#write a blurb meme

[aurumacadicus]

Okay I just thought of thus yesterday. Stony identity porn but the other way around. As in, Steve and Tony know of each other that they are Captain America and Iron man, but the rest of the world doesn't and gets very upset when they see Steve rogers flirting with iron man!?!? He's in a relationship with Tony Stark?!?! And Tony stark is flirting with Captain America?!?! Meanwhile the team is freaking out trying to find a way to tell them they are cheating on each other

(Sorry english isn't my first language hope it makes sense) (also it's a little long and detailed for a prompt but I thought of it and wanted to share with you!)

Beloved, it makes perfect sense <3 Hope everyone's okay with me roasting Steve because I feel Tony would be expected lol

--

"Steve," Tony said, coming into the living room.

"Sweetheart," Steve replied, not looking up from his book.

Tony didn't bother circling the couch, instead flinging himself over the back to flop into Steve's lap. "I'm absolutely tickled to be able to say that you're in hotter water with the public than I am."

"Why," Steve complained immediately.

Tony waved the magazine he'd brought with him at Steve's face. Glee wasn't enough to describe how smug he felt. "Everyone expects me to flirt with Captain America because I flirt with everybody. Of course I'd flirt someone who saved my life!"

"I didn't. You were fine, remember?" Steve huffed.

"I was," Tony said, ignoring he'd almost been kidnapped by Doom but for one well-aimed shield throw from Steve at the tentacle holding him captive. "Or I would have been. Whatever. But no one was surprised that I gave you a little smooch on the cheek!" He waited for Steve to turn faintly pink, then continued, "But you, you're a one-fella kind of guy. You get super offended when people flirt with you, and you get really angry when people flirt with me in front of you!"

"Because you're mine," Steve growled, leaning in to smack a kiss to his lips. "And I'm yours."

Tony almost forgot what he was saying, leaning in to chase his lips, but then he remembered he was gloating and he pulled back. "So everyone's shocked that you would flirt with Iron Man. Shocked and appalled."

Steve sighed and lifted a hand to rub his eyes. "You're enjoying this too much for someone whose boyfriend is supposedly cheating on them."

"It's kinda novel that I'm not the ho this time," Tony admitted.

Steve leaned in to kiss him again, murmuring, "Don't use that word for yourself, please."

"Well it's true," Tony muttered petulantly, but then Steve was kissing him again, so he found himself sighing, "Okay."

Steve carefully eased the magazine from Tony's hand, pulling him into a deep kiss that had him mewling. If he could get him distracted, he would put off gloating until the next day, and by then he wouldn't get such a cackle out of it.

"Steve," Thor boomed, bursting into the room, and Steve instinctively grabbed Tony and threw him off the couch, standing up to get between him and the door.

"...Thor," Steve said when he realized it was him. He considered leaping behind Thor instead, because Tony might stab him for throwing him on the floor.

"I have been delegated with the unfortunate task of informing Tony that you have been unfaithful," Thor continued, looking deeply disappointed in him. "Clint, Natasha, and I saw you pulling Iron Man into your bedroom with you."

"Oh, God damn it," Steve sighed as Tony went from glaring at him to howling with laughter. He even pointed at him.

"...I sense I have been made a fool of," Thor said slowly, narrowing his eyes.

"Since Natasha was involved, yes, you were," Steve said, because Natasha knew their 'secret' identities. He'd always known she was a shit-stirrer though.

[mysticmunson]

based on a text post by @justsheerfilth1 @mantorokk-writes and @edsforehead

eddie munson who just got a job as a school bus driver as he plans his music career. he only did younger kids as the older ones annoyed him too much, usually just taking his route in the mornings and afternoons.

you’re a kindergarten teacher, just a year or two out of college, but having been a teachers aid for years before that.

when eddie got the call for a field trip to the aquarium, he was bummed at the thought of sitting in the food court without being able to leave, but felt lucky when his middle aged coworkers said they had to go to a farm for the 4th graders and a trash yard for the 3rd graders.

still, as much as he tolerated the job with his headphones in his walkman, he tried to grit through the drive to the school at 6:30am.

the small children were in scattering groups of excitement, with some jumping up and down, listing facts about puffer fish, as some yawned with the cheek pressed against the leg of a chaperone.

the principle walked towards the bus door, tapping it as eddie put it in park, pushing his blaring headphones down.

“good morning, eddie,” principle matthews said, his dress shoes tapping on the steps, “i know you’re scheduled to be at the trip all day today, i wanted to thank you again and note we did provide an extra ticket if you’d like to walk around with the students.”

he resisted the scoff, politely nodding and thanking him for the ‘generous’ offer. he wished he’d packed an edible beforehand, the fish would’ve looked like they were from space.

the school was small, only having two kindergarten classes, with an older teacher, mrs kingston, who had been there since eddie was small, and you, who he had yet to meet.

mrs kingston lead her small army forward, helping them sit in their assigned seating. as the number of kids on the bus outweighed those out, eddie examined the sea of bopping heads, feeling the energy of their wavering emotions.

“good morning everyone!” your voice rang, standing at the front of the bus, making all eyes avert to you, including eddie’s.

