#thank you for the prompt i ADORED it

[blood-mocha-latte]

Okay hear me out. A Valentine's Day ficlet wherein everyone in H Company is out on fancy dates except ace!Chuckler, who is S T O K E D to have the apartment to himself. He's gonna Tom Cruise underwear dance yo.

bestie you absolute GENIUS by god. ace!chuckler my beloved!! loosier sort of Shoved themselves into this, which i hope is okay!

i love this too much. so much. all the much. i hope you enjoy <3

~

“Please don’t tell me those are what I think they are.” 

Chuckler smiled, smug, and adjusted the sunglasses across the bridge of his nose. “I think I look classy.” He said, and Lucky looked at him with something that matched vague horror.

“They’re bigger than the continental US.” He said, sounding somewhat impressed. “And pink.”

“And stylish.” Runner jumped in easily, rounding their kitchen island with a cup of coffee and sitting across from Leckie. “You could be on the cover of Vogue.”

Lew grinned, and tilted his face up so the sunglasses wouldn’t fall off. “Because of my stunning good looks?”

He’d gotten the glasses for half off at the gas station that sat kitty-corner from their apartment, and it was, in short, the best three quarters and a dime he ever spent. 

“I think I’m gonna wear them everywhere.” He said, and took them off only to admire them, the heart-shape of their frames, the red tint of the shades. “Paint ‘em green, go out for a night in the town.”

“Get horribly lost again.” Runner agreed, and Chuckler made a face at him.

“Okay, well, that wasn’t on me.” He said loftily, crossing his arms and setting the glasses down on the table. “Someone took the charger so my phone was dead, so I couldn’t Google-walk home—”

“—that was extenuating-fucking-circumstances, I was supposed to get a call from a publisher—” Leckie is jumping in with a protest before Lew can even finishing talking, holding up his hands defensively, and Runner started talking over him after that, a large jumble of shouting that ceased only when Leckie’s door cracked open.

Lucky nearly fell out of his chair when Hoosier shuffled out of his room, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hair sticking up in every direction. “Coffee.” He said, and Hoosier grunted, a nonverbal confirmation that sounded only slightly murderous.

“I hate you.” He said, shuffling the short distance between their bedroom and the dining room table and dropping into Leckie’s now unoccupied seat. Leckie in question was pouring a second mug of coffee, still steaming, and was quick to move and set it in front of Bill, pressing a kiss to his temple that Hoosier was too slow to bat away.

“I love you, and I’ll get you whatever you want tonight.” He promised, already turning back into the kitchen to find the creamer. Hoosier curved his hands around the mug, bringing his face down to inhale the steam.

“I want a new boyfriend.” He muttered to it, and Runner snorted.

“Bad night?” He asked, and Chuckler raised his eyebrows, pushing his glasses closer to Hoosier when the other just gave him a blank look.

“I was having trouble with my novel.” Leckie said absently, clattering around at the counter as he did something that Lew couldn’t see. “And was trying to force myself to write, which—”

“Which means that I got one and a half hours of sleep last night, and also am going to get a gun.” Hoosier said over him, face still against his mug. “To kill you, Bob, if that wasn’t clear.”

“It’s very clear. And very understandable.” Leckie said, turning back around with one of the semi-stale croissants they’d gotten at the same gas station that Chuckler had acquired his glasses at. “Have I told you how gorgeous you are?”

“I’m breaking up with you.” Hoosier said. “We’re done. Get out of my house.” Leckie hummed, setting the croissant in front of him and crossing an arm over the front of his chest, dropping his face down to his hair before kissing his forehead. 

“I’ve got an awesome day planned.” He said, and Hoosier groaned, holding up a hand to fend him off. “You’re gonna love it—”

“I’m gonna be too tired to enjoy it—”

“Well,” Chuckler interrupted, pushing his sunglasses back onto his face when Hoosier showed no interest in them. “I mean. I slept great.”

Hoosier just blinked at him. “Would you like company tonight?”

“Baby—” Leckie started, holding his hands out, but Lew was already shaking his head, vehement. 

“No way in hell!” He said cheerfully, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. “Today for me is about me. Today for you is about you and Lucky, it’s not my fault he’s a terrible partner.”

Hoosier dropped his forehead to the table with a groan, and Leckie shot Chuckler a vaguely threatening look. Lew just shrugged, still grinning, and Runner snorted.

“I mean. I’m gonna have a great day too.” He offered, and Chuckler held his hand up in a high five.

“Hell yeah!” He said, enthused. “But you can’t stay here. I have dibs.”

Leckie made some sort of frustrated sound, still clattering around in something that seemed to be in an effort to reap forgiveness. “When can we come back?” He asked, complaining, and Hoosier snorted.

“Why do you care?” He muttered to the table. “You’re never getting laid again.”

Chuckler just shrugged. “Sleep over at Hoosier’s place.” He offered to Lucky, and Hoosier groaned over him in protest. 

“He’s sleeping in the fucking street before he’s getting into my bed again.” He said, and Leckie sighed.

So. Very par for the course.

“I’ll give you seven dollars if we can come back by nine.” Lucky offered, and Lew grinned, delighted.

“Nope! This is the first time I get to be by myself in nine months, by darling friends, and I don’t want to see any of your faces for the next twenty-four hours. You have thirty minutes to get out of here.” 

