinningly in love that nothing else matters, so finely attuned to one another, so freshly devoted to making it last. Nymphia wants so desperately to do it right, for their love to outlive that of either of their parents, for them to see all of their promises through for years to come. The possibility that they can’t pull it off is mind-numbingly terrifying, but the possibility that they can…

It’s an impossible promise to make to one another, and yet they’ve already done it. 

Nymphia sighs, mind swirling, and Jane somehow knows exactly what she means when she says, “what do we do now?”

Jane goes quiet for a moment, staring out over everything she’s ever wanted, and does her best to be brave for Nymphia.

“We sit out here until we’re too tired to keep our eyes open, and then I’ll take you to bed,” Jane says softly. “And then we have one more beautiful day, okay?”

“Okay,” Nymphia says, chewing on her cheek, still unable to look away from the landscape should it all disappear on her. “And then what?”

“And then we go home,” Jane looks over at Nymphia. “We go back to our house. And I’ll take you to work every morning, and then I’ll come home and be pissed about something, probably, and you’ll roll your eyes and tell me to shut up and I will, because I love you and, y’know, I generally think you’re right about everything. And we’ll have our stupid friends over and show them a billion pictures from our trip and kick them out so we can watch Project Runway and fuck. How does that sound?”

Nymphia giggles, and when she finally tears her gaze away from the beach, she realizes there’s another heaven right beside her, one that she gets to take home. And home, their home, the one with the fat cat and the mismatched furniture and their pictures all over the wall, that's another heaven too. Suddenly, the trip being over doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. Nymphia is almost looking forward to it.

“Are you scared?” Jane ventures softly, searching Nymphia’s face carefully. “It’s okay if you are.”

“Only a little,” Nymphia mumbles, voice wavering, eyes watering. 

“I’m a little scared too. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?” Jane continues, looking a little smaller all of a sudden, pushing through every worry that threatens to override her strong front. “I know we’ll have bad days too, Nymph. I know I’m gonna fuck up and not listen enough and piss you off sometimes, but I love you to fucking pieces. I’m gonna give you the best I’ve got, I promise you.”

Nymphia takes Jane’s hand, and there are silent tears streaming down her face, because it’s only been a week and she already loves Jane more than she did on the day that she married her. It’s enough love to override everything that threatens to pierce through their perfect bubble, enough to fuel the years to come, enough to roll over into the next life and the one after that.

“And if you get sick of me,” Jane teases, squeezing Nymphia’s hand. “Y’know. Just say the word.”

“Shut up. I’ll never get sick of you,” Nymphia cries, throwing her arms around Jane’s shoulders. Jane laughs into her neck, pulls her closer into a bone-crushing embrace. This is the best part - Nymphia married her best friend. It’s enough just to hold her, just to be beside her. All those other parts, the sex and the sweet nothings and the swearing each other to forever, they’re just the luxuries of being in love with her. 

“You promise?” Jane says into Nymphia’s hair. She knows what the answer will be. She just wants to hear it anyway.

“I promise,” Nymphia whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jane says. “With all my heart.”

(They go home two mornings later, back to the city and their couch and their cat, and they aren’t scared anymore, because the warm glow of one another lasts much longer than fleeting sunsets over foreign shores. They wake up together, kiss goodbye on the way to work, hang their wedding photos on the wall and muse over the best day of their lives for years to come. They have lots of good days, and a few bad ones, too. They fight, and then they talk, and they never go to bed angry, just put each other back together in the way that only they can. And then they wake up and love each other more in spite of it.

The honeymoon was great, but here’s the best part: they make it last.)

[forestials]

My secret Santa gift for the @officialtolkiensecretsanta for @tinnurin!

Two kings enjoying festive mulled wine together in winter.

[anawrites3]

the result of my smutwriting for @zeroducks-2  💕

Jaytim drunk sex

Jason took in the sight in front of him, desperate to carve it into his mind so he'll remember it even after waking up tomorrow. He admired Tim's face flushed from the alcohol, his lips swollen and wet from kissing, those beautiful eyes glazed over from the pleasure and looking back at him with adoration. Then he slowly lowered his gaze, staring at Tim's neck full of marks he sucked onto the skin there, at the perk nipples he wanted to play with again, at the hard muscles of his stomach that were tense with effort it took for him to move up and down Jason's cock.

”You're so beautiful” he panted out and groaned when Tim tightened around him in answer. ”Fuck, Timmy-”

”Feel good?” Tim asked breathlessly, pleasure dripping off his voice like a honey. His lips curled into a little playful smirk as he moved his hips in a sinful way that made Jason moan loudly. If he was less drunk, he'd probably worry about someone hearing them, but right now he didn't give a single fuck.

Nothing else mattered, just Tim and the way he jumped on his dick like a porn star.

”Yes yes- you're doing such a great job, baby.”

Jason couldn't reach far with the way Tim had his arms trapped against the mattress - half to support his weight and half just to show Jason who really was in control right now - but it was still enough for him to reach towards the strong tights that squeezed his waist. They were adorned with teeth marks and hickeys he left there just a few moments ago, and Jason couldn't stop himself from tracing them over with his fingers, stroking and digging his nails into the skin to leave yet another reminder of this night, of himself.

He wanted to remember all of this, he wanted Tim to remember and he intended to leave as many marks as it was possible to ensure that their bodies won't be able to forget, even if they did after sobering up.

”Call me that again, Jason.” Tim demanded, leaning down enough for their lips to brush.