“now, i see a few friends here, but let’s make sure we’re all here.” you crooned, voice gentle, but not baby-like, “when i call your name, raise your hand and tell me one type of fish.”

as the children listed off, he couldn’t help but look at you, your eyelashes kissing your upper cheeks and pen tapping the small clipboard.

you had turned to eddie to introduce yourself, shaking his hand before taking your seat at the front of the bus beside a girl much smaller than the rest. her eyes were like saucers at the noises and sights, fidgeting in the worn plastic seats.

the chatter turned to shrills of excitement when you all pulled into the aquarium parking lot, sprinting towards the workers who lined everyone in groups.

eddie watched as you guided the kids throughout the exhibits, kneeling down when one had a question or seemed frightened by the creature. the small girl from before shrieked at the sight of the squid, running to hide behind eddie’s legs.

“darlene, i don’t think mr. munson appreciates being used as your hiding spot,” you smiled, “squids are friendly, this glass is out here to keep them safe.”

he blushes at the official name, “it’s alright, i was scared of squids too.” he laughed, making darlene smile, slowly removing herself from his knee and holding his hand.

he walked silently, not sure what to do with his newfound ‘friend’ but was too focused on you to contemplate it too much.

“you’re really tall,” darlene stated, looking up at him while rocking on her mary janes. he nodded, pursing his lips with a shrug, swinging their joint hands gently back and forth.

before they could enter the petting section, it was lunch time, a fine assortment of sandwiches, goldfish, and small sea animal shaped cookies. the adults got food from a local fast food joint.

you and eddie strikes up conversation between bites of fried chicken, finding more similarities than you intended. born and raised in hawkins, lived with relatives growing up, and loved music.

“my music taste is messy,” you giggled, dipping a fry into honey mustard, “i like everything from beethoven, madonna, sam cooke, to metallica-“

“you like metallica?” eddie asked in shock, noting your floral dress and flats made him suspect everything, but that.

nodding and wiping your mouth with a napkin, you swallowed your bite, “i lived with my grandparents and older siblings, they were fans from the beginning and a lot of their songs have memories. i saw them on tour in ‘88.”

“no shit!” eddie gasped, covering his mouth when he received a glare from an employee, “i was at that concert too, had to get tickets pretty far away, but so worth it.

“it was an incredible show!” you agreed, smiling, “i got pit tickets from my eldest sister, but she said it was only because the only man i talked about was kirk hammett and she didn’t want me to die an old maid.”

he grinned, heart fluttering at the revelation that he had much in common with the rockstar.

the rest of the day, he snuck in side conversations with you, finding out your favorite movies, songs, jokes and books. he hadn’t had a crush since high school, usually getting rejected and/or laughed at.

he had almost given up, but when you walked off when the kids were long gone, slipping your phone number into his palm, he was glad he didn’t. as his shaky hands pressed the numbers in his small apartment, he couldn’t help, but chuckle.

only he would find a girl in fish tanks and bus stops.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

i wrote this in one sitting on my phone so sorry bout that

[harryforvogue]

ok this thought just came to meeee: it’s the early days of faye & harry dating and mentions that his birthday is this week and inside faye is screaming because why didn’t he tell her??? but on the outsides she’s calm and collected lol. so she bakes him a cake and maybe gets him a small gift like a sketch book/pencils or a keychain with his favorite animal or show character or of CHERRIES ?????? and she casually asks to stop by after work cause she thinks she left a hair clip at his apartment she needs but she’s actually there to spend his birthday night with him 😌

"This isn't stupid," Faye reminds herself under her breath as she enters Harry's building. "This isn't stupid. Harry is your boyfriend now. You have the right to do this. He won't mind."

Timothée is the one that answers the door. He’s holding a sketchbook in his hand, a pen tucked behind his ear that's nearly covered by his curls. “Oh. Hey!” He looks at the box of cupcakes she’s holding. “Wow. Those for me? Ha. I'm just playing."

Faye and Timmy have had the “this isn’t weird right?” talk already, so this encounter isn’t the worst. 

“Hi. Um, Harry’s here, right?”

“Yeah. He’s in his room. Should I call him out?”

“Uh. Well, I guess I probably should have texted…”

Timmy smiles knowingly. “You wanna see him? You can come in.” He then glances down at her tote bag filled with a makeup bag, extra clothes, and other things.

She scratches her wrist. “If…if that’s okay. I’d just like to let him know something.”

“It shouldn't be a problem. He doesn’t have work today. Come in.”

During the 10 seconds that Faye walks in and takes her shoes off, she asks Timmy if it’s really fine that she’s here without notice at least 3 more times. He’s gathered that she plans on staying the night. The good thing is that he seems to have an infinite amount of patience. He even takes the cupcakes and sets them in the fridge.

“This is okay, right?” she whispers as they head to the rooms.

Timothée grabs her shoulders and gives her a small shake. “Hey. You’re a strong woman, yeah? No reason to be nervous.”

Faye stands taller. “Yeah.”

“You go in there and show him who’s boss!”

“Yeah!”

“You go and break his heart and stomp on his dreams, yeah?”

“Yeah! Wait, what?”

He grins. “Are you not going to go and break up with him?”

“What? No!” She gasps. “Is that what it looks like? Why would I bring cupcakes just to break up with him?” She scrambles to take her phone out. “I should text him.”