He finished off his own coffee, and Hoosier pushed his face off of the table to squint at him, under eyes bruised purple. Leckie moved around him again, attempting to kiss his cheek, and Hoosier steered him away with an open palm to the face.

“I like your glasses.” He told Chuckler.

“Thanks.” Lew said, cheerful. “I like your croissant.”

“Thanks. You can have it, if you want. You can have the man who made it, too.”

“Babe—” 

Chuckler snorted, wrinkling his nose. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

--

His plan for the night, as written out:

Wrap all of Leckie’s shoes in cellophane.

Last month, Lew had woken up at four in the morning with his singularly obtained Buffy the Vampire Slayer comic book shrink wrapped, and Leckie sitting at their kitchen table, sipping at coffee, calmly writing out what seemed to be a letter.

Finally, he had time to seek his revenge.

(He had also conveniently forgotten that the reason Leckie’d wrapped his comic book at all was because Chuckler had replaced all of Hoosier’s keys with plastic baby rings.)

Do his laundry. In peace. 

Last time, Runner had gotten cheetos in the dryer. Lew wasn’t even sure how he managed that, but never again. Never again.

Text Hoosier to make sure he hasn’t actually killed Lucky.

“Hi.”

“Hey! Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’m still mad, though, so. Uh.”

“Lucky plan something good?”

“Ugh. Yeah. It’s really sweet, the motherfucker. I’m never gonna forgive him for this.”

“He took you to the Observatory, didn’t he?”

“Yep. The bastard. How’s it going for you?”

“I mean. If it makes you feel better, he has a nice present at home, now.”

“Hm. Make him suffer for me.”

“Okay! But don’t make him too upset. This is, like, a big night for him.”

“...”

“Hello?”

“Chuckler. You have to tell me if he’s going to propose. Legally. It’s — you can get arrested if you don’t.”

“Hm. I don’t think I can. But he’s not gonna propose—”

“I — I mean, we’ve talked about this, and I’d say yes, but if he proposes on fucking Valentines day—”

“He’s not gonna propose! I promise. Scouts honor! Roommates honor!”

“That is the most cliche shit I’ve ever heard—” 

“All I did was tell you to be nice to him! That doesn’t mean he’s going to ask you to marry him—” 

“Oh, holy fuck, I knew that he was being weirdly nice—”

Make a cake.

Although whatever drama Hoosier and Leckie were going through was interesting enough, he also had a recipe that he wanted to try and last time he’d tried to bake anything of any sort, Hoosier had poured jalapeno sauce into it. 

Which, come to think of it, may have been because Chuckler popped all of the keys out of Leckie’s laptop.

Listen to Simon and Garfunkel.

Runner hated Simon and Garfunkel, and because Chuckler was to be a good person, he didn’t blast it through the house when he was home.

But he wasn’t home, was he!

Lew loved Valentine's Day.

Call Hoosier one more time. Just to be extra certain Leckie isn’t dead.

“Oh, good, you picked up! Please tell me you haven’t got engaged—”

“What? Oh, no. Bob has been, uh. Well. Bob’s been arrested, so—”

“Bob’s been what—” 

“But it’s not my fault, I feel I should make that incredibly clear—”

“Uh-huh. Okay, well, I’m not coming and getting you. Call Runner.”

“No, no—”

“It’s my day, Hoosier! You know this! It’s my day, I’m not dragging my ass down to the station—”

“My boyfriend’s in jail, Lew, I think that’s extenuating circumstances—”

“Ope, the Sound of Silence just came on, so I’m gonna obey its wise title and hang up. Call Runner!”

“I — uh. Fine. It’s your day.”

“It really is! Good luck. Don’t say anything without a lawyer.”

Yeah. Lew loved Valentine’s Day.

[erwinsvow]

Do you think rafe would wear necklace with his girl’s initial?? Like his girl bought it as a present and i’m curious on how rafe would react 😃

"so what i'm hearin' is you got me somethin' with my own money?" rafe asks, looking down at the neatly wrapped box, a pretty white ribbon looped around it. your fingers play with the satin bow, anxious for rafe to open it.

"rafe!" you start with a whine but stop yourself. "it's the thought that counts, okay?" he laughs, taking the gift from your hands.

"sure, kid. whatever you say." he undoes the bow, setting it aside since he knows you'll want to keep it. the wrapping paper gets ripped up and off, while you protest that it could have been reused. he opens the box, looking down at a thin silver chain. there's a little pendant hanging down, the shape of your initial.

he looks up from the chain at you, waiting for his response with big eyes and parted lips. you're playing with your R necklace, the way you always do when you're nervous.

"d-do you like it? i thought we could match," you say quietly, biting you lower lip in anticipation.

"yeah?" he questions, taking the jewelry out of the box and into his hand, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

"only if you like it. you don't have to wear it, i just-"

"just what?" he looks you right in the eyes, wanting your real answer, not just you bouncing around his question from nerves.

"i just wanted to make sure everyone knows you're mine." you lip stings from where you're biting down, rafe look into your eyes.

he opens his arms, and you crawl into his lap, taking the chain from his palm and putting it around his neck, clipping it into place. you smile, pressing a kiss to rafe's cheek, his hands tight on your waist.

"got that right, kid."

[ansonmountdaily]

Captain Christopher Pike's outfits in STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS → Season 1 - 2 (requested by anonymous)

(Young Lieutenant Pike in the field jacket and red operations uniform is from a 1x06 "Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach" deleted scene on the Season 1 dvd. It's a little flashback scene with Pike in a shuttle. It ends with him beaming back to USS Aryabhatta, the ship he served on at the time with Number One/Una.)

