#thank you sm for the prompt!!

[puckingdisaster]

And number 19 from the situations: de-aged with the Black wings?

When Graham walked into the lockerroom and discovered a literal child in Emil's stall, he kind of..

..freaked out about it big time. As in, he almost got a heart attack. "What the- who are you? And what are you doing here? Children should definitely not be in here!"

"I don't know. I'm Emil! Who are you?!

The kid couldn't be older than six years old. But still- there was something eerily familiar about him. Graham forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to think logically. He heard about stuff like this happening- people in high stress situations just reverting back to an age where they didn't have to worry about anything fundamental. As a way of the body and mind protecting itself. And apparently, that's exactly what happened to his winger. Graham could hear his teammates coming closer from the ice after morning skate, so he quickly grabbed Emil's hand and pulled him up.

"We're gonna play a little game kid. You're going to hide for a moment in the break room, and I'm gonna search for you in a bit, okay? You don't have to worry, I'll be back in a bit."

He gently sent the kid off, cringing internally at how creepy this must sound. But he thought Emil probably wouldn't want the whole team to know about that. Graham had to tell Brian at least. And the A's. Oh god why did it have to be him who found that kid.

He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible when he pulled his captain into a quiet corner, telling him briefly what happened. Brian seemed to handle the news better than he did, and reassured him that he'd take care of it and Graham should just wait a little.

So, after most of the guys cleared out of the room and basically only Brian, him, the alternates and Shawn were left, the captain cut to the chase right away.

"So, I asked you to stay because Emil somehow reverted back to a toddler, and while we need to know why that happened, we also need to make sure baby Emil has as much fun as possible. So instead of panicking now, Graham is going to get the kid and we're all going to be happy and cheerful and we're going to take him to mine and spend a day with him. And hopefully work out why this happened."

They all nodded, so Graham quickly went to the breakroom to get Emil, congratulating him on winning that awesome game. Emil was delighted. And, just like his adult counterpart, as soon as he got together with the other guys, he never. Stopped. Talking.

[sohelish]

@escapedartgeek asked: is that new? when did that get here?

'When did what get h— mm?' The blonde woman turned around slowly, not expecting to see a medium-sized box resting neatly in the centre of the room. Her eyes grew wide with confusion before curiosity settled in. It was a rare thing for Helena Redford to be startled. She grew even more resistant to surprises after she'd met Zora. But objects appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the room? She could've sworn there was nothing there seconds ago.

Hel took a few careful steps towards the thing and narrowed her eyes, inspecting it thoroughly. One could barely discern a gentle monochromatic shimmer coating the box. 'Oh, oh!' Her hands flailed. 'This could be our payment for that odd job from the subdimension.' She paused and shrugged, her smile coming out soft. 'That, or we're being attacked by someone from the subdimension? Either way, exciting!'

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: can i pretty please request a drabble where gen has a sibling and that said sibling and hoshina are dating? even better if gen's sibling is an officer/troop leader in the first division and partakes in the rivalry between the third and first division but outside of everyone's view— gen's sibling and hoshina are terribly lovey dovey!

warnings: reader wears short shorts in a scene

wc: 1200

This was not something that started today. Rather, it had been this way for as long as anyone could remember.

From the moment you had joined the 1st Division, you had always been bickering with Hoshina— just like your brother. It was plain as day you were none other than the younger sibling of Narumi Gen. Although you lacked the power and passion for fame that Gen had, you weren't any less competitive than him.

However, unlike your brother, you were better at neutralizing smaller size Kaiju than him— naturally making you more competitive with Hoshina. While you were incredible at what you did, you seemed to fall just a step behind of Hoshina most of the time. You were insanely good, but Hoshina was just a little better. You had beaten him just once in the neutralization test of smaller sized kaiju, and you just couldn't seem to do it again.

This was well known among most of the first and third division, and they did enjoy your playful banter that arose even in the toughest of times. It wasn't always easy to keep the mood bright when things got difficult, but the two of you would never fail to do so. They hoped this would never change and your rivalry would never fade.

However, there were things that had changed that no one really knew of. The two of you had started dating a year ago, and you were madly in love. It was your little secret. Well, your little secret that Gen accidentally found out about.