Now it was Jason's turn to smirk. ”Oh, did you like that, baby? Like being called pretty names?”

Tim whined against his lips, before finally pressing them together in a proper kiss. Jason didn't hesitate to slip his tongue inside, eager to taste him again, to feel the bitter hint of beer that started it all.

”Again.”

”Baby.” Jason breathed out without stopping the kiss. ”So beautiful, Timmy.”

Done with just laying down, he grabbed more firmly at Tim's tights and thrusted up, making Tim moan so loudly it sounded almost like a scream. Tim's nails dug into Jason's skin hard enough to draw blood but neither of them paid it any attention. If anything, Jason was just happy with yet another reminder of Tim on his body.

”Jason- fuck, Jay-”

”Such a good boy, taking all of me like that” Jason praised. He met every roll of Tim’s hips with his owns and made him moan in that breathy way that drove Jason absolutely fucking crazy. ”I can't believe we never done this before, fuck, I'm never letting you go, baby.”

Maybe when they'll wake up in the morning they'll regret it. Maybe they'll consider this whole night a mistake, the biggest one they've ever made. Maybe they'll be so ashamed of what happened that they won't be able to look each other in the eye. Maybe.

Right now, nothing else mattered more.

[sheikahwarriork]

prompt for childhood enemies dimileth!!!

When Byleth was 6 years old, and Jeralt left her in the care of an inkeeper while he was doing merc jobs, a traveling caravan of rich people arrived to the inn, and she heard an ugly rich bowlcut blonde baby say his dad was the strongest and could beat anybody's dad and she choose violence.

Someone had to put the bowlcut in his place and make him understand Jeralt was the strongest.

Dimitri didn't want to fight back for his crest until Byleth called him a wussy... which is a word the mercs used around her and she didn't know what it meant.

(she fondly recalls this story as the first time she won a fight)

(dimitri still has bite scars from the incident and was very scared of girls for a long time)

(gustave was worried sick a commoner kid got the crown prince rabbies)

(they haven't connected the dots)

(This is the same anon who hates Dimitri's hair)

(hello dear dimitri's hair hater anon, i loved this prompt a lot! i changed some little points in the narration, but the main plotis the one you wrote. i really hope you'll like this :3)

wordcount: 1.2k

Byleth was extremely bored. Jeralt— no, he said to call him dad— Dad ­­went to do some cool mercenary stuff he said were 'too dangerous' for Byleth to attend. How silly! She was perfectly capable of taking care of enemies. She had the best teacher in the world, after all; the Blade Breaker’s abilities were well known along all Fodlan.

Of course, she was still only six, while her father was… How many years old was Jeralt again? She realised she didn’t know exactly. Probably the same age all dads were. Like three-hundred years old or something like that.

Byleth frowned. Did she need to wait three-hundred years to become as powerful as Jeralt? No, it was too far away from now! The little girl stood up. She needed to go training now.

She went out the little inn where Jeralt— Dad left her some days ago, heading for that nice spot she found out the day before to train with her new super powerful sword. (Well, wood sword. After the last time Byleth tried to train by herself, she almost chopped her own leg, so Jeralt took precautions by giving her a weapon that 'woudn’t hurt his precious little girl'. How melodramatic! But he chose it precisely for her. It was special. She wasn’t gonna break it!)

Her wandering gaze stopped when she noticed some people a few meters from her. She frowned. A tall guy with dark hair and a younger blonde boy with an ugly bowlcut were talking under a tree, the very tree of her perfect nice training spot.

She frowned again. As people said, Byleth wasn’t… the best at social interactions. She didn’t like talking to people, especially strangers. And she hated when she had to. Like this moment. She needed those two to get out of her new special training spot. She needed to train! To become more powerful! Like, right now!

The urge to train was bigger than her despise for talking to strangers, so she got closer to the tree, holding hard her sword. Byleth repeated in her mind Jeralt— Dad’s lessons about how ‘not to be too scary with other people’. She had to act nice.

“Hi. Get out of my training spot”.

A greeting! Super nice. ‘Good job, me’, she thought, pleased with herself.

The taller boy looked at her with surprise, but his expression quickly changed in a smile. “Hello, you fellow warrior”, he said in a condescending tone, winking.

Ugh. That was one of the thing Byleth hated the most: grown-ups treating her like she was just a little child!

“Get out, I said! I need to train”, she said, pointing at her sword.

Bowlcut boy frowned. “But you’re too young to train by your own!”

“What?!” Byleth exclaimed to him, annoyed.

“Yes! My dad says children shouldn’t fight until they grow up. And you look almost my age! So, you can’t train”, Bowlcut boy explained, nodding.

Byleth crossed her arms. “It doesn’t make sense! My dad helps me train since I was… younger than you!”

Bowlcut boy looked troubled. “Why does you dad train you?”

“Because I want to become strong, and he’s the strongest mercenary of all Fodlan!”, Byleth said with a hint of pride.

Now Bowlcut boy looked annoyed. “That’s not true! My dad is the strongest one! Glenn, tell her!” he added, looking at the taller annoying guy.

Tall-annoying guy was watching at them holding a hand over his mouth as if he wanted to hide it, slightly shaking. Then he proceeded to burst into laughter, hitting the ground with his fist, without saying a thing.

Byleth frowned. What a weird guy.

Bowlcut boy frowned too, but apparently he decided to let the matter drop, as he looked at Byleth again. “My dad is stronger! He has big muscles, and he’s the only one that can use a super uper big powerful spear!” Then he looked down at Tall-annoying guy, who was still on the floor. “Glenn! Tell her!”