Star Trek: Discovery outfits here.

[ratinayellowbandana]

Hound "baby boy" of Ill Omen for prompts!

first off, thank you for carrying this whole ship on your back. you are our strongest soldier and we appreciate you.

second, even more thanks for sending this my way! I hope this is something like what you had in mind!

if anyone else sees this and would like to toss a little prompt my way, feel free :)

wc: 934

cw: body horror…kind of? it’s just canonically what the good boy looks like

~~~

Imogen loves Laudna. She does. Quite a lot, in fact.

Because it is a fact. 

It may as well be written in stone. In the stars. Recorded on one of those dusty scrolls in elegant script and stuck on a shelf in some stuffy library for the next bored student who may happen across it and learn of two witches who saved the world.

Laudna, it must be noted, is a woman of many quirks. 

And Imogen, it must be noted, adores her for them. 

They are just as much a part of Laudna as the angle of her nose, the brightness in her eyes. As are her projects, macabre and scrounged as they often are, and so Imogen adores them, too. 

(If it takes her a moment to come around, Laudna must never know. Each new creation, presented to Imogen with all the glee of a child in a sweets shop, will only ever be met with enthusiasm. Laudna, she knows, has spent too long squirreling away the odd parts of herself. Imogen is determined to recover them.)

“Come here, darling,” Laudna calls, and the flesh-and-bone creature that scared the everloving fuck out of Imogen the first time he burst from his maker’s chest trots happily to her side, tongue lolling from a fleshless snout. 

The hound twines between Laudna’s legs, and she lifts her skirts to allow him through. He leans heavily against the inside of her knee, and Laudna beams. She bends at the waist to wrap the creature in spindly arms. His back arches, and Imogen can hear the vertebrae curving, clacking, as Laudna scratches behind his one intact ear. The ichor-tipped remnant of a tail begins to wag, shaking them both with the force of it.

He spots Imogen several paces away, and his green eyes glow, peering at her curiously.

Laudna has stopped her scritches, and the hound tilts his big head. Laudna looks up, meets Imogen’s fond gaze, and her lips split into a wide grin.

“Go on,” she pats the creature’s sides encouragingly, “say hello if you like.”

The hellhound bounds forward, released from his command. 

Imogen recalls the day he learned his tricks.

Laudna had found Imogen lounging beneath a copse of trees one afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to sink, casting the forest in dappled shades of orange and gold. The festering hound loped diligently at her heels. His paws colored the leaf-strewn ground iridescent black in their wake. 

“Look!” Laudna had said, chest puffed. She turned to her newest creation and pointed one finger. “You’ve been so obedient all afternoon. I’ll see about giving you something from my collection if your other mom approves of your skills. I should have a deer leg that will suit you nicely.” She contemplated for a moment. “Ready?” 

The hound stretched into a bow, muscle snapping over exposed bone, yawned, and shook. Drops of blood and ichor spattered the clearing, but Imogen hardly noticed, too caught up in Laudna’s casual statement. 

She had said it nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just gifted Imogen something extraordinarily precious. As if Imogen’s senses hadn’t suddenly gone askew. As if she hadn’t just sent Imogen’s worldview slip-sliding into something new and dangerous and so welcome that it felt like a homecoming. Her mind spun until she was almost giddy with it. She wondered, then, how something said so simply could feel so significant. If Laudna understood what she had done. 

She had appointed Imogen the caretaker of a fragment of her soul. Of a creature that had been born of her, born from her. Crafted from the essence of her with whispered words and a desire to protect. 

“Imogen?” Laudna had said then, “Are you ready?”

And Imogen had glanced between Laudna and her hound, who sat on bleeding haunches and looked expectantly at his mother, and it was all she could do to swallow the creak in her throat.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Now, as the hound nearly bowls her over, Imogen cannot find it within herself to be mad at him. Not even at the dark stains on her dress. They’ll come out with a prestidigitation or two. She knows from experience. 

She falls back in the grass and stares down twin emeralds. A broad tongue laps the side of her face, and she laughs, trying to dodge a cold, wet nose against her cheek. Her hands come up to cup the sides of his muzzle. 

“Hi, baby boy,” she coos. She rubs at his ears, and he presses harder into her palm, groaning loudly. She can feel the vibration in her chest.

Laudna scolds, “What have I said about knocking people over?” Her hands rest firmly on her hips. “Honestly, Imogen, you could at least discipline him. How will he learn?”

Imogen rolls her eyes, shrugs. “I’m the fun mom. He comes to me because he knows he can’t get away with anything when you’re around.”

Laudna huffs. “I’m sorry that I want our son to be civilized.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” The hound flops to the ground, sprawling over Imogen’s outstretched legs, and she lets out an oomph of surprise. “Are you going to join us down here?” 

Laudna sighs and settles beside Imogen, resting her head on Imogen’s shoulder. She runs her hands over the creature’s exposed belly, avoiding the biggest of the perpetually oozing wounds. His jaw unhinges happily. His tail thumps a steady rhythm against her shin.

Imogen presses a kiss to the top of Laudna’s head, and Laudna relaxes into her.

A soft smile spreads across Imogen’s lips.

[draw-the-squad-like-this]

Draw your characters like this! (src)

[pocketseizure]

okay vague fic prompts but i would kill for something with Spirit Tracks Zelda and Link just being best buds together! During or after the game eithers cool Also babi ST Zelda and grandma Tetra interacting. yknow cute stuff.

“You don’t have to wear a dress, you know.” Tetra winced at her own words. That had come out much harsher than she intended.