Neither of you had told Gen about this and quite frankly, the two of you were planning to keep hiding this from him if it were possible. It wasn't new that he despised Hoshina quite a bit, and he was extremely weary of the people you meet, especially men. Naturally, to find out that Hoshina was your boyfriend wouldn't exactly be celebratory news for him. Not to mention that Gen was loud when he had complaints. You knew he absolutely would not shut up about it. So it really wasn't the plan when he had found out.

You were in your room lazing around in a baggy shirt, specifically Hoshina’s shirt, which covered your short-shorts while Hoshina was in your kitchen cooking something quick. Until you got a shared place, this happened rather often. It was either him in your room or yourself in his room. However, a lot of your stuff had found a place in his unit and vice versa, so it was very easy for you to visit each other whenever. A little too easy, perhaps.

“Hoshina, you don't have to make anything fancy,” you said. “Anything’s fine. You had a long day too.”

“I'm literally making us ochazuke. It couldn't be easier—” he was starting to say when the door swung open.

“Guess who's here!” Gen had yelled while walking into your place.

Immediately you looked back at Hoshina in the kitchen and gave up. “Oh gosh,” you said.

“What did I say about ringing the doorbell?!” you yelled back at him.

“And what did I say about locking the door?!” he exclaimed back.

“I thought I did—” you started to yell, but then you remembered you had forgotten to lock the door after Hoshina came in, hands full of groceries to stuff your empty fridge. You were a little too thrilled to see him. “My bad.”

You knew Hoshina was going to scold you later— he's been telling you to be more careful about locking up properly.

Gen saw the extra pair of shoes by your doorway and immediately met eyes with Hoshina in your kitchen.

“Why the hell are you here?!” he yelled.

“Oh, can you please be quiet,” you said. “He's visiting.”

“Why, hello! That would be me!” Hoshina said, greeting Gen properly now that it's come down to this.

“Why is he visiting you, in your room, alone, with you dressed like that?” Gen continued to ask. He wasn't understanding nor did it seem like he wanted to.

You let out a sigh, you didn't mean to, but there was no getting around this one. “What's wrong with having my boyfriend in my room,” you said.

“Your boyfriend? Hoshina?” Gen said, horrified. He didn't think matters could get worse, yet here he was. “Why him?”

“Oh, why not him?” you asked. “He's the best I could ever wish for.”

Hoshina didn’t expect that— especially not to your brother, just like that. His eyes widened as his heart tightened. Oh, how he absolutely adored you. You said it so naturally, as if merely stating a fact. To you, that really was all it was though.

Gen had a lot more to say and complain about while staying far too long, long enough to steal some ochazuke for dinner (which he also managed to complain about) before you were finally able to kick him out. Yet, through all of that, Hoshina couldn't be happier to be with you, bickering away as you ate a 5 minute meal at a small make-shift dining table.

As soon as Gen finally left, you spread your arms out in front of you, asking for a hug, which Hoshina promptly returned.

“He's finally gone…” you said, relieved it was finally just the two of you.

“Not sure he liked me much,” Hoshina said with a smile and you rolled your eyes.

“Like we didn't already know,” you said. “I really didn't plan for him to barge in like that.”

“I have to admit, I do enjoy watching you two bicker though. My brother and I are not nearly as close,” Hoshina said and you rolled your eyes again when he said ‘close’. You wouldn't ever explain your relationship as ‘close’. “However, you ought to make a habit of locking your door. What if that wasn't your brother and I wasn't here.”

“Yes,” you said, quietly but clearly— but avoiding eye contact. “I will.”

“Thank you for saying that earlier,” he said, turning your head to face his. “To this day I don't know what made you choose me.”

You immediately realized what he was talking about.

“Oh, please,” you said. “Be serious. I am the luckiest person alive by your side.”

He kissed you and you kissed back, but he truly wouldn't let you go. You started hitting his arm, hoping he would let go so you could catch your breath. After what felt like the longest moments ever he finally let you pull back, letting you breathe.

“Soushirou, I can't breathe!” you said, trying to sound irritated, but your tone lacked the edge you were hoping for.