The guy tried to stop laughing, but miserably failed. “So… sorry, Dimitri… you’ll have to… deal with her yourself… PUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Byleth crossed her arms; then, she got an idea. “Let’s settle this with a fight. However wins, has the strongest dad!”

Bowlcut boy’s eyes widened. “N… no! I can’t! I’ll hurt you!”

Byleth was really annoyed now: how dared that little brat imply he could beat her?!

She lifted her sword, pointing at Bowlcut boy. “Prepare yourself!”

“Oh, fuck!” Tall-annoying guy stopped laughing and stood up between them. “Ok, party’s over. Let’s try to get along, shall we?”

Bowlcut boy sighed in relief. Byleth sticked her tongue out, looking at him. “Your dad’s just a… wussy!”

Byleth really liked the word ‘wussy’. The way it sounded was funny. She didn’t exactly know the meaning, but Jeralt’s mercenaries often used it when someone was arguing (usually when drinking that weird ‘grown-ups fruit juice’) with some other of the band, getting the latter very angry. And Byleth wanted to make Bowlcut boy angry.

And she succeded! Bowlcut boy’s eyes widened, and he proceeded to run towards her. Byleth was ready, and promptly dodged the boy. She grabbed his arm, and sinked her teeth in it.

The boy screamed in pain until Tall-annoying boy managed to pull him away. “Shit shit shit! What the hell is wrong with you two?!” he said in a high-pitched tone. Bowlcut boy started crying.

‘Pathetic’, Byleth thought.

“Okay, little girl, we’re leaving, but promise me you’ll stay away from Dimitri!” Tall-annoying guy said, while taking Bowlcut boy in his arms. “We’re leaving soon anyway, so forget about this and do not tell anyone!” he added, going inside the inn, without waiting for Byleth to respond. “Shit! I did tell Gustave I’m not a good babysitter…” she heard him muttering, while Bowlcut boy was still crying.

She looked at the now closed door for a few seconds more, then turned around. “Okay. Melee training for day: done. I should practice with my sword now…”

“You did what?!” Jeralt—Dad screamed in shock.

Byleth crossed her arms. “I bit him, I told you! He was saying some crap about you!”

Dad looked at her in disbelief, and then bursted into laughter.

‘Why is everyone laughing at me today?!’

“You… you bit him… you bit the… freaking… AHAHAHAHAHA!” Dad was laughing so hard he didn’t finish the phrase.

Byleth shrugged, deciding to let him be. ‘It’s not like I’m gonna ever see Bowlcut boy again…’

15 years later

Byleth didn’t know if she was getting better at reading people, or if Jeralt was acting strange more than usual. Since she told him she chose to lead the Blue Lion House, her father started to make a soft giggle everytime she mentioned the house-leader, Dimitri. It was getting annoying.

“Are you going to tell me why do you make that sound everytime I mention Dimitri, dad?!” she finally said one afternoon, while her and Jeralt were having tea in her room.

Jeralt smiled. “Ah! Never. But maybe, you’ll have your answer if you’ll ever see his arm… Summer is starting, after all…”

[eybefioro]

Two words prompt: wishing well.

Fandom: Good Omens.

Have fun!

Aziraphale walked in the empty halls. His footsteps echoed loud in his ears.

At the distance – because it was unnerving how much distance there was in heaven – he could see the other angels coming to and fro. He couldn't even see their faces, or distinguish any characteristics in them, from where Aziraphale stood, they were nothing but silhouettes.

He missed Earth terribly. He missed his worn clothes, his comfortable routine. The little restaurants, the people. In a weird way he even missed the bad people, the mafia threatening his bookshop, and the rude costumers trying to buy his books. He missed music and he missed the chaotic streets, but above all, he missed Crowley.

He sighed, looking at the infinite glass panels. At the fake landscape bellow – they were only projections, he knew. Those glass panels were nothing but screens.

And he hated it.

He touched the window, and there was no warmth, no heat. Even the light coming from them was artificial and cold.

Even with all that space he felt trapped in a glass bowl. Those screens were a mimicry of freedom, simulating the complexity and creativity of humans and their world, while trapping the angels up there. Exposing what none of them could had, and that what all of them were lead to believe was undesirable.

His thoughts inevitably turned to Crowley again as he rested his forehead on the cold glass. The glass didn't smudge with the oil of his skin, didn't even fog with his breath. He sighed and closed his eyes.

He felt a tug on his chest. A twinge compelling him to open his eyes, to let himself hear; it was strange, but he followed the instinct and gave in, looking ahead again.

Tha landscape in the screen had changed. Instead of the miscellaneous buildings took off context, there was Crowley.

Aziraphale gasped, and looked around, trying to hide the scene with his wings – but there was no one to see it besides him, no one around.

To the other angels in the distance he also was naught but a silhouette.

His knees trembled, and he slid down to the floor, not understanding what he was seeing, in equal parts grateful and hurting for seeing the demon again.

There Crowley stood, just outside a tiny oasis surrounded by desert. A long forgotten place on earth, but that Aziraphale knew well, a place that once was the outerskirts of the oldest garden; the first miracle he'd ever performed. The humans had been suffering, had been parched. The sword could protect them, the fire could warm them at night, but it didn't provide respite in the vastness of the desert. Aziraphale had observed them, and had made the smallest water spring emerge, the plants had grown and had given them shadow so they could rest. The humans had thanked the guardian angel even without seeing him, even without knowing his name, and had placed rocks around the place to mark their gratitude.