“Why wouldn’t I wear a dress?” As if proving her point, Zelda twirled her skirts like a dancer. The pleats of the fabric shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the mullioned windows.

“The Lokomo Festival only comes once a year. Wouldn’t you like to run around and play in the town square?”

“Yes!” Zelda beamed up at her. “I’ve been looking forward to it since last year, and I want to be pretty.”

“Aren’t you worried about getting dirt on your nice dress?” Tetra did her best to keep her voice level. Her daughter had been just as pragmatic as she was herself, but this child was an entirely different creature. It would never occur to the girl to disguise herself, nor did she feel any compunction about dressing like the legendary princess whose name she’d inherited.

So much had happened in the years since Tetra founded New Hyrule. The castle had grown, as had the town surrounding it, and the land was prosperous and safe. Meanwhile, she’d gotten old, almost without noticing it.

Why anyone would want to wear a frilly pink dress was beyond her, but there was no reason why a younger generation needed to share her way of thinking. If she had learned anything during the time she spent on the Great Sea, it was that no one could stop the world from moving on.

“Are you coming too, Grandma? We can go together, if you like.” The gems adorning Zelda’s tiara sparkled in the morning sun just as brightly as her eyes. There was no malice in the girl’s invitation, but Tetra still resented the girl’s assumption that her grandmother would need to be chaperoned.

“No, dear, but thank you,” Tetra replied. “You go on without me. I was just thinking that today would be a fine day to head out to sea.”

Perhaps for the last time, she didn’t add. Even now, the unexplored reaches of the ocean were filled with danger, and the flotsam and jetsam that had once fallen beneath the waves had a tendency to rise. She’d done good work in New Hyrule, to be sure, but the kingdom would do just fine without her.

Tetra watched as Zelda gave a final twirl in front of the mirror and dashed out to meet the waiting day. It would be good, she thought, to feel the wind on her face again.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

hi perhaps you can do 6 with kandrew or kevneil? 😭😭😭

oh you're choosing violence. okay

6. Teary Kiss

There is not a substitute for alcohol. Not one that works to the same effect, not when one has relied on alcohol for a specific result for so long.

The thing is, alcohol does not make Kevin feel better. Neither, really, does it make him feel worse. It simply allows him to feel without thinking. It allows him to be content without the reminders of why he shouldn't be creeping in; it allows him to feel terrible, to break down and break open and come to pieces, without allowing him to think himself pathetic, at least in the moment.

It's a misconception, maybe, that he drinks to avoid breaking down, when in reality he drinks to allow the breaking down to happen with less loathing and panic to cloud over it.

Drinking is a luxurious vice the Perfect Court do not have time for. Crying is a weakness that is not allowed.

Misconceptions, maybe, that no longer ring true with as much consequence, but still that Kevin only allows synchronously—only at once, rather than in sequence.

Which is why when he feels the tell-tale lump in his throat amidst practice, he swallows it down. When the backs of his eyes start to burn, he tugs his helmet more securely into place and focuses more intently on the ball. When his hand begins to tremor on his racket, he tightens his grip.

Andrew notices. He is the only one who always does. It is why, when the rest of their teammates linger on the court for Wymack's debrief, Kevin allows himself to be pulled into the changing rooms and pushed onto a bench.

Kevin's fingers fumble at the straps of his helmet before Andrew bats them away, and then his hair is falling freely over his forehead and he has an unhindered view of Andrew's face when Andrew says, "Breathe."

Kevin does, but the breath catches in his throat. He wraps his still trembling fingers around his neck, as if putting pressure on the outside will ease the one on the inside, maybe, or just to push the pressure further down, back to where it keeps permanent residence in his chest.

"Stop it," Andrew berates. His fingers slip under Kevin's, leaving a burning trail where they brush the sensitive skin over Kevin's Adam's apple, and pull Kevin's hand away. Andrew presses fingertips firmly against Kevin's palm, against the scar there, before letting their hands hang loosely together. "Whatever it is, let go of it," he demands, in contrast to how easily he's holding on.

Kevin wants, needs to listen and to obey, if only to abide by the deference drilled into him, if only so the pressure will lighten long enough for him to breathe. But the possibility of it overflowing to the point it consumes him, pulling him down into depths he can not escape from when there is nothing to mediate its force, keeps him clinging to the precipice.

Andrew raises his free hand and grips Kevin's chin in his fingers, pulling Kevin's gaze up towards him. Andrew's gaze is fire, golden and molten, but it never threatens to burn Kevin. It is a controlled, steady heat that carefully draws Kevin into the circle of flames, protectively wrapping him up without letting the embers scorch him. "You are here," Andrew says. "No one and nothing may take you away. Do you understand?"

"Andrew," Kevin says, a plead all of its own. His breath hitches, and Andrew's fingers tighten around his own.

"Yes or no?" Andrew finally asks, and mercifully does not push for more than Kevin's shaky agreement, pressing his lips gently to Kevin's in direct opposition to how his nails dig sharply into Kevin's skin. Kevin breaks, and Andrew does not flinch at the dampness that runs down to his fingers, does not retreat at the tang of salt between their mouths.

When he does eventually pull away, he moves his hand from Kevin's chin to his hair. Tangling his fingers in the strands, he guides Kevin's head gently towards his middle, allowing Kevin to cry into his jersey, despite how obvious the tears will appear on the white fabric.