“Nah.” He snorts and then laughs. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. Hey, you’re already here so just go in. He won’t mind.”

He heads back to his own room after giving her an encouraging thumbs up, shutting the door behind him. She walks to Harry’s room slowly, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. She knocks quietly.

Harry doesn’t come up to open the door. He just calls through it “Come in”. And so she does.

She steps in, nerves exploding in her stomach. He’s pulling a sweatshirt over his head in front of his closet when he sees her, curls wet from his shower, his eyes immediately lighting up. His laptop is on the bed and she can see he’s been answering emails. 

Harry’s face breaks out into a smile. “Faye!” He walks over to her and wraps his arms around her. “Hi.”

She hugs him back. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“Of course it is. How are you? You look great. What’s up? Everything okay? Did Timmy let you in?”

“Yeah!” After a moment of hesitation, she gives him a quick peck.

Harry gives her a pointed look. “I’m your boyfriend now, Cherry. Give me something a little better than that please.” He puts his hand on the back of her head and pulls her back in. He kisses her again, slowly. She slides her hands up his soft sweatshirt and plays with the drawstrings. “I haven’t seen you since last week so I thought I’d surprise you.”

He chuckles. “Bet you nearly chickened out a few times.”

Her shoulders fall. “You have no clue.”

Harry takes her hands and pulls her to the bed. He tugs her until she’s sitting in his lap, his arms around her waist again. “You know, given the timing, I’m suspecting this has to do with the fact that it’s my birthday.”

“What?” she says. “No. I’m only here because I forgot something.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry twirls her hair around his finger. “What did you forget?”

“My hair pin.”

“Definitely.”

She sighs, leaning into him. “Listen. You should have told me about your birthday earlier! I had zero time to get reservations for dinner anywhere, and not to mention I had work today! This isn’t fair! Now it’s 4pm and we’ve done nothing for your birthday.”

Harry’s grinning as she complains. “Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry!”

“I’m not. Birthdays don’t have to be a whole thing, you know?”

“This is our first one!”

“Faye, I really don’t think it’s that big of a deal. We can do something over the weekend together. You’re off then, right?”

“Yeah,” she grumbles.

“So there. We’ll make a day of it.”

She frowns, playing with his drawstring again. “But today’s your real birthday so we have to do something.”

“What do you have in store for me?”

“Well, I’m staying over tonight. If you’ll let me.”

Harry grins even harder. “And where are all your things? I really hope you don’t plan on using my toothbrush. You’re cute and all, but–”

She scowls. “I left my bag outside just in case you say no and kick me out and also break up with me.”

Harry throws his head back and laughs wholeheartedly. “Wow. Oh yeah, I’d totally break up with you for wanting to stay the night.”

“It was more of the whole not-letting-you-know-beforehand thing.”

“That’s what a surprise is, Faye. You know I don’t mind surprises when they have to do with you. I’d love for you to stay the night with me.”

“Good.”

His eyes sparkle when she leans down to kiss him again. He loves when she initiates the kisses, knowing how much it means to her to be confident enough to. “I also got you a present,” she mumbles against his mouth.

Harry buries his fingers in her pink hair, cradling her head as he kisses her again. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” She turns her head so he can kiss her jaw. “You didn’t give me enough time to freak out for a few days before buying you something with a leveled head, so it might not be that great of a–”

Harry cuts her off with another kiss. “I’ll love it,” he promises quietly. “Anything you give me.” He kisses the corner of her mouth. “Hey. Timothée’s going out tonight with his friends so he probably won’t be home until tomorrow. Did you plan that?”

Faye blinks. “No, but that works out very well.”

“Right.” He kisses her once more. “Faye. I’m very happy you’re here.” He kisses down her neck. She shivers, his wet curls hitting her cheek.

He flips her over, pressing her into his mattress. She laughs as he hovers above her, kissing her neck and collar, the tickling becoming too much.

When Harry’s hands start wandering under her sweater, she opens her eyes and stops him. “Wait. Can I give you the gift first? Before I chicken out?”

He pulls off. “Of course. Want me to wait here?”

“Yes, please.”

“Yeah, baby. Go on.”

Faye hurries back outside and grabs her bag, bringing it in. She carefully pulls out a wrapped gift, bringing it over to him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed looking very deliciously disheveled.

“Just to let you know,” Harry says, “if I don’t like this gift, I’m breaking up with you.”

Faye frowns. “Not funny!”

He smiles and begins to rip the wrapping paper. Faye nervously cracks her knuckles besides him, watching his eyes wander over his gift.

“Faye,” he whispers.

It’s a photograph of them taken by one of the photographers at the first show of Faye's that Harry went to. The one where Harry confessed his love. This picture is of them on stage, Harry in his suit still holding the bouquet of carnations, his hand on Faye’s cheek. She’s on her tiptoes, the smile on her face so wide, it’s unbelievable.

He remembers exactly what he was doing – wiping the glitter off her face right before he kissed her. He recalls how she was literally bouncing with adrenaline. He had to hold her still just to kiss her properly. Harry’s heart aches.

“I only saw it a few days ago,” Faye explains nervously. “Figured it would be a great memory to frame.”

“This… this is…” He looks up at her. “Thank you. Wow. Look at us. Look at you. I loved that dress on you so much.”