It had been years since he had last visited it; Aziraphale started panicking. Crowley shouldn't be there, should never get near it. He didn't knew Crowley knew about it, but looking back now, it made sense that demon could be watching him watching the humans. It made sense that Crowley, of all the beings, would be the one to know about the singular sanctuary made for the angel Aziraphale. The only place were he could hear prayers from.

"Aziraphale."

The name made his ears ring.

"Aziraphale, do you hear me?"

He couldn’t respond, could only watch and hope, as tears cascaded down his cheeks.

"Aziraphale, here I am in your place of worship," Crowley took a step in the circle of rocks wincing, "Here I am, barefoot in this fucking sacred land," there was a mocking tone in Crowley's voice, even if the sincerity behind it was undeniable. Aziraphale wished he started hoping around instead of just standing, and that he'd leave; he could see the fumes in his feet, the way it was burning him, but he knew there was something even more dangerous in the middle of the oasis. "Before you start getting all twisted, I will not take the holy water, you idiot. I have no desire to die before I can embrace you again." Despite himself, Aziraphale chuckled between sobs, even as the panic churned in his veins. "I just wissh to talk. I will go down. I will be duke. I hate your plan. I hate to be back, and I hate that you're back up there," his voice was strained, hisses appearing, his demonic nature emerging as the pain flared from his feet, "but I trusssst you. Unfortunately I do. But I can't be an angel ever again. I will go down, and I will wait until we met again."

Crowley was looking up, but he suddenly averted his eyes, and Aziraphale knew he was crying. It took some moments, but he talked again after a sharp intake of breath, "I- Aziraphale, what I did- that wasn't how I wanted it to happen," he looked up again, and there was anger in his uncovered eyes, "But I am not ssorry for it. I do not wissh to be forgiven for anything. And if you ever try to forgive me again for loving you I swear to g- Sssomeone I will- I will never talk to you again." He was smiling wickedly, making Aziraphale laugh hearing his words back to him.

"I'm serious, though." He took some steps into the oasis, and Aziraphale’s heart tightened. Crowley's gait was too stiff, too controlled, as he tried to keep going without jumping around, and he got closer and closer to the small water spring.

"Tosssss the coin so we sssee who gets to do the dance thiss time around, eh?" And he flinged the coin in the water, and he was gone. The screen turned back to the inane projection, and Aziraphale felt a weight in his pocket.

The coin. A promise that they would see each other again. A material object in heaven, providing a weird type of confort, a materiality he craved.

He got up, trying to recompose himself, smoothing down the waistcoat that couldn't be smoothed.

Walking towards his desk, the weight in his pocket was grounding; he worried the coin, the same that had been tossed for Edinburgh, the one that he knew had a weightened side, and thanked the demon.

Send me a prompt!

[good-beanswrites]

Happy Valentine's Day @artsy-azure ! Here's your gift for the @milgram-valentines-exchange 💖

Fuuta x Minato (oc) ~ The first section takes place right after his T2 interrogation, and then skips ahead to a tiny post-milgram scene :3 I hope you enjoy!

Fuuta thought he would drown. Not sink into water or anything like that; he was worried the voices filling his mind would completely suffocate him. There were too many of them. Too many people, all of them knowing every dark corner of his mind, and shouting into it. It should have been impossible for one voice – one softer than all the rest – to reach him.

Then again, everything about that voice should have been impossible.

“Fuuta… Hey, Fuuta… Are you alright?”

He blinked. He scrambled over to the nearest wall. There were no visible openings in the cell, not a single imperfection across any of the surfaces, yet Milgram’s intercom system functioned just fine. Most days it would just deliver the ear-rattling bell to tell him the time. On bad days, it carried Es’ summons to the interrogation room for his extraction. On worse days, it carried Es’ summons to the courtroom for his verdict.

On the very best days, it would bring him the voice of Hoshizawa Minato.

(Though, seeing as he had just returned from a catastrophic extraction, he wasn’t sure what type of day it was yet.)

He tore his attention away from the chorus of judgements and insults. He pressed his shoulder against the wall, still unsure where the sound was coming from, but knowing it was nearby.

“I’m here,” he said, hushed. More than anything he wanted to yell and scream, but he would never risk it, now. Minato had gone through a hell of a lot to break into Milgram’s systems, and he wouldn’t let his big mouth ruin all that. It had already ruined just about everything else.

“How are you holding up?”

Fuuta pressed his lips together. “Any news on getting us out of here?” was all he said.

Hundreds of miles away (or perhaps next door – neither of them could really know), Minato’s fingers adjusted his headset.

“I’m still working on it. These things take time.” 

“I’m definitely gonna need it after today.” 

“Your interrogation… I know.”

Fuuta pulled his hood down tighter, tufts of ginger hair ruffling underneath. “How much did you see?” 

Minato’s eyes flicked over to another monitor. It displayed the files he’d gained access to a few hours prior. It would crush Fuuta to hear about yet another person peeking into his personal moments, so he opted for a non-answer.

“I don’t have cameras. I don’t see much at all.”

“Tch, I’m not a damn idiot, I know that! I meant, how much did you hear?”

“...Everything.” 

Fuuta squeezed his eye shut. He bit a curse back. There came silence.

Minato actually double checked some of his monitors, making sure they hadn’t been disconnected.

“So then, you know,” Fuuta said at last. “There’s no fucking way I’m getting forgiven this time around.”