There is not a substitute for alcohol, which is good, because Kevin imagines Andrew would not take kindly to the comparison. Andrew, Kevin has come to realise, is different to any drug, in that he does not work to dull or heighten or play on the mind in any way; he simply stands in the face of the storm and weathers it, unmoved and unchanged regardless of its kind or its force. In its wake, he will not have been brought down, and he will not hesitate to draw Kevin back up with him.

It is not the same effect and does not bring the same result, but Kevin finds he may favour the taste of it, all the same.

send me a number + ship

[mortimerlatrice]

For a drawing prompt.... what about Vegas sitting with his pant legs in the pool? :')

you don't have to add porsche in there. honestly, it's worse (funnier) if vegas is just sitting in a pool like that and sipping wine on his own. :')

I know we all love them wet and pathetic ♡

[alasarys]

norrussell + blanket? 🧡

💙🧡 A snippet of sappiness ...

It's not what George was looking for in the cupboard, behind plastic containers of Posca pens and sketchbooks, neatly packed CDJs and a frankly astonishing number of shoeboxes, at least half of which, it turns out, are filled with beaded bracelets from fans. It shouldn't have been possible to find it, because George had got the distinct impression that Lando chucked it years ago – “What would I do with that, mate? Got the real thing now. Much better.”

Nonetheless, several house moves and one possibly-a-bit-of-a-fib later, there it is, carefully folded so it fits into a Nike Air Force 1 dust bag, in the deepest recesses of their cupboard. George tucks the blanket with his face on it back into the space it came from. “Sentimental git,” he murmurs as he continues his search. 

(send me a ship/character and a prompt, and I'll give you five sentences)

[spaceratprodigy]

💫✨ Precious Stars in the Sky ✨💫

Merry Christmas @fairymistrose !! 💖💙

I've been so excited to show off our favorite cotton candy girlies again 💕

Commission Info | Ko-Fi | My Links

[designtheendless]

Okay,so imagine Dream wearing a pair of fuzzy duck slippers that quack with every step he takes ,he would wear them while he's in the dreaming because i just imagine he would get tired of wearing boots all the time, sometime you just got to wear a pair of comfy slippers.

I could not agree more, thank you for helping me decide what I’m drawing tonight 🦆

[magicaldragons]

hi! been reading s&z and just wanted to know, is this going to be a long fic? if there is anything else you want to say about (not spoilers ofc) what would it be, like what did you envision the fic for? sorry just curious about the bts of the fic

and I am really excited for the fifth chapter mentioned in the tags!

hey love, thank you for asking! it's so cool that you're interested in the bts:

so, s&o started out as a drabble, which came to me shortly after i first watched – because salaar was so perfectly made for omegaverse, like it just fits in. no tailoring needed.

there were two ideas in particular that interested me:

if varadha was an omega, he never would have revealed it, he would have done everything to keep that information to himself. so, how far would he go, and how would it work? so, yes, this fic will include varadha hiding his dynamic (but obviously not from the one person he trusts with this information, the one person he trusts with himself)

if varadha and deva were soulmates, how would that manifest? because the most important part of salaar isn't that varadeva are tied together by fate. it's that they will always choose each other. so i had to stay true to that, and i wondered how it would affect the twenty five years they spent apart.

so initially, there were two scenes i had in mind:

• one of varadha's presentation (which is the fifth chapter i mention in the tags) and

• what happens in jail before the voting (can't say too much for risk of spoilers, lol)

BUT the concept snowballed and gained exposition and plotlines, so yes, to answer your question, this will be a longer fic with the way things are looking there are parts i have written that are very dark (think: would require trigger warnings) so i'm debating on whether to include them and keep this authentic and raw, or to keep them out and make this a lighter experience (though, the angst will remain), so everyone: feel free to give me suggestions regarding that

also, the concept and setup for this fic is not at all what i had planned when i first started writing, (which is why it's taking time to move the chapters around and add sections as i figure out the best way to tell this story) – that's why s&o is a fic that i will gradually release while simultaneously working on other fics, just so i can make sure i give it the time it needs without losing patience oof

which also leads me to say: as i shift sections around, chapter five may not remain chapter five, and i honestly am not entirely sure as to when it will show up, but i do hope you enjoy the fic as i update

– rey <3

[softquietsteadylove]

Hii, can i request a drunk confession au? pretty please 🩷🤍

Thena who doesn't really drink much, wants to change things a little and drink more at this party the eternals have to attend, but she can not hold her alcohol to save her live and get terribly drunk.

The woman can barely stand, is talking nonsense, can get hurt if unsupervised, it's a miracle she didn't pass out in a ditch yet, so it's Gilgamesh duty to get her to her room safely.

When they are near her room, Thena starts telling her new friend her secret, she is in love with Gil!! but he can't know, she thinks he is soo charming and nice and beautiful and he is really stong and soo attractive, but he can't know.

And Gil is there blusing, because the love of his live just confessed her love to him but he can't do anything about it because she is very very drunk, so he just says "Gil? Never heard of him but he sounds nice, you should talk to him"

"To Gilgamesh!"

Cups of mead were raised in the air to celebrate the victory of the Strongest Eternal. Truly, it was a celebration of all of them--one's success was everyone's. The Eternal himself was happy to brush it off with a modest smile and a charming blush.