“You told me you loved me for the first time. I think about it everyday, Harry. I’m so happy there’s a photo of us from that night.”

He puts the frame down and brings her back to him, hugging her tightly. “I love it.” He smiles when she relaxes into his chest at the sound of the words. “This is amazing. Thank you, Cherry. Thank you.” He kisses the top of her head. “Oh, I don’t know how I’ll ever top this. You’ve made it very difficult.”

Faye’s laughter is muffled against his sweater. “You still have time. I won’t spring anything on you like you did.”

Harry lifts her head up. “I love you,” he whispers again, bending his head to kiss her once more. “Thank you.”

She smiles. “So I guess you won’t be breaking up with me tonight?”

His shoulders shake when he laughs. His thumb brushes over her cheek like in the photo. “No, baby. Not ever.”

[blackcathjp]

au where harry goes on the amazing race with ron, only to fall in love with their team's camera operator, draco malfoy.

nobody knows where he went, rarely showing face in wizard society, but a muggle reality show was the last place harry expected to see him.

draco's not supposed to interfere, but sometimes he films a specific spot to drop hints (and because harry is always looking at him, he immediately gets it). he teaches harry (only harry) a few words to aid them in each country, a culmination of all the places he's been to because of TAR. his kindness and travel intellectualism, paired with his soft smile when harry cracks a joke or solves a puzzle, makes harry's heart go BADUMP... BADUMP!

the audio person (blaise) tells him off for being too friendly with the team (shows bias), but draco huffs, cause it's not like he's directly helping, right? plus, he has front row seats to harry potter and ron weasley making complete fools out of themselves.

ron dgaf what's happening with drarry - he's determined to beat hermione and ginny's team, who bragged that ron and harry can't outsmart or out-physical them. he's so over harry pining and obsessing over the same guy, still. but he laughs when harry tries to impress draco and fails, and embarrasses harry in front of his crush especially since harry makes it so easy, like ogling draco when he's on a water break.

---

draco: busy filming, has to run at their pace or faster with a giant camera on his shoulder, not 100% paying attention.

harry: (thinking: look at me draco!) i can outrun them! *trips over literal air, allowing ginny and hermione to beat them to the mat*

also harry: witty, natural yet awkward charisma, does well under pressure, good at deduction but even better with ron, humble and likeable too

[dead-lausen-journeys]

｜「Despite it all, it's still you.」

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｜This is the introduction post to my blog, where all my request and rules information is held in one place. As well as links to future master lists.

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— Warning! My blog is going to be dedicated to writing about darker versions of characters and my own little ideas. It is all fiction and stays fictional.

Requests; OPEN✓

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Good- whenever you're reading this, you may call me DeadLaus, or C.C, if you prefer. My first language is not English, and I'd love for you to help point out any spelling or grammar mistakes whenever they appear in my works.

Also here's a bit of information regarding my blogs filtering of NSFW contents;

For sexual content, tags like this may be found underneath the post; (examples)

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Please keep this in mind, and if you do not enjoy reading sexual content or sexually charged content please filter these tags out using ↓

Lack of SW (sexual warnings), No holding hands, Pure post & ✅

⚠️ Warning!!: Those which feature these tags can still have any of the below, as all of my content is going to lean into darkfic territory!

For works that feature more darker themes without being inherently sexual, (I E, things like murder, coercion, gore, other things along this line), these tags can be found;

Tw. (Insert trigger warning), Tw. Cognito-hazard, 🛑, fake fluff, ECT.

And lastly, for content that doesn't have a specific fandom. You may filter it by using these tags;

Author blurbs, Yandere imagines, THIRST💦, (insert nonspecific descriptions), 🌊💌＿, ECT.

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Rules;

- I will not tolerate any sort of bullying for people who request. As going out of your way to read things that don't appeal to you is directly your own fault. Not mine.

- Anyone may request anything, except for any sort of (for example) half cat/half human, anything that has to do with scat or piss fetishes, pedophilia, or anything along the lines of that.

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— I write for all types of darling's! Here's a short list to go off of!— Disabled(Mentally or physically)!Darling, Fem!Darling, Masc!Darling, Female/Male/Gn darling, Trans!Darling ECT.

｜This section can be subjected to change｜

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— (Below will be listing the fandoms I write for)

Mainly writing for;

〔進撃の巨人／Attack on titan - All characters

〔ジョジョの奇妙な冒険／Jojos bizarre adventure; Parts 1-9, All characters.

｜｜Personal blurbs, imagines and memes.

What else I'll write for;

〔Avatar: The Last Airbender, All characters

〔Avatar: The Legend of Korra, All characters

〔Pokemon; Anime and games, All characters.

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｜〔Below will be master list links;

〔進撃の巨人／Attack on titan : (WIP)

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Deadlaus's Blurbs, Imagines and Scenarios! : (WIP)

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〔Pokemon!! : (WIP)

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Other accounts;

AO3; HERE

Wattpad; HERE

Quotev: HERE (WIP)

idk why the links are dumbasses—

[tvrningout]

if she's making this face, what has your muse done??

[veryrealauthorthings]

[tvrningout-a]

gonna be honest, the sheer amount of drafts i have makes me want to perish and thus even entering my drafts inspires the urge to run away immediately ASDFGFD

[aurumacadicus]

Winteriron camping..... Mothman?