He completely ignored you, however, and pulled you back into a tight embrace.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” he said. “Just you and me.”

“In this small place?” you said, laughing a little.

“Absolutely wherever,” he said. “As long as you're here with me.”

[turnipoddity]

we all know that adam is more clingy than lawrence but there are times that lawrence is more clingy than him, like when adam is working with his photographs, lawrence would come up from behind and cuddle with him unexpectedly

oh now i will be passing away

[triona-tribblescore]

I saw you wanted fluffy suggestions so here ya go:

Baby Mikey blabbering and Donnie responding like it’s a philosophical discussion.

Big! Sweaters! Big fluffy sweaters!

Disaster twins in the get along shirt

Raph and Leo in the get along shirt

Raph napping while Donnie happily rants to him

All boys walking together down an overgrown subway tunnel and relishing in sunlight and plants!(if ya need some background practice)

sooo uhhh, this ask may be four months old BUT! I was saving it for a rainy day and, would you look at that, its raining outside :D

some close-ups :)

[uhhhitsgray]

fic where astarion puts lipstick on u? ☺️ I feel like that could be super intimate

aksjdhfakdhf, anon please 😭 this is so cute, yes yes I write c:

~ wc: 2k, no warnings, this is just fluffy and cute. tav and astarion are already in a relationship. attempted to make this as gender neutral as possible, but I did throw in a few pretties (since astarion does say that in the game), a few darlings and he calls you gorgeous. astarion would call you all those things regardless of gender so I hope you're okay with that ❤ enjoy & and thank you for the prompt, this was a lot of fun!

You sigh as you look down at the metal tube in your hands defeated with the fact that you don’t think, or even know, how to properly apply lipstick. Up until arriving at Baldur’s Gate you never had the need to dress nicely. Of course your clothing choice was much more than just clothing, it was armor meant for protecting and not so much for looking good.

You had found this small shop on the outskirts of the city one evening. It didn’t cost a lot of gold, and you wanted to treat yourself. Though maybe you should have gone with something you were more familiar with instead, but you wanted to feel attractive; pretty even.

It was a peaceful evening at camp, the day hadn’t been taxing on the group luckily, just a few pesky thieves but nothing else major happened. Your tent was further away from the center of camp where the others were, you enjoyed the solitude that it provided giving your mind and body an opportunity to just breathe and relax. By the gods, you’d take that chance any time it arose. 

You had snuck away from the group while everyone was laughing and talking over the wine from the city. You so desperately wanted to try out this lipstick, but after several attempts and every pass looking worse than the previous your shoulders slumped in defeat, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. You could also ask someone in camp, maybe Shadowheart or Isobel would know. You remember them both stating they’ve worn makeup before, shit, Isobel currently wears makeup. 

But admittedly you didn’t have that type of relationship with them. Of course you were fond of them, friends even, but close enough to ask for something like this? You weren’t sure you were that comfortable with them. Truth be told, you were only close with one person like that in your camp, the pale elf himself, Astarion. An odd person to ask possibly, has he ever worn makeup before – or lipstick even? You weren’t sure, but you weren’t sure if you even cared. 

He’d help you right?   

You shove the tube into your pocket, and head towards the campfire where you left him with the group. The light of the fire danced across his skin, washing warm hues across his pale skin. His rather white hair was highlighted in reds and oranges, his red irises reflecting the vermillion shades of the flames. He was laughing at something Gale was sputtering on about, a genuine smile on his face.

Truly beautiful. 

You step into the light of the fire, one arm crossed across your chest holding yourself close. Caging yourself off as if you’re too afraid to ask such a simple question from the man you adore. “Astarion.” 

Astarion’s attention is ripped away from Gale at the drop of his name, his name sounding like honey on your lips. He’d never get used to it. Warmth blossoms within his chest at the sight of you on the other side of the fire, “Yes, darling.” He smiles towards you, scooting himself over on the log he was sitting on, patting the wood for you to sit next to him. 

You smile at him, and make your way around the side of the fire, offering a small wave to the few people who were still at the campfire. You cross behind Astarion’s back, hand dragging across his shoulders. You lean down behind him, fingers dancing up the back of his neck into his hair. “Can I ask something of you, my love?” 