Thena smiled, raising one in her own hand, although she never actually partook in drink. She wasn't one for it--didn't like the taste, had no stomach for it. Her blood was too fast in her system, at least that was what she thought. Warriors did not need revelry.

Gilgamesh happily accepted three mugs and gulped them each down. He was good with revelry, and lucky he seemed so made for mirth and celebration. The townspeople happily jostled him in good humour.

Thena tilted her head as Kingo made his way over. There were times when Kingo could feign annoyance or reluctance to partake in their celebrations at times, but he and Gil had much in common in their characters.

He gave Gil a solid pat on the back, of course waving his hand from having slapped the metallic back of his armour. Kingo gave her a genial smile. "Come on, T, I thought you'd be in a good mood."

"I am."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Y'know, not being in a bad mood doesn't make it a good one."

She offered no further comment, looking at Gil again. He was attempting to move away from being the centre of attention. He was made for good times, of course, but he had a shyness to him, too. He was slowly gravitating in their direction.

"Loosen up a little, T," Kingo advised her quietly, and at a distance she would strictly forbid for anyone but him and her sisters. "It'll make him happy if you relax some."

She bristled under her skin. He was right. And after the fight they'd had today, she wanted Gilgamesh to find some reprieve from the ravages of the Deviant world outside Babylon's walls. She smiled at him from afar, even taking a sip of mead (it tasted awful).

"Hey," Gil smiled at her as he finally reached her side, replacing Kingo as the latter went to bug their smallest sibling. "I thought you didn't like ferment?"

She did not. But she smiled at him, "surely it is beloved for a reason."

He shrugged, taking another sip of his own. "It can be nice after a tough day."

She felt as if every sip she swallowed could be felt like a hot rock, travelling down her throat and then dispersing through her veins. Not even their senses could communicate such things, but she certainly felt herself succumbing to the fever of it. "You should rest."

He looked around the room, people partaking in the party and high spirits. "They wanted to celebrate us. It's silly, but they all worked hard to make this stuff. Seems a waste if we don't stay for even a little of it."

Such a soft heart, her Gilgamesh had.

Thena tilted her head, letting her eyes travel over the form of her partner for every and all battles. They had worked as well together today as any other. She had been airborne when she had seen Gilgamesh deal the last, finishing blow. It was impressive, even for an Eternal.

He was quite good at grasping her waist to throw her up in the air.

"The people here are nice," he commented very simply, but very honestly. He raised his cup for another sip.

She found herself mirroring his actions, as if it were the same as matching his rhythm in a battle. It was becoming easier with each sip. "They are."

Sersi was having a wonderful time, dancing with the women. Ikaris was hovering awkwardly, unknowing of how to insert himself but always looming over their sister's back.

Druig and Makkari were both having fun taunting and riling the various tradesmen sitting around the edges of the room. Now, that was a pair made for mirth and merriment. Even more so than Kingo and Sprite, who were having a drinking contest, much to some horror in the eyes of those who did know that Sprite was the same as her siblings in every way that mattered.

Ajak was watching from above, a funny look on her face, before disappearing, probably to wherever Phastos was hiding.

"Y'know I asked Ajak," Gilgamesh began quietly, having followed her gaze up to their leader before her departure. "She said that there were a few injuries, but no one died."

That was good news, worthy of revelry. Some battles would always have casualties, but every day in which they managed to escape with minimal loss was deserving of celebration.

"Thanks to you," she volunteered rather eagerly. He took another sip, and so, as did she. "You killed that thing all but single-handedly."

"Ah," he made a sound to excuse her flattery, taking on a bashful grin again. It pushed up the apples of his cheeks to the corners of his eyes. The lines indicating his good mood were tempting to her fingers. "None of us fight single-handed. It's all of us, together."

"Hm," she agreed, to a point. Indeed, they all fought together out there, as a team. But she often was of the opinion that Gilgamesh carried more than his fair share of the work on his wide shoulders. Wide, strong shoulders. She tilted her head. "Ikaris could do more."

Gilgamesh immediately snorted some laughter but turned his head towards her. "Thena!--you can't say that about your brother."

She rolled her eyes, happily swaying her head to and fro. It felt loose on top of her neck. "It is precisely because he is my brother that I may say that."

He partner merely chuckled, hiding it in his cup. Was it not yet empty? Hers was. "Okay, fine, just don't let Ajak hear you saying that. She'll make you two go on a bonding walk again."

It had been less of a walk and more a watch duty during which they had been all but physically shackled together. They had done their duty, surveilled the area. Then, once again within sight of Babylon Temple, Thena had kicked him from behind and clear through the city walls.

She had been scolded by both Ajak and Phastos, but she had no regrets.

She sighed, examining the bottom of her clay cup with only a stray drop swirling around within. "I would rather walk with you."

Gilgamesh said nothing of the plain but oddly sentimental remark. He looked at her, catching the way she was examining her vessel. "You okay?"

"Hm," she said again, and Gilgamesh always understood her little noises. No one else would. She tossed the cup onto the nearest table. It did not fall, but she hadn't done so with particular care either.

"Hey." Gilgamesh reached for her hand. He wasn't reprimanding her, but it was more than just curiosity in his voice. He grasped the hand that had tossed her cup away like a pebble.