My guy I thought Mothman was a tumblr joke this man is an actual cryptid???? 😭😭 I'm so stupid

Anyway flannel moths! Tony is very fluffy and has very blue fur.

.-.

"This is stupid. We're gonna get killed. I hate this," Bucky muttered, stabbing at the fire they'd built with a stick violently. “How did you talk me into this?”

“I threatened to tell Natasha that you were the one who ate the slice of cake she’d been saving,” Steve replied, unconcerned.

Bucky threw his hands up, frustrated, but he suspected being killed by a cryptid would be better than what Natasha would do to him. “When did you start believing in this stuff, anyway?”

“Sam’s into this stuff and I want to impress him,” Steve answered, shrugging.

“I’M HERE TO HELP YOU GET IN SAM’S PANTS?!” Bucky roared.

Steve blinked at him, unimpressed. He returned his attention to book he’d been reading about different cryptids of the east coast. “You’re here to make sure I live long enough to. You know you wouldn’t have let me come alone anyway so I don’t understand why you’re making a fuss.”

“Unbelievable,” Bucky hissed. He got to his feet and turned to stomp off into the woods.

“Where are you going?” Steve called after him.

“I’m going to walk off my rage so I don’t just fucking kill you myself,” Bucky snapped.

“Take a flashlight.”

Bucky turned to walk back and grab one of the flashlights, then stormed back into the woods.

Maybe he should have brought breadcrumbs or something, because as soon as he got away from the fire, all of the trees looked the same. He was pretty sure that he was following a path, but not entirely. Maybe he should bite the bullet and go back. If Sam was there, he could razz him mercilessly for being attracted to a punk like Steve.

His flashlight caught on something shiny and blue as he turned around. Bucky paused, considering if he wanted to open that kettle of fish, then sighed in frustration. It would bother him forever if he didn’t see what it was. He turned the flashlight back on the trees they’d shone on before, not really expecting anything except maybe a shirt or coat that had been left behind by other campers.

Instead the beam found glowing red eyes. Bucky sucked in a deep breath to scream.

“Ow, fuck, that’s bright. Stop it!” the creature snapped, and a hand came up to shield its eyes.

Bucky dropped the beam just enough to show a furred ruff around the creature’s neck, which spread back to fuzzy blue wings. Its eyeballs’ glow faded to a dull pink as the light moved away. “Um, sorry,” he said, for lack of anything else.

“Well, at least you didn’t scream,” the creature sighed. “It hurts my ears.”

Bucky couldn’t help feeling incredibly proud of himself. A little stupid, too, though. He stole a glance at the creature’s ears, like a human’s except pointed, sort of like what he imagined an elf’s might look like. The tips were coated with blue fuzz, too. Somehow that was cute. “Oh no,” Bucky said.

The creature looked at him, eyes big and frightened. “Are you a hunter? Please don’t hurt me, I wasn’t doing anything.”

“I’ve just had a sexual awakening,” Bucky moaned, rubbing his face with his free hand.

“Oh, a monster fucker,” the creature said flatly. “Sometimes you’re worse.”

“Shut the fuck up people come looking for you for sex?!” Bucky asked shrilly. He found himself sinking to the ground, overwhelmed. “I just found this out about me!”

The creature took a few steps toward him, bending at the waist to be able to see his face. “Well, you don’t have to act like being attracted to me is a chore,” he said, scowling.

“You’re being very rude,” Bucky told it. “I’m having an identity crisis right now. What’s your name? Pronouns? I feel gross calling you ‘it.’“

“I’m Tony,” the creature said. Tony blinked at him, frowning, then added, “I’m male. It’s why I’m blue!” he added cheerfully, fluttering his wings. They shimmered in the dim glow from the flashlight. “Females are yellow.”

“That’s neat,” Bucky said faintly.

Tony blinked at him a little longer, then stood up, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “Well, you’re much prettier than most of the monster fuckers that come looking for us.”

Bucky felt very proud again. He thought maybe he shouldn’t, except Tony didn’t look offended or scared, so. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Yeah, like this weird little human? I don’t think he’s a monster fucker but he smells really fuckin’ horny whenever he comes. I can’t tell if it’s at the thought of me or his hunting partner,” Tony continued, oblivious.

Bucky surged to his feet on instinct and reached out for Tony’s hand. Tony stared up at him, mouth falling open in shock. He looked down at their entwined hands, then back at Bucky’s face.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know screaming hurts your ears but Tony. Tony. Please help me embarrass Steve.”

“The little hunter?” Tony asked skeptically.

“He and Sam just want your picture,” Bucky assured him, and then, “I will make it worth your while.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you have that I would want?”

“Have you ever tried a s’more?” Bucky asked.

Tony blinked, uncomprehending. “No?”

“You’ll love ‘em,” Bucky decided. “Come on.”

“Be careful of my fur, I’m venomous,” Tony warned again, but he allowed Bucky to pull him along anyway.

Bucky warned him to cover his ears just before they cleared the treeline, which seemed to get him in Tony’s good graces as both Sam and Steve screamed bloody murder when they saw him.

[titanbabyeams]

Roy Mustang never fully connected with the concept of ‘giving your daughter away’ until he released her after walking her down the aisle.