He leans back into your hand slightly still facing the fire as he answers. “Anything.” 

You kiss his cheek, it’s short and quick as your words mumble and stumble out of your mouth. “Can I ask you away from everyone else?” 

His body stiffens slightly, “Is everything okay?” Astarion turns towards you, his tone shifts in his question. Worry, and something similar to dread fills his eyes as he looks into yours. “Did… did I do something?” 

You offer him a soft smile, “Everything is fine.” You cup his cheek in the palm of your hand, thumb brushing across his fire warmed skin. “You didn’t do anything.” 

He swallows down the worry and dread as he leans into your palm. Astarion nods up at you, “Okay, darling. Where do you want to go?” 

You look past the fire in the direction of your tent, “Is my tent okay?” 

Astarion nods, standing up next to you. “Lead the way.” 

The fact that you wanted to ask Astarion to put lipstick on you was plaguing your mind. You were sure you were making this a bigger deal than it really was, it wasn’t that big of a deal to begin with. But by the gods, your mind was telling you that it was the absolutely worst thing that you could ask of this man. 

You slowly lead him back to your tent, your hand in his. The warmth of the fire still lingering on his skin, the cool evening breeze bringing a yin and yang sensation. “Now, darling, I’m dying to know what you wanted to ask.” 

You were second guessing yourself as you pulled the front of your tent open and allowed him and yourself to walk in. You take a deep breath, “I… I — uh.” You shake your head and take a few steps further into your tent. 

Astarion squeezes your hand, “You can ask me anything, you know that.” 

You sigh, letting go of his hand as you drag your fingers through your hair. “I know.” You look at him, the crimson irises carefully watching you. You start pacing the length of your tent. It’s not big by any means, just enough room for your bed roll, a small table and stool. But you were gonna pace it as much as you could, as much as the space would allow; trying as best as you could to allow your mind some room to think of the question at hand. 

“Darling.” 

You were biting your nails as you heard Astarion call for you. Your eyes search his, uncertainty lays heavy on your expression. “You can’t laugh at me, okay?” 

Astarion chuckles at that. You sweet, precious thing of his, he could never. “I wouldn’t dare laugh at you like that.”  

You nod, looking at the floor again. “So I uh – I bought something in the city the other day and I need help putting it on.” 

He raises an eyebrow to you, crossing his arms at his chest. “And what did you buy?” 

You stuff your hand into your pocket and pull out the metal tube, palm side up showing Astarion. Your eyes burn holes into your palm, embarrassment flushes your cheeks red. How stupid is this. 

You hear Astarion stepping forward, into your space. “Lipstick?” 

Your eyes dare to look at him, too scared to see the expression he has on his face. “Yeah, I don’t know how to properly apply it. I was trying earlier, but it kept looking all wrong and bad and Astarion, I just wanted to look pretty.” Your words come out of your mouth a little too quick, not giving your brain enough time to process before speaking. 

Astarion cups your cheek this time, a playful tone to his soft voice. “Oh darling,” He leans in and kisses your forehead. “You are always beautiful.” 

Your arms cross, pouting. “But I wanted to feel pretty.” Your eyes darted up to him for a second before they found the floor, “Wanted to be pretty for you.” 

“There isn’t a day where I don’t think you’re the most stunning person I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He grabs the metal tube from your hand. “But I can put this on for you, if you so wish.” 

You smile at him, “Please.” 

He nods towards your stool, silently asking you to sit down. Your feet take you to the stool and you sit yourself down as Astarion opens the lid, a smile spreads on his face as he sees the color you purchased. It’s nothing flashy, a more mutual tone. Probably to not draw too much attention to yourself if he was to guess. “This color will look so pretty on those lips of yours.” 

“You think so?” 

Astarion steps in between your legs. One hand holds your chin, urging your head upwards so he can see you better. The other hand holds the lipstick carefully, twisted up just enough to be easily applied to your lips. “I know so.” 

Your hands land on the outside of his thighs, just holding his pants as you carefully watch him. His eyes flit to yours and linger for a second longer. “Don’t look at me like that, darling.” 