“You can’t be so sure. The–”

“No one in their right mind would forgive me after that.” He winced, remembering his harsh cries at the end of the interrogation. What kind of accused murderer shouted “I’ll kill you” as their plea of innocence? When he wasn’t running his mouth with threats, he’d been pleading with Es like some kind of coward. And Minato has heard all of it. Fuuta could only imagine the horrors that the extraction held. Who could forgive him after they saw his anger, or worse, his pleasure? Who could ever look kindly on someone like that?

“I would.”

Fuuta’s eyes widened. He let himself sink further into the wall. A strangled laugh escaped him. He let his head hang down. No matter how much he wanted to protest, Minato was as honest as they come. If he said he forgave Fuuta, he meant it. 

“Yeah, like I said, no one in their right mind.”

Minato cracked a smile. 

“You don’t think I’m in my right mind?”

Fuuta scoffed. “You post pictures of clothes for a living. And in your free time, you plan impossible jailbreaks for murderers. Doesn’t sound quite sane to me.”

“Aw, come on. Do you think it’s impossible?” 

Minato was still smirking, ready for some more of their typical back and forth. Fuuta surprised him by pausing. 

“Well, it should be impossible. But…”

They’d been speaking for some time now. Whether it was quick comments when Es wasn’t around or long conversations into the night. Fuuta had seen many sides of him, and knew that he had what it took. He wasn’t like the vast majority of internet personalities – weak or needy or inexperienced. He’d proved himself time and time again. If anyone could pull this off, it would be Minato. 

“If it’s you… there’s a chance.”

“You’ve got that right. You can count on me, alright?”

Fuuta took a deep breath. The tightness of the uniform and the bandages seemed to lessen.

“Although,” Minato put on a falsely serious voice, “we’re gonna have a long talk when you get out… about that yellow jacket you own.”

“Haaah? What’s wrong with my jacket?’

“There are a hundred stylish ways to wear it and that was not one.”

“The fuck does that mean?” 

“You’ll be grateful when someone who ‘posts pictures of clothes for a living’ helps with your wardrobe.” 

Fuuta could feel his chest release even more. Minato spoke so easily about the future, as if it were something real and waiting for him. 

“As if I’d let you touch any of my outfits.”

“As if you could stop me!”

He took another breath. He smiled. No drowning today.

---

After checking the clock fourteen times, Fuuta thought once more couldn’t hurt. It was still two minutes to noon, just like the last few times he’d checked. His frequent checking hadn’t brought the train to the station any faster.

Minato had told him that he was safe. He’d said this meeting wasn’t that big of a risk. The dust had settled. He just had to relax. 

The announcement overhead signaled the next stop was his. It screeched into the station, a slight murmur rising as the doors opened onto a platform of moving people. 

Fuuta lowered his head. His eyepatch would surely draw attention to himself, so he kept his hood down and his mask up. He just needed to make it to the station entrance. 

He made his way around stiff businessmen and sticky children. He tried to shuffle around a young man, but he seemed to step further into Fuuta’s path. Giving the stranger a quick glance, he started to mumble something to squeeze past. 

“Fuuta,” the man said, gaping in surprise. “It’s me.”

He inhaled sharply.

It was only three words, but it was enough to recognize his voice from a thousand conversations. 

Fuuta’s eye widened as he took Minato in. It was strange to finally see his face. Finally, here was the person he’d spent hours talking to. The person he’d spent days passing the time with. The person he’d spent nights falling for. Here was the one who had saved his life, in more ways than he could count.

His first observation was, fuck, this guy is way outta my league. His next was, he’s shorter than I was expecting. Then, gah, I’m probably shorter than he was expecting. He was in the middle of realizing, he has the nicest smile I think I’ve ever seen, when Minato crushed him in a hug.

Fuuta returned the embrace. His arms tightened around Minato. He was real. He was here. Fuuta’s hands grasped at his clothes and his hair. He was unable to control a laugh bubbling up inside of him. 

“You did it. My god, you did it.”

He breathed into Minato’s shoulder. His chest shook with some laughter, some tears. 

For a moment wondered if people would notice the heartfelt reunion outside of the train, then he realized he didn’t care in the slightest. 

Minato was laughing along with him in that beautiful, familiar voice of his. No more crackling speakers or hidden intercoms – he spoke right into his ear, hair tickling his cheek. Fuuta could have stayed forever in his arms, just like that. All that mattered was he felt safe. At last, he felt happy.

Talk about impossible. 

[mirkwood]

your angbang posting has been giving me LIFE!!! so 7+ angbang for the kiss prompt pleaseee (it just feels right)