Logically, he knows it’s been a long time in the making. He’s seen less and less of his daughter as she’s grown-up but it’s strange to sit at her wedding reception, knowing she’s officially a part of a family he will only have limited contact with. That she will have an entire life separate from him, regardless of how close they are.

He’s okay with that. It doesn’t feel wonderful, no, but he trusts the man his daughter has chosen to marry. A half-Ishvalan, open-minded and extroverted fellow. They dated for five years before even approaching the topic of marriage. Now, at 23, his daughter is married.

“It’s a dry wedding, I can’t even drown my emotions,” Jean bemoans as he worms his way between Roy and an empty chair.

“Sophia isn’t a fan of alcohol,” Roy explains as if Jean doesn’t already know this, “And we do have at least one sober alcoholic in attendance.” Edward Elric’s oldest child, who is currently pretending to cry in a picture with his newly-wed daughter. He’s quite the character but has always been gentle with Sophia.

“Yeah, yeah. How ya feelin’, Chief? Like you’re losin’ her forever?”

“Please.” Roy tears his eyes away from her—clad in traces of Ishvalan culture, blending with a classic white wedding dress—and to his friend. “She still crawls into bed with me if Simeon leaves early enough. I will not be rid of her, even in death.” Roy’s eyes find his daughter again. She’s beautiful, he’s so proud of her.

Jean barks a laugh, good-natured even after everything. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

Sophia laughs at something Winry says to her, and Simeon is at her side grinning along. Roy isn’t sure either of them have stopped smiling this entire time. The reception is exclusive only to close friends and families, and neither of them have slipped from their ‘slightly higher than normal’ cheerful demeanor.

“Have you taken a picture with her?” Roy asks Jean. “A serious one, don’t think I didn’t notice that photo you took with her earlier.”

“Hey, it was Fuery’s idea!” Jean defends, “And Sophie loved it so much, she was the first to pose. We did take a serious photo, thank you very much.”

“Good.” Roy smiles, “Good. As eccentric as they may be, I am sure even they will be glad for some more sentimental photos.”

“I’m not sure the Elrics are physically capable of a serious photo,” Jean reaches onto the table to snag a chocolate mint, popping it in his mouth. “Ya should’ve seen Ed earlier, he’s having more fun with this wedding than his own, I swear.”

“Less stressful that way, I’m sure,” He remarks quietly.

“What was that?” Comes the ever-familiar voice of his dearly beloved.

Roy laughs, somewhat nervously. “Nothing, Dear,” He looks over at Riza, “You look lovely. Did you do your hair today?”

She rolls her eyes—but he can see the smile. He’s won. “Come. Sophia would like pictures with her parents.”

“Wow, Chief,” Jean shakes his head, low and disappointed, “Getting on my case and ya haven’t even taken a photo with her yet.”

“Go fuck yourself, Havoc.” Roy stands and pats his friend’s shoulder as he breaks into laughter again.

He takes his wife’s arm in his own. “How did we get so lucky?” He asks her as they weave around the tables.

“Luck.” Riza pats his arm, “And maybe the tiniest bit of paranoia.”

“Funny.”

Sophia catches sight of them and she brightens, as if she wasn’t already the brightest and most gorgeous person in attendance.

He truly, truly regrets nothing that’s led him to this moment.

[rgrdsalxndra]

The Prompt was: "It was only supposed to be one time."

[mysticmunson]

hi there readers of my fic ‘lone star’, what would you like to see in part 3?? i’m having a bit of writers block and would love to hear some input/ideas! mwah

masterlist

[trash-laurry]

sweet death

TW: death, bestfriend in distress, meme

The sudden thunder wakes you up for a split second, and in that moment you suddenly realize exactly where you are. Your surroundings quickly come into your focus, dizzying your senses and amplifying the horror.

Dry earth sits beneath your bare knees, poking through in uneaven tears from your pants. Somber cold blue tones pour over the sky and everything you’re able to see, like if it was a thick, hard to swallow cough syrup of impending doom cascading over your eyes. You’re afraid to look down at the whimpering mess your subconscious already knows, and is trying to shield you from. But your heart reminds you that that, lying with their head on your knees and your arm clutched into theirs, is your bestfriend. Your bleeding, crying, dying best friend.

Doom washes over your vision, fuzzing it up at the edges into a blurry mess of lines you can’t really tell apart from one another, the familiar uneaven glare of tears pooling in your eyes, resisting gravity before they give up, and give in, falling onto the tight embrace where your skin, and your bestfriend’s meet.

Darkness. Dark goey liquid covers that gesture once so sweet, so rare, too, as you never really were one for such deep spontaneous touches. But the irony touches you, and makes your head hurt, of how you rarely had one embrace like this, overflowing with love, and now you’re having one, probably your last one together, overflowing with visible life threatening loss. They look at you like they’re shocked, like it’s almost your fault, like the pact you had -“if you die, i die”- is not being respected. You seem to struggle managing the few seconds you can scrape from the bottom of the barrel, that is your friend’s ending life, now that your hands are almost invisible, covered under layers of dark, dark shiny liquid and grime.