She watched his hand apprehend hers. It was gentle, and soft, just like everything he did with her. Gilgamesh was kind, of course, but it was not mere kindness when he held her hand like this. Like he had been doing ever since they touched down on the planet.

"Look at me," he whispered. The chatter of the room faded and she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek as he drew her face closer to his. The warmth of his palms added to her feeling of basking in the sun, like a lizard on a hot rock.

She swayed in his grasp, no longer caring if her knees were up to the task of walking. Perhaps she was more fatigued from the fight than she had first anticipated. What funny thought; she laughed.

"Whoa, hey," Gilgamesh moved closer, catching her against him before she could lean too far off her feet. He held her carefully, even casting glances around them. "Thena, you don't seem good."

She felt good, though, borderline ecstatic. It felt wonderful to be leaning on him like this, and her head felt as if she were being carried, rocking back and forth with the breeze. She pulled her head up, taking in Gil's concerned look and deep brown eyes. "Do you always look like this?"

His face contorted. It was a handsome face. "We gotta find Ajak."

Thena pointed, although she frowned when Ajak was no longer looking over them from the mezzanine. "She's gone somewhere."

"Okay," her companion said gently. He moved her more within his grasp, although still encouraging her to try and use her feet. "Let's get you to bed, huh? That sound good?"

"Bed," she remarked. They each had their own rooms in the temple. She would rather just sleep on the Domo. But Ajak said it was better for them to integrate themselves...somewhere...or something.

"Bed," he repeated, guiding her quietly towards the edge of the room to the nearest corridor. "You can get some rest, Thena."

She blinked. Her vision felt bleary, her feet as if they weighed...too much. "You know me."

He chuckled next to her. Her palm could feel the rumble of his chest against the plate of armour. He had a big, strong chest. "Yeah, I do know you."

She blinked, finally in the corridor. At least there was more air. "Do you know everyone?"

"Well, not everyone," he continued to laugh, as if she were oh-so-very funny.

She sighed, tilting her head against his shoulder. It was comfortable, and it allowed her to peek at the moon on their way to wherever he was guiding her. "Do you know Gilgamesh?"

"Uh... "

The delay was too long. Anyone who didn't know Gilgamesh was living a life bereft of joy. Thena leaned heavier on her walking assistance. "Gilgamesh is...the very best on the planet. On this planet, or any!"

He swayed from her outburst, trying to hold her both carefully and delicately.

She looked at him again. Her hand even came up to touch his cheeks. She liked the hair around his lips. It drew attention to them. "He is the very best. Kind, sweet, very funny. And he's handsome."

Her companion turned a peculiar shade of red. "O-Oh?"

She nodded, distracted for a moment by her hair swaying into her view. "He's kind, and sweet, and he's funny."

"You did say that."

She pursed her lips. Did she? "And handsome. And strong--he's quite good at lifting me, throwing me."

"Throwing you?"

"When we're fighting together," she sighed again. It was a happy sigh, though. "Fighting is when I may touch him all I like."

Again, he turned a shade of red.

"Off the battlefield I must control myself," she lamented. Not that she was always desiring to touch him. Or perhaps she was, based on what she was saying. "But something about him is so magnetic. One wishes to be as close to him as possible."

"Is that so?"

She stared ahead. They were at her room. It was her bed in front of her. But she didn't like her bed. "Oh."

"Are you okay?"

She looked at her friend again. He was lowering her to sit on her bed. But she didn't like sleeping. It was hard work. And sometimes she would sleep in Gil's bed instead. She preferred Gil's bed. "I miss Gil."

Her companion lowered her arms gently, setting her hands on her lap. She liked his arms. They were thick, but also soft. "You, uh, you should tell him."

"Hm," she pursed her lips. She didn't want to, for whatever reason she could not recall at the moment. "I don't think I should."

He was lying her down on her side, pulling her linen blanket over her. "Why not?"

She tried to tilt her head at him but it was already on the pillow. She wished it was on Gil's chest. "I don't know how to tell him I love him, I think."

"Well," he chuckled again, before leaning in and pressing a kiss on her hair. "I bet he'll understand, no matter how you try to tell him."

That was true, Gilgamesh always understood her.

[yungchaeng]

can i request #3 fluff prompt with nayeon? and i don't think i've said it but i seriously love your writing!

Smile (Twice: Nayeon)

genre: fluff - word count: 1025

As studious as you were, not even the toughest exams could get you to frequent the library as much as you did lately…but she could.

Maybe it was the furrow of her brow every time she eagerly turned a page of a book she was reading. Or perhaps you were enticed by the way she almost crawled into the book at what seemed like particularly exciting parts, and she’d adjust the specs she wore with a swift motion of her finger whenever it nearly fell down her nose.

Whatever it was, it made you hope she’d walk through the door every time you were at the library. It kept your mind clouded with thoughts of her when you tried to concentrate and made you long for just a second longer whenever she’d leave. You were so struck by her.

Today, she walked in in the morning time - earlier than usual, a pleasant surprise. She wore a simple crop top paired with some sweats, but with the way she way you were eyeing her she might as well have walked in wearing the most impressive outfit at a fashion show. You almost couldn’t keep your eyes off of her.

She walked past you over to her usual seat on the other side of the library with a new book firmly pressed to her side. Briefly, your eyes met hers and you panicked, immediately burying your head back into your book as you slapped yourself across the face mentally.

How awkward. Way to go.