You smile at him, teasing, “Like what?” 

“Like you want to kiss me.” Crimson eyes drift down to your lips. 

“I always want to kiss you. Always want your lips on me, want them everywhere –.” 

Astarion squeezes your chin, “Behave yourself, sweetheart.” 

You giggle, smiling at him sweetly. “I always behave for you.” 

He cocks an eyebrow to you, a smile plays across his face, fangs exposed slightly in the light of your tent. “I would have to disagree.” His hand moves in slowly, carefully, as he presses the lipstick to your lips. Your eyes are locked onto his, though he isn’t looking at you anymore, you can’t help but just watch him in concentration. Trying his best, giving his best to you. 

He smiles as he pulls the lipstick away from your lips. “Gorgeous. This color suits you, darling.” He grabs your small mirror off the table next to you, flipping the mirror around for yourself to see. 

Your eyes widen at how well it’s applied, like he’s done it a million times. You move the mirror around better to see his work. Astarion was right, the color does suit your skin tone just perfectly. “Thank you Astarion. I – wow. Just how are you so skilled?” 

“Oh,” His eyes fall to the floor, you see his body freeze beyond your mirror as dread fills the pit of your stomach. 

Shit. 

You put the mirror face down on the table, standing quickly as horror washes over your face. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

Astarion shakes his head, and continues anyway. “I used to wear it to lure victims back to Cazador.” His voice is low, hurt as the words are hushed out. 

“I… I didn’t know that, I’m sorry for asking this of you.” 

“I didn’t expect you to, I’ve never told you that.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“You didn’t have to.” Your nail digs into the palm of your hand, you feel horrible for asking such a thing. If you knew you would have never asked. 

Astarion’s hand reaches out for yours, fingers intertwined with yours. “I’d do anything for you, my love. It was in the past, the future will be better. Even the now is better.” 

You smile at him, "And I'd do anything for you. One day at a time, my love." You giggle, pressing up on your tiptoes as you kiss his cheek. You grin at the mark the lipstick left on his cheek. He laughs knowing you've left a mark on his cheek. "I love you, thank you Astarion." You kiss his lips soft and delicate, sure to be careful not to mess up his work. 

"I love you too, gorgeous. Shall we show our friends?" He takes your hand as the other opens your tent up, awaiting for you to follow him. 

You smile, “What about the mark on your cheek, you want to wipe it off before we go?”

Astarion laughs as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you close. “I’d wear any mark from you proudly, I’ll leave it.” His hand wraps around the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss. It’s warm, soft and caring; you’ll never get used to it. Or him for that matter. 

Your thumb brushes across his cheek, as you pull away from the kiss. You smile as his lips are slightly tinted the shade of your lipstick. “Alright, let’s go then.”

[saturnisfallingdown]

🌅

My piece for @phandomgiftexchange this year! I got @phandoras-box!! He gave me the prompts traveling and domesticity, so this ones inspired by some Isle of Man trip photos. Thanks so much to everyone who partook in this event/organized it!! this was a blast! Hope you like it, Eli! :]

[ID: Digital art of Dan Howell and Phil Lester dressed in warm coats stood beside a lakeside as viewed from behind, as the sun rises and seagulls fly around them. End ID]

[yyawnjun]

GUYSSS me and lia were drafting drafts, and now I need y'all rec on what to focus first ! I'm not gonna add too many details, just pick what you feel the most.

I will start working on that fic after replying to all of the various asks that i have (AND im loving)<33

[boltlightning]

# 30 for norribeth or just James and Elizabeth. Pretty please?

30. one more chapter request me a drabble!

The captain’s quarters in the Empress are hastily patched. The cannons from the Dutchman had struck above the waterline, and with the ship lightened of its burdens by Davy Jones’ crew, the Empress sails quick and easy towards Shipwreck Cove.

James is bundled in swaths of silk and wool upon the lone bed. His sleep is uneasy, incomplete, a thin veneer over the plunging depths of his pain. This is the fevered rest of a man barely tethered to life. The rise and fall of his chest is shallow, but even, and Elizabeth watches it with anxious intensity. 