hey ashleigh!!! thank you for the ask, it does feel right indeed <3

Prompt 7 : to shut them up

Pairing : Melkor / Mairon

Melkor is… talking.  Mairon is too tired and annoyed to actually bother with listening to what he has to say. Utumno has been a cacophony of noises and screams and shouts from its inhabitants that now it’s quite impossible to focus for even one more second on what his Lord is saying. The Maia’s gaze falls on Melkor’s lips, moving and forming words that he can’t quite bother to actually listen to or even try to decipher. He really hopes his Master is not sharing one of his grand ideas. That would mean he has to actually pay attention, plan it through and put it in action. In any other case, he would do it in the blink of an eye, so willing and ready as he is to please his Lord.  Now, all he wants is for Melkor to stop talking.  He should not be able to get a headache. It is impossible. But here he is, sprawled on their shared bed, with black dots dancing behind his shut eyelids.  “What say you, Mairon?” he hears Melkor ask, and for a moment after, all is quiet.  Mairon smiles in relief, a big wide smile that is quite not him. He is moderate and reserved with his reactions, anyone acquainted with the Maia would know this. It is an unsettling sight.  And Melkor notices this as well. His brows furrowed in confusion, he observes his Mairon from where he is standing a few feet away from their bed.  He thinks he is beautiful. The very epitome of perfection and grace on his bed, with his golden locks all over the pillows and his body languidly stretched over the sheets.  Mairon rests his hands against his stomach, the fabric of his loose tunic soft beneath his fingers. He feels the empty spot next to him dip and shift under the weight of Melkor settling on the bed.  “You know,” Melkor begins, and Mairon inwardly curses everything that has ever existed. He can feel Melkor’s gaze on him, soft yet calculating.  “I believe it would be wise to follow that course of action,” Melkor continues, and Mairon has not the slightest inkling of what he is talking about. “Whatever you say, my precious,” Mairon responds, and he can practically sense the subtle tilt of Melkor's head. “What do you mean? Do you no longer believe we ought to–”  Melkor’s words are cut off abruptly when Mairon lifts his head from the pillows and reaches for him, fists clutching his robes and pulling him into a rough, messy kiss. Their teeth clash, but Mairon pays it no mind.  Despite his initial shock, Melkor eagerly returns the kiss, his hands resting on Mairon’s hips, pushing him back down on the bed. Mairon complies willingly, trapped between the pillows and Melkor’s body.  Yet he pulls away too soon, his head tilting back and away from Melkor’s attempts to follow him and taste him again.  Mairon gently presses two fingers against Melkor’s parted lips.  “Later, precious,” he promises and Melkor grunts in protest. “Hush now.” For once, his Master relents and actually listens to him.  The blessed silence that follows is the greatest of gifts bestowed upon Mairon.

Send me a ship and a number

[rubiarts]

Hello! I wanna get back to using tumblr so I reorganized my tags to make it easier to navigate. new followers this is where you'll find my art:

General tags:.

#fe #ssb #comic #drawing asks #pokemon #persona

AUs:

#bird au #mom titania au

OC tags:

#oc #genny #kiku #pinoak3.0

[fourgods-nobrakes]

Talos/Xarl, Talos feeling a certain way about Xarl taking a duel as *his* champion?

Watching Xarl fight—watching him win fights—is nothing new; Talos has been doing that since before either of them left Nostramo. It's the way Xarl bows to him beforehand, dedicating the fight to him in a gesture that's minimal but pointed, that makes his heart beat faster, makes him feel every clash of blades in the forty-six seconds before the other duelist is on the floor bleeding. Talos' mouth waters and his cock twitches inside his armor and the second they get back to the ship he's going to reward his champion for that performance.

[arecaceae175]

For the prompt game: salamander

“What is that?” Sky asked.

Wild held out the small creature cradled in his hands. “It’s a salamander!”

“But what is it?” Sky asked again. His hand was hovering near the creature as it squirmed in Wild’s hold.

“It’s kind of like a small, slimy lizard? They live mostly in water,” Wild explained. Sky nodded and continued to watch the creature with wide eyes.

Showing Sky new plants or animals from his Hyrule was on of Wild’s favorite things. Sky was always so entranced and he never lost an ounce of enthusiasm.

“Here, hold out your hands,” Wild said. Sky quickly complied, putting his hands flat with his pinkies touching.

“Are you sure I won’t hurt it?” Sky asked.

“You won’t hurt it. It’ll get away before you do. Cup your hands a little more- there, perfect. Ready?” Wild asked.

“Yes!” Sky answered without a second of hesitation.

Wild gently tilted his hands into Sky’s and the salamander scuttled into Sky’s hands. Sky gasped and smiled widely as he cupped his hands further around the salamander.

“You’re right, it’s so slimy!” Sky said with a laugh. Wild giggled along with him.

The salamander tried to crawl onto Sky’s arm and Sky jerked his hands to try to keep hold of it. The salamander got spooked and squirmed madly, and Sky lost his grip. The creature landed on the ground and very quickly ran back under the rocks in the stream.

“Oops,” Sky said. He was still smiling widely.

[optiwashere]

The fact that I never wrote the tiefling party for Shadowheart and Asheera is fucking criminal. So here it is. It's expanded from the game, because of course it is, and I had a lot of fun just writing these two talking as I always do.

Gotta use any excuse to make my sweet gay ladies kiss, right?

Rating: T for Touches and Tenderness

Category: F/F

Ship: Shadowheart/Trans Fem Tav

Tags and AO3 Summary under the break.

Tags: First Dates, First Kiss, Romance, Light Angst, Emerald Grove Tiefling Party (Baldur's Gate), Falling In Love, Banter, Trans Female Character, Half-Orc Tav, is the trans character, Gender Identity, very lightly on that topic, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Protectiveness, a paladin uses Lay on Hands to try to fight Shar's vindictiveness, Let's see how that plays out

AO3 Summary:

The survivors of the raid on the grove want to celebrate all they've managed to save. During the bittersweet evening, Asheera finds Shadowheart sitting by herself on the cliffside. There they share wine, bad jokes, and more.

[shubaka]

Secret relationship, wearing each other’s clothes and bigporsche if you want<3 (is that their shipname? Do they have one??)

AHHH! OKAY. "Relationship" is interpreted loosely here and uhhh listen, I apparently just want to make Big's life a little sadder. Sorry.

The first time it happens is the day after Porsche accidentally interrupts Kinn and his escort, courtesy of Big. 