And then time seems to stretch, like if you actually did pray out loud to a god you don’t believe in, for a miracle, and like if that god actually listened for once to your silent cry. Asking for a few seconds more, or for a few centuries more with them alive, standing and thriving by each other’s side. It stretches and it makes it almost awkward. The guilty thought of “ i have to say something, like i think they are about to die, cause when they’ll wake up in the hospital they’ll take the piss, and I’ll never stop hearing about how I didn’t tell them i loved them, or tried to save them when they were about to die”. So in what makes you feel like an egotistical sociopath, you scramble your energies like at the end of a play, when you have to fake happiness, and energy although you’re actually just trying to stay awake, and fully turn your energy into saving your platonic soul mate. You reach for the center of distress, press down on the source of the thick stream of life, and then if dawns on you.

Your friend is no longer struggling to stay, no longer breathing as if they hosted in their lungs the rattle of a snake. Confusion. That’s the best word to describe both of your state.

A weirdly sweet smell comes from the deep wound you imagined in their chest, the syrupy consistency seemed too thick, all of a sudden, to be the one of blood. And once again they seem to talk instead of drawl, and soften their expression into question, not into an excruciating twist of pain…

Slowly you look at them, as if to ask for permission, while doing something that seems to comically weird for the context you’re in. But ultimately they sustain the eye contact as if to say “go ahead, I’m just as confused” while watching you raise your hand to smell the liquid covering your clothes and their chest. Your dripping hand reaches your nose, with a tentative, insecure whiff you finally understand.

It was not blood at all, and they got it from the immediate poker face you gave them

And for once you where the one who wanted to kill them, as they realised what it was, clutched their jacket and yelled:

“OH NO MY VANILLA EXTRACT! MY SECRET STASH-GODDAMN-“

Oops <3 Don’t hate me. You know i had o do it to em- nix

[yedlihmad]

| “childhood” - for Wondrous Tails of FFXIV event​

cw: crude language, mentions of death, violence, insects, gore

A home is a roof. In the vast, ancient jungles of Golmore there are many houses built between the trees by the Rava, a timeless people with thousands of tribes and names. Many tribes mean many tongues, so of course across this swallowing forest there are roads some call streets, hills some call mountains, towers which others have climbed to the peak and bellowed out to their fellows, loud as a lion, "I am ruler of this castle!" But go to the village of Eryut, where they worship the Gold Serpent. There they have a special word for ‘home,’ the same word for ‘roof.’ Caves, grottos, roosts, lofts, cabins, huts, tents: for a Viera, they may serve the same purpose, a place to live, eat, and sleep. But until you have thatched and blackened the ceilings–until you have mudded its slopes with an offering to the Serpent, one worthy of your children and blood–it is just a dwelling. Not a home. 

Uncle Skjol did not have a home. He preferred to sleep in a hammock slung between two trees. The triplets were astonished to learn this one summer when the warders were down from the canopies; they had crowded around the old Viera while he fletched new arrows on the forge pavilion. “I don’t like them,” said Skjol, his grim face shiny with sweat. “I never have.” 

“But why?” asked Hrudr, swatting an insect that buzzed by; to celebrate the warder’s reunion the children had been given candied mango, and were at the mercy of fruit-loving flies. “Why does Uncle not like homes?”

“Uncle just doesn’t,” said Hrafn, plumpest and most practical of the three. “Can we have a story now?” 

Refr gnawed on a cube of mango, grinning. “Was he thrown out of the last one?”  

Skjol cursed. He waved a broken arrow shaft. “Steel’s too soft,” he said. "A thousand hexes on the bones of Skatay! Three whole solstices come and gone since the summer of Black Arrows and those Leskreta thieves trade us bad metal for good wood. Disgrace! Ten jacks to get the shipment north of the Henne, six jacks return, four lost when overrun by diresaur outside of Bysnoe Minor. Two eaten, two bitten in half alive, by the time the Barkwalkers got down there nothing was left but the chewed-up hocks. Pfah!” He spat over his shoulder. “Leskreta have no honor. The snow sucks it outta them, the Serpentless fucks.”

The children goggled, savoring this rare delight of bad language. Every time there was a warder reunion, you could count on two things: candied fruit, and pestering their father’s brother. Skjol was ancient, irascible; he had survived over a hundred summers with one eye and less than half an right ear. The old hunter rambled about life in the canopies as frequently and colorfully as he swore. No one in Eryut–not even their mother or her new, bossy wife Laggi–used curse words like he did in a way that was so satisfying to repeat. 

“Is it because homes are hard to build?” asked Hrudr. 

“Because they’re hard to guard,” offered Refr, his mouth half-full. “Creatures can get in. They sneak through holes in the walls.” 

“Is it because they get dirty?” asked Hrafn. Filth was a novel dilemma in their lives; with no children of her own yet, Laggi cleaned often and complained loudly about funky smells. 

Skjol sat in silence, glowering at an arrowhead that would not properly attach. He began to ramble again. “All three are true,” he said finally. “Homes are hard to build. All must be guarded. You let a space go wild and the next day it’s full of bugs. Locust swarms, six moons after the summer of Red Comets. Sheets of wings and horned legs so thick you could wear them like the matron’s robe. Hells!” Without looking, he flung the useless steel into a nearby bucket full of other ruined arrowheads. “I said I don’t like them, I never have. I don’t want a home.”