It took some courage to look her way again. She seemed to have long forgotten about your little interaction as she was already staring intently into the book that captivated her almost as much as you were captivated by her.

“Hi.”

You looked up at the person suddenly standing over you and were met with one of the teens working at the library. You recognized him from the many times you saw him stacking away books and he had even helped you find some textbooks once or twice, but never had you had casual conversation.

“Uhm…hi?” you half-asked.

“Okay, I’ll get right to the point.” He huffed. “Me and some co-workers have this bet about how long it would take you to go talk to her….and I’m kinda losing.”

You gave the boy a horrified look. Although you wanted to play dumb and ask what exactly he was talking about, you knew you’d been found out. You’d been staring at this mystery girl for way too long and you just got called out for it by a bunch of kids. What does one even say in this situation?

“So how about I give you a free coffee if you just up and talk to her?” he asked, or rather pleaded. “Please?” His determination truly made you wonder how much money this bet was truly for (and if you could get a cut of it).

However, you took this as your sign that the time was now or never. With some expert negotiation, you managed to get two free coffees from the deal. One for you, one for her.

Then, after a small peptalk from teen-aged cupid, you huffed and made your way over to the girl you’d been infatuated with for weeks. What could go wrong? Worst case scenario, you’d have two free coffees and could stay up for hours, caffeinated and replaying where it all went wrong.

Oh gosh, it was too late turn back now.

When you got to her, you tried to ignore your heart beating quicker. You were more nervous than you’d ever been in your entire life, but you tried wishing that feeling away. You shot one more glance at the librarian and he gave you a thumbs up along with an order to smile. He was most likely right, the nervous look on your face was probably not a sight to see.

“Hi.” You awkwardly coughed, but she didn’t hear you. Panicked, you looked over at the boy again, but his head was already buried in his hands as he slowly shook it from side to side.

Okay, you were on your own.

“Hey, there.” You tried again, louder this time.

Thankfully, this did catch her attention. She looked up with a questioning look and closed her book. “Hi?”

You fumbled a bit over your words when she looked at you. “I, uh…you’re probably busy, but I- uhm, I’ve seen you around and kind of wanted to get to know you…do you like coffee?” you asked, and offered her one of the coffee cups in your hands.

“I’m actually more of a tea girl…” she grimaced.

“Oh.” you raised your eyebrows, already slowly backing away and sighing at the silent rejection. “My bad, sorry-“

“Relax. I was kidding.” The girl snickered and patted the spot next to her. “I like coffee, come sit.”

“Oh, thank god.” You quickly spoke as you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Without hesitation, you sat next to her and let out a deep sigh of relief.

“You’re funny.” She spoke. “I like you.”

And then she smiled at you. Brightly, from ear to ear. For the first time, you saw an expression other than concentration and her usual intense focus on whatever she was reading. So, you marvelled at her cute gummy smile, displaying her bunny teeth and the full extent of her adorable cheeks – and you took a second to appreciate the sight, a smile of your own having found your lips as well.

You often thought she couldn’t get any more enthralling but were very glad that she had proved you wrong about this.  

“What?” she asked when you stared, that smile still dawned on her pretty face.

“Nothing.” you chuckled and adored her. “It’s just, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile…and you’re really beautiful.”

When she shyly laughed, you bit down your lip, trying to stop yourself from smiling too hard. If you weren’t smitten before, you most definitely were now and, in that moment, you vowed to yourself to make her smile for as long as she’d let you.

[monwillica]

@forcebookish not sure what formal event they're at but i imagine someone is trying to make a speech

[amoxicillin-tangent]

Venus and Jupiter Conjunction: Planets to almost touch in night sky

i.

we are supposed to be the gods of this story.

the only problem is that i don't know the first thing about lightning and you don't know the first thing about love, so we end up in this tepid middleground between apotheosis and apostasy instead.

[make me a paragon, on my terms. a saint, but my body was never yours to burn. press the kiss of death to my lips and i will fall even more in love with myself. isn't it kind of pointless to evangelize me? isn't there always some sense of non-consent in disenchantment?}

ii.

we are not the gods of this story. 

i know this because you run off my roof like a rainstorm and i keep the scent of our death-marked-love lodged between my teeth, a sacrifice snatched from a burning altar.

everything i've ever loved has left me, burning the same dogshit promises like barbecued birds in their funeral pyre mouths, all charred feathers and maimed incense tumbling up their throats. someone will love you in all you are and i promise it can never be me.

i contemplate what it'd be like to unleash a hellstorm of dopamine and oxytocin on everyone who ever abandoned me but that just sounds a little too tiring so i settle for mortality instead. 

iii.

a news article from 2022 reads "Venus and Jupiter Conjunction: Planets to almost touch in night sky,"

wouldn't you love to be that holy, you ask. so alluring in our failure that everyone gathers around to watch us almost-touch?

i look up at the sky and shake my head.

no. i wouldn't trade our sin for the world.

iv.

how's that for apotheosis? you immortalize me on mondays and wednesdays and during business hours and every other weekend when all my half-truths cave in on each other. how much longer before pathology swallows our pride for us and leaves us both tangled in misgiving?

vi.

we are not gods, you whisper.

and i reply, we were never meant to be.

vii.

we can barely even handle being human.

[@nosebleedclub, march prompt #1, Venus and Jupiter]