She had questioned the necessity of so much bedding—surely, if his skin is running as hot as Hell itself, he would wish to be cool?—but she has learned to trust her new crew; they had kept James alive against all odds, after he was impaled, tossed unceremoniously overboard, half-drowned, and hauled gracelessly from the churning sea. He had been stabbed with a piece of wood torn off the Flying Dutchman, and the cold of the water had nearly killed him before the infection could, but by the tenacity of the crew, he lives. Elizabeth had seen men succumb to shock and cold in much more favorable conditions and could no longer doubt their medicinal methods. 

The throes of James’ fever had not released him yet. In his few moments of wakefulness, he has not been completely lucid, and does not seem to register Elizabeth’s hand brushing his burning forehead at all, much less as comfort. His tenuous fate does little to settle her nerves with the congregation of pirate kings fast approaching. 

She thumbs the token Sao Feng had given her, kept secure around her neck. It would not do to sit idle and will James to wellness.

Elizabeth peruses the chests left after Sao Feng’s death. She uncovers weapons, elaborate clothing, gold, jewelry, unfamiliar herbs and jars of preserves. Of most interest to her is an impossibly heavy chest filled with books. There are several titles in English and French she recognizes. Much of it is philosophy, Locke and Voltaire and their like, but some literature is present as well. Chaucer, Defoe, Milton, Shakespeare…

Elizabeth selects the latter. She prefers the tragedies and had never read his sonnets. She does not think she can handle another tragedy now.

Careful not to disturb James, she sits on the edge of the bed with the book in her lap. The quiet in the cabin is not true, only the sort that a ship can offer: the creaking of the planks, the susurrus of the water, the lyrical murmur of the crew, and immediate to her attention, the rasp of her closest friend’s breath. Elizabeth draws a breath of her own and begins to read aloud, if only to give her ears something else to hear.

His condition does not improve over the journey. Elizabeth continues to read, telling herself that if he dies here, she has at least given him a comfortable bed in which to do so, with poetry as his accompaniment. The thought makes her stop abruptly mid-stanza. She closes the book and breathes deeply, enough to steady her to stand and set it in the latched cupboard beside the bed.

From the other side of the bed, James stirs. He mumbles something that could plausibly be her name slurred into two syllables, the end lifted in a question. She drops the book in haste and scrambles back to his side.

“Oh, thank God you’re alive,” she exclaims, forgetting herself.

“Barely,” he croaks.

Elizabeth reaches over to brush damp hair from his face. He is cooler than he has been, and his eyes are clear, if bright with pain.

“What can I get you? There’s—well, it’s not brandy, but it’s this clear concoction that's just as strong, and—I can put tea on, just—”

“Water, maybe,” James suggests hoarsely. “No, ah, don’t get up yet.” He shifts to sit up, then hisses at the pain. 

Elizabeth gently pushes him down by the shoulder. “Stay there. What do you need?”

“One more?” He flicks his eyes towards the sonnets, which slide page-down across the floor with the tilt of the ship. “Please. It…it keeps the dreams away.”

He lifts a hand to set it to her arm. He looks nothing like himself, the fever and pain having wasted him away; even his expression is uncertain, vulnerable as she had never seen before. Yet Elizabeth looks into his face, and recognizes him, and feels relief as certain and true as the moon’s tides.

“One more,” she agrees. When she looks away to pick up the book, it is with reluctance.

[lemonlokkich]

Writing prompt idea: the Chain is in Skyloft and Sun is being mischevious and encouraging the Links to do daring/risky things like paraglide off Skyloft or catch and ride a wild loftwing

Thank you for the prompt! Hope I did the vision justice.

Divine mischief:

When Legend met Sun he had expected her to be the picture of grace and patience. Perfect in every way as Sky had eagerly described her.

As perfect as a goddess and as wise as any Zelda.

Legend had realized that this rosey view of the girl was quite false as he watched Sun shove Sky off of the floating island right In front of their eyes upon their sweet reunion.

Sky had screamed.

Sun had laughed, no, not laughed, cackled.