“I’m not, you know.”

“What?” Porsche stops in his tracks in the middle of the hallway and turns to give Big an unimpressed look. “You’re not what?” 

“I’m not homophobic, or whatever.” Big shifts his weight onto one leg and slides his good hand into his pocket, feigning nonchalance, as if this conversation isn’t worse than getting shot. “You misunderstood yesterday.”

Porsche steps into Big’s space and looks directly into Big’s eyes, clearly searching for something, but what exactly that is, Big doesn’t know. What he does know is that the glow of the hallway lights highlight Porsche’s doe-like brown irises and softens the smooth skin of his cheeks. He’s unbearably pretty, and Big wants to punch something. 

“Hmm,” Porsche crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side, “I don’t believe you.”

Big doesn’t know why he does it, but he slams his mouth against Porsche’s in a truly terrible kiss. 

“Did you just try to headbutt me?” Porsche shoves Big’s shoulder, nearly pushing him off-balance at the unexpected move. 

“No!” This time Big does it because he’s angry and has something to prove. Big brings up his right hand and curls his hand viciously across the back of Porsche’s head and pulls their faces together. Porsche opens his mouth to shout or curse or bitch – Big doesn’t care. And he shoves his tongue into Porsche’s mouth and licks away every one of Porsche’s protests. 

When Big feels Porsche’s jaw go slack and the tension in his body release as he leans pliantly against Big’s own, Big eases the kiss and lets the slow glide of their tongues turn into soft presses of lips and stuttered panting. 

With a final nip at Porsche’s lower lip, Big pulls back and gives him a dark look. “That was a kiss.”

As he walks away, Big hears Porsche slump against the wall and mumble, “He’s not the person I kissed at the docks, was he?”

-

The next time it happens is the day after the auction and Porsche’s subsequent punishment. 

Ken is up and ready to leave the second Porsche makes it to the end of the training room, giving Big a shit-eating grin and a parting “I’ll leave him to you. I’m sick of looking at him, and you owe me one, man,” as he exits the room.

Big sighs and crouches down to untie Porsche’s hands. 

Once his hands are free, Porsche rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling for a breath before closing his eyes and banging his fists on the floor with a grunt. 

Big sighs again, “This punishment is for your own good. You have to toughen up. We can’t just let anyone guard Khun Kinn.” 

Porsche says nothing. 

Big sighs again and Porsche hears Big’s footsteps as he walks away. After a moment the footsteps return and something small lands on Porsche’s stomach. 

Porsche reaches for it and holds it up above his head, and soon Big’s head comes into view as he leans over Porsche. 

“It’s ointment.” Big gestures to the red abrasions littered across Porsche’s chest. 

Porsche raises an eyebrow. 

Big raises an eyebrow in response. 

Porsche raises his other eyebrow and gestures to his chest.

“Oh, fuck you. I’m not playing nurse. You can put that on yourself.” 

Porsch cracks a small grin and sits up slowly. “Okay. But can you help me with something else?”

“What?”

Porsche reaches up and tugs on Big’s tie, causing him to stumble down onto his knees in front of Porsche. Porsche glances at Big’s lips. 

“I just need to test something.” Porsche makes eye contact with Big and waits while Big takes his turn to drop his gaze down to Porsche’s lips and back up.

They both move forward at the same time, but this kiss is unlike their first. 

It’s less angry and more tentative. Big can feel Porsche trembling but there is no passion to it. He pulls back and takes in Porsche’s lost expression. 

“What are you trying to do?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Big uncurls Porsche’s fingers from where they are clenched around his tie and then stands up. There’s a rustle of clothes and Porsche feels Big’s suit jacket envelope him. “We shouldn’t do this. Not while you’re like this. Go to your room. Put on that ointment and get some rest. We still have to report for duty tomorrow.” 

Porsche watches Big leave and he sits and thinks about a hazy kiss by the docks, an enlightening kiss in a hallway, sitting naked and confused in Kinn’s bed, and sitting here, half-naked on the floor, with Big’s jacket draped around his shoulders and a jar of ointment in his hands. 

-

Sometime after Kinn and Porsche get kidnapped, Big sees the way they look at each other, and he smells Kinn’s cologne on Porsche’s skin, and it doesn’t happen again.

[another-clive-blog]

HI SYL WHAT ARE YOUR IDEAS FOR CLIVE WEEK???? asking for.... For a friend

And that friend is me ! :D Hi Vik !!!

(Just want to make it clear that I have never made any week prompts before lol, this is just what my sleep-deprived mind came up with yesterday xD )

Day 1: Family Day 2: Song/lyrics Day 3: Apologies Day 4: Valentine's day Day 5: Jack of all trades Day 6: AU/Crossover Day 7: Nuisance

[windfighter]

Could you write digimon frontier where someone finds/falls into one of Grumblemons burrows? Or just something about him. (He is very underrated)

I tried, but it turned out to be more about Fairymon ops x,x

Takes place after the end of Frontier, when the kids have gone home and the legendary warriors are the new guardians of the digital world:

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Winding Tunnels

The ground disappeared beneath Fairymon’s feet. She yelped, fell. Her wings beat behind her, kept her from crashing completely. She landed gently on a secret second ground, hidden below the first. Tilted her head and listened to the sounds of the area. Wind howled, swept through tight corridors. A tunnel. Several even, a whole system. Had a Drimogemon made it to her area? She put her hand to the wall, followed it deeper.