“What do you want, Uncle?”

Skjol squinted down the hole of a hollowed-out arrow shaft with his lone eye. “Sauna,” he said. “A good knife. Volcano-glass, the star’s obsidian, a rare trade Tikko made back in summer of Ninety-Nine Hounds. Tikko, he grew the biggest gourds you’ve ever seen, big as the moon’s ass. Best kind are the red ones for aging the fern-wine, blood sausage, the Mother made it finely in little loops you could carry on a wrist. Not that the knife did him any good, sweet bastard–dead at sixty-two summers, devoured alive by mantids. Serpent keep  his heart.” He was eyeing Refr’s bag of mango. “You wolf it down that fast, it’ll block you up like a dam on a river.” 

Refr snorted, chewing noisily. “If there were bugs in my home, I’d just eat them.”

Nods of agreement, understanding. “Yeah, why not just eat them?” 

Skjol dug a claw into the arrow shaft, hollowing it further. “You three are already bugs.”

Hrafn looked thoughtfully into the pavilion canopy, considering. “Perhaps Uncle would want a home, if it was made just for Uncle.”

More nodding, this time with enthusiasm. “An Uncle home, for Uncle to like!”

“Nope,” said Skjol, pinching a strip of sinew between his teeth. “Do not waste air talking like that. This is fucking up my fucked-up arrows. Where was I–ah, yes. Tikko’s big gourds. So, Tikko was my father’s sister’s eighth son. Six and seventy summers ago, on the celebration of Two Ladies, the matriarchs conferred with Muscadet that all strangler vines should be culled...”

But the children ignored him; they carried on, talking over each other, clamoring. “If we pitched it up high for Uncle, thatched and tiled it with clay, it would be easier to guard.”

“So that when he came home he could sleep in peace. A protected home!”

“When I’m grown, I will build us a big one,” announced Hrudr, sitting back and upright, like the elders did when issuing final decrees at council meetings. “And we will all live there, with Uncle, too! We’ll have twenty windows, five doors, a room for you, and three big chests.”

“Four chests. An extra one, for Uncle.”

“And guard it day and night,” added Hrafn. “We’ll go up to those Leskreta thieves and kick their tails until they give us the best steel. Then it will be less work. Why do it alone? Why–”

Suddenly Skjol stamped, scaring them; his big, clawed foot came slamming down on the pavilion planks, heel-first. Thump!

“Enough!” he bellowed. “You rats! What do you know about work, about homes? About Leskreta, steel, anything? Pfah!” He stamped again, scattering them, their bags of fruit sent flying. “Get out of here! Go! Leave me be!”

Squealing, the triplets bolted away from the pavilion. They stopped when they passed the elder’s lodge, each of them panting; Refr was doubling over with pained laughter. 

Moments with Uncle Skjol always ended like this. For as long as they could remember, they could only push him so far. But later, when the laughter passed–when Hrudr went to wash and Refr went to demand more mango–it was Hrafn who crept back and peeked through the tree trunks by the forge. Skjol was still there; he had not moved from his bench. He looked small and narrow through the trees, his gnarled ear curled like an old woman’s finger, accusing. 

Hrafn slunk onto the pavilion. Around the bench lay chunks of candied mango spilled from their bags. Hrafn gathered up each chunk and sat beside Skjol, pushing them in a gold pile towards him. Wordlessly the old Viera reached out, scooped up the pile, and poured it into his fanged mouth. Chewing and rambling as he worked. 

“After the winter of Muscadet betrayal, the strangler vines returned and lay in wait. Fourteen jacks lost to vines, six more from culling. The Two Ladies dishonored, their sanctity forsaken, made the rains thick so the ticks came in swarms. The next summer we gave skysong and three strong hearts to the Serpent to make up for the lost blessing, but the ticks...” 

Silence settled over them. A fly danced around the black patch that covered Skjol’s missing eye; it landed, circled, and hummed away. Skjol did not notice. He was staring at the place where the pavilion met the cobbled path. 

“I like what I need,” he said. “Sauna. A good knife. Good steel arrowheads, gourds, Tikko. Not roofs.” His single dark eye fixed on Hrafn, glaring hard at the child’s face. As if to bore right through. “I don’t like them, child. I never have, and I never will.” 

[tcbeamazing]

@mixed-up-multiverse said: Alt! (( I hope I’m not too late-- ))

Send me “alt!” and I’ll introduce you to a character I’ve rped in the past, want to play in the future or are currently playing somewhere else!

A derisive huff is their only greeting for you, which is the first sign that you should really be turning tail and leaving, now. Not many people have good things to say about Floofty, sure, but you've heard they've gotten better since.. well, whatever happened happened.

"If you wish to work under me, I suggest you learn to avoid dawdling," they snap, but something in their tone is not too wholly unkind. Perhaps even touched that you wanted to work with them specifically.

They toss a lab coat vaguely in your direction and hurry off faster than you'd thought someone with a newly amputated leg could, rambling about their latest strides in scientific discovery along the way.

a character i have rped in the past/want to play in the future: floofty fizzlebean from bugsnax!

[devious-little-milkmaiden]

Moby Dick is kinda gay.

Because like

Image credit: Victoria Maderna

And like

3rd Image Credit: 10 Pages (Or More)

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