It was a terrifying few moments before a streak of bright red shot through the sky and caught their chosen hero, who apperantly had forgotten to mention his loftwing could catch him on command.

Apparently the direct incarnation of the goddess Hylia had quite the mischievous streak to her, and Legend had no issue sitting back and watching it all unfold.

The first victim after Sky had surprisingly enough been Time. Sun had a talent for convincing, and convinced she did.

Their sort-of leader stood on the very edge of the skyloft, a padded tunic wrapping around his body to keep him warm against the harsh winds instead of his usual armor, there was no need to be armed to the teeth in such a lofty place.

The one eyed man had been conversing with Sky's sweetheart (much to Sky’s jealous grumblings) not even a moment before, and now they seemed to be watching the bland open expanse of sky like hawks.

Time seemed suspiciously tensed, as if preparing for something-

Sun shouted something, pointing.

Time jumped.

Nearby, Legend heard Warriors scream.

Legend would never admit that he tensed, sitting up slightly from where he had laid in his appointed lawn chair watching it all unfold.

What was Sun thinking?

Better yet, was the old man thinking?

Time didn't have a loftwing like Sky did.

Not even a few moments after, something giant, feathered and brightly coloured shot upwards and beyond skyloft, a certain blond man seated firmly on its bare back.

He met Sun's eyes and she winked at him before jumping off of the sky islands herself and flying after time on her own purple loftwing.

Legend shuddered, wondering who the next victim would be.

. End .

If you're in the mood to read more silly stories of mine don't hesitate to send me a funny Lu prompt in my ask box or visit me over on my AO3 account: LemonLokkich!

Thanks for reading!

[kuzcosources]

Astarionisms!

Gods, how are we not there yet? My feet are killing me.

What in the sweet hells were you thinking!?

I was right there!

Gods. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?

Well, apparently there's a limit. Somewhere between a nice summer's day, and the FULL CONCENTRATED POWER OF THE SUN!!

That was the least you could do after dropping a building on me!

I admit I like this one's approach. A little genocidal, but effective.

You just want to team up with some blood stained killer? Because I'm fine with that.

So much for the cavalry riding to our rescue.

Well, that's a little dramatic, don't you think?

Why, she sounds positively demented. I love it. Let's tell her everything.

Now, I can't help but notice that one of us is positively drenched in blood, so...

Of course, what fun! I'm going to fucking kill you.

You have a manner of irresistible desperation about you... I like it.

Oh. Oh dear.

Rawr.

If the opportunity arises for me to become a more magnificent bastard than I already am, why turn it down?

If you're trying to encourage me, you're failing miserably.

Please, don't mind me. I'll just watch.

My only complaint is that you didn't want to share.

Nothing like a little camp drama to spice up the evening.

Wait, don't interrupt them. Let me do it.

I don't need a reflection to know this looks fabulous/

And to think people say size doesn't matter.

_____ wouldn't put up with this shit.

[appleciders]

Warrior Nun (any characters) and "Stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Camila, stop." Beatrice grabs her by the arm, twists it behind her back. "Stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Let go," Camila yells, furious. She bucks and struggles, kicking and biting, and Beatrice barely manages to restrain her.

"No," Beatrice says, firm.

"Bea, let go! Let me go!"

Grim, Beatrice keeps her grip.

"Get off me!" Camila hisses, guttural, her throat tearing. "I need to get it out! Why don't you fucking understand that?"

"I do," Beatrice murmurs.

"No!" Camila bucks again, the back of her head smacking Beatrice in the jaw. Beatrice bites iron, sees yellow-black spots.

Still, she holds.

"Get it out," Camila demands, raw. "Get it out," and now the phrase burns with sobs, "get it out, get it out."

"We will," Beatrice swears. "Camila, we will."

"Now!" She lunges her weight forward, to where the knife had clattered to the floor. Her body is sweaty against Beatrice's, her curls mussed. Snot and saliva make a mess of her face as Beatrice rolls her into her chest. She beats a fist against Beatrice's shoulder. "Let me go."

"Listen to me," Beatrice says, tightening her arms around Camila's torso. "If you cut open your neck, you will die." With a bluntness terrible to her own ears, she repeats, "You will die."