The tunnels went in all kinds of directions. She listened for the wind, let it guide her through them. Through very tight corridors where the wind whistled high notes for her, and through wider tunnels where it was but a whisper. She didn’t know how long she had walked, but her feet were starting to ache.

”What are you doing here?”

Fairymon tilted her head at the voice. Grottomon.

”I could ask you the same thing”, she answered.

The air was a lot more still in this place, the wind quieter. A cave. Fairymon’s wings beat, lifted her from the ground and she flew over to where she could sense Grottomon.

”I found your tunnel in my area”, she explained.

Didn’t land. Grottomon moved around, but didn’t look at her. She didn’t look at him either, but the movements in the air told her where he was. Unthreatening.

”The ground is my area”, he answered.

Simple as that. Fairymon didn’t agree.

”The mountains are your area, not the Soyokaze village and surrounding forest.”

She put her hands to her side.

”We split the world in ten areas to not step on each other’s toes after the incident”, she continued. ”We should all honor that arrangement until the Angels are back.”

”Don’t think I don’t know about you sneaking over to Ranamon”, Grottomon answered.

Fairymon’s cheeks felt hot. She crossed her arms over her chest.

”That’s… a different matter”, she said.

”Uhu.”

He knocked on one of the walls, shuffled around and knocked again, probably preparing for another tunnel. Fairymon sighed. She wasn’t angry and Grottomon obviously though she was.

”I just want to know why”, she said. ”And to know where the tunnels are so no other digimon get lost in here.”

”Are you lost?” Grottomon asked.

There was laughter in his voice. Fairymon clenched her hands, stretched her back to look more assertive.

”Of course not!”

She was so lost, but she could always follow the wind out. Grottomon laughed.

”Faster travel”, he said. ”Been over to The Dark Continent a bit lately.”

”Why are you…”

”Wolfmon and I had some things to discuss”, he said.

What exactly he didn’t say. Fairymon didn’t ask.

”I am not spying on you or whatever you’re implying”, Grottomon continued.

Moved to another area of the room. It was big, Fairymon couldn’t hear the wind reach the walls. It seemed to gather somewhere above her. Probably a vent or something. Maybe she could get out that way.

”My area’s not big enough”, he continued.

They had split the world in ten equal areas. One for each of the legendary warrior, since tensions had been high after the humans left. Fairymon was just about to point it out.

”All Dig-mons are in my area”, Grottomon continued. ”No tunnels allowed anywhere else and they need to dig. The Digmons, the Armadillomons, the Drimogemons. Me. We need to dig, it’s in our data. There’s almost no ground left to dig in here.”

He turned towards Fairymon. She made an attempt to turn towards him as well.

”Some tunnels flooded because the ground under the lake got too thin and now the lake’s gone”, he went on. ”Water’s gone, plants are wilting and everyone is starting to starve. I can’t reach Ranamon because she’s in the ocean.”

Fairymon landed on the ground.

”You should have said something.”

”I’m telling you now.”

He turned away again.

”We’re trying to fix it, but we still need more dirt. More space. Fresh water. Wolfmon’s been supplying some food while we sort it out. Only one of you who’ll speak to me.”

Fairymon laughed.

”Can’t imagine the dark continent is great for him.”

She didn’t know why Wolfmon had chosen that area, and why Löwemon had taken the Forest Terminal and Seraphimon’s castle. It wasn’t her place to speculate, but obviously he felt lonely if he reached out to Grottomon of all digimons. Fairymon walked after Grottomon, followed him for a bit as he knocked on the walls.

”We can help you”, she said after a few minutes. ”We could use a few digmons in my area. And I’m sure the others would also like to help.”

She smiled.

”It’s not a competition, we’re taking care of this world together.”

”Some of us more together than others”, he answered.

But there’s wasn’t malice in his voice, just teasing. Fairymon blushed again and looked away.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stopped, she heard him draw something on the wall.

”Anyway, I’ll talk with Ranamon”, she continued. ”And it’s probably time we all met up.”

”Because the last meeting went great.”

The last meeting… Fairymon shuddered. Agnimon and Chackmon had gotten into a fight, followed by Löwemon and Wolfmon refusing to talk to each other. Blitzmon and Mercuremon had done something and then half the building had exploded. Arbormon spent most of the meeting sleeping while Ranamon drew figures on the table. Fairymon had gotten into a fight with Agnimon the moment Chackmon stopped arguing and left. Calling it a disaster didn’t do it justice. Fairymon had no idea what Grottomon had been doing throughout it either.

”Well… We’ve grown a bit since then”, Fairymon said. Hoped. ”We were all still affected by the humans back then. Or the corruption. I’m sure this time it’ll be fine.”

The only one she had spoken to since then was Ranamon, but hope springs eternal. So, she really hoped they would do better this time. Grottomon grabbed something and went back to the wall.

”I can figure it out on my own”, he said. ”Don’t need you all stenching this place up.”

”I’ll send word about the meeting”, Fairymon answered.

Turned around, Now, where was the tunnel she had arrived through? Grottomon laughed.

”Tell me again how you aren’t lost.”

”I’m not lost”, she said.

The air rose to the ceiling. Fairymon’s wings beat behind her, lifted her from the ground.

”Ciao!”

She hoped the hole in the ceiling was big enough as she flew through it. The air guided her, let her know where the walls where so she could avoid them. She still scraped against it in a particular thight spot, but then she felt warmth against her face. Sunlight, a fresh breeze. She was above ground again. She turned, flew back towards the Soyokaze Village. Now she just needed to figure out where they could all meet up.