"I want him out," Camila gasps.

"I want him dead," says Beatrice.

The vicious honesty slackens Camila, for a moment.

"I want him dead, Camila." She braces her sagging weight. "Not you."

[leclvrc]

“you don’t know what you do to me.” + charles, please? i love your writing ♥️

You're in his motorhome after a race, pressed up against one of those flimsy walls as his hands make their way over your thighs all the way over your stomach. He loves touching you, loves tasting you but most of all he loves to see you arch into his eager hands.

It's easy too, giving in to his desire and yours when they align so well. Beyond the wall are mechanics, still high off of a well deserved win and the way Charles drove all the way through the field to claim the championship lead by the end of it. You're high off it too, off of the atmosphere and the way he sprayed you with champagne when you decided to join the team when they took photos and when his hand snuck its way to your hip and lower during one of those very photos you knew it would end with you and him in his motorhome.

Not like you'd ever complain about that. He's already got you stripped down to the underwear and that last piece of clothing quickly joins the rest before he turns you around, lips busily sucking a bruise into the back of your shoulder. The wall is cold to your front, makes your skin tingle pleasantly as you hear a zipper come undone.

You bite your lip, hoping to stave off some of the more embarrassing sounds from slipping off your tongue, but then there's one of his wide palms around your chin and two of his fingers in your mouth and that's probably the most effective of gags. You swirl your tongue around the soft pads of his fingers like they're something else and then hear him groan behind you.

"Fuck," he curses. Heat travels all the way up your neck at the tone in his voice and then he kisses his way over your shoulder and to your neck. Bites the shell of your ear softly. Your eyes flutter shut.

"You don't know what you do to me," Charles whispers into your ear, voice hushed. You swallow and then he pulls his fingers -- now slick and shiny with your spit -- out of your mouth. He trails them down your chest and between your legs and then he's slowly teasing your cunt with those very same clever fingers. They warm easily between your legs and by the time he pushes them in, you feel desire almost overwhelm you.

He's quick with his fingers, like he can't wait to fuck you but doesn't want to give you too much too quickly. The last of his concerns melt away when you push into the fingers he has in you and then he moans quietly as he pulls them out. You feel achingly empty already and so damn cold, but Charles is nothing if not considerate and a moment later, he plasters his bare chest against your back and then it's easy to part your legs further. Always easy for Charles.

He didn't take off his fireproofs completely, but you enjoy the feeling. The way the thick fabric chafes against your skin. Maybe they'll leave a trace of him behind beyond the kisses he bit into your shoulder. His tip teases over your slick entrance and you're just about to complain, mouth already fallen open around the words when he finally pushes in. He's quicker than he usually is, doesn't take the time he likes to take to make you really feel him, but it's pure bliss. There's no greater feeling than feeling him around you, in you.

Sometimes, you don't know how either of you ever gets anything done when you could spend all day like this. With him filling you up, snug and warm beneath his body. Fuck. The thought alone makes you shudder.

His thrusts are fast from the beginning. Real momentum behind every single one of them. The smell of sweat and sex lies in the air and the way your skin slaps against his makes the coil in your lower stomach tighten. One of your hands easily finds its way between your legs and to your clit and the added pressure there makes your legs weaken.

You could come so easily like this; with Charles at your back chasing release in your body and your hand between your legs. So, you do. But Charles doesn't stop. Instead, he holds you tightly by the hips and fucks you through your orgasm. Through the shudders and quiet moans resembling his name.

Your hand falls away from between your legs, but is soon replaced by his own and that's when you know that he's far from done with you. The thought makes a smile tug on your lips.

[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

[whumpasaurus101]

What's the WORST torture you can think of in the next five seconds??

NO CHEATING

TYPE IT. TYPE IT NOW.

I….just woke up NSNSSJS

Stuff comes to mind but theyre quite gorey and gores not my favourite tbh so heres a few

-forced to watch a loved one be hurt.

- Say if Whumper makes a cut against Whumpee’s skin, and they just keep drawing the blade against the same spot over and over again.

- Stuff in wounds like lemon juice / salt

Anyone feel free to add more

[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.