#Prompt answers

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday!!!! More FMA!

He’s fucking tired.

In Xerxes, he’s Van Edris. In Xerxes, he’s the son of a former slave, having narrowly escaped being born into his father’s fate by virtue of him being awarded freedom by the time of his birth. In Xerxes, he’s an uncommon commodity, an alchemist with a skill that hasn’t been seen since his father fucked off to who knows where.

In Amestris, he’s Edward Elric. In Amestris, he’s the son of Trisha Elric who was born free and died free because while there are lots of different forms of freedom, in Amestris there’s one that everyone shares. In Amestris, he’s unknown and unremarkable and no one gives a fuck about what he does.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says flatly.

This is what he gets for visiting his father’s country. It’s just fucking unfortunate that the really good alchemical texts are here.

He should have let Al (Van Altun, as they know him, even though the two of them having been using their Amestrian names almost their whole lives, regardless of what country they were in) do it. They’re not nearly as weird about him.

Pakor is alright, as far as kings go. He’s freed a lot of people, is poking at the laws of ownership that has governed his country for centuries to see if he can do anything about them without getting beheaded for it. He’s also known Ed since he was a barely able to walk, back when his father still made court appearances and brought the family along with him. Former slave against most talented alchemist in the country, and people tended to politely ignore the former. Hell, Ed’s been counting on the same thing since he was twelve.

Of course, now it’s coming back to bite him. People say he’s a genius, but if he was really smart he would have stayed far, far away from court. Like in Amestris, perhaps.

“You’re fluent in both languages,” Pakor says, coaxing.

“So are you,” he says accusingly. “We’re speaking Amestrian right now!”

Pakor sighs and switches to Xerxian. “You also speak Xingese and Drachman. You’re a difficult man to keep secrets from.”

“I’m also Amestrian!” he shouts. “And free, might I add! You can’t sell me off to slavery just to get some intel!”

“It’s not like we’ll brand you,” he says, affronted, and Ed is reminded that alright for a king is still pretty shitty. “We just need someone to do a little – double checking. To ensure the situation in Amestris is as it’s advertised.”

“You want to gift me to the Fuhrer to spy on him and you’re, what, just hoping he doesn’t notice that I understand everything and know everything and am, oh yeah, one of his citizens? I’ve been to Central before! With my luck, I’ll get recognized the first day here and then run out of Amestris! And, again, Amestris doesn’t have slaves! The leader of the country really can’t have one.”

Pakor sighs. “You’re very dramatic, Edris. It won’t be so bad. Here, I’ll say you’re my personal slave and that you’re on loan. It’ll be for cultural exchange purposes. He speaks Xingese, so you can communicate in that language without letting on you know Amestrian.”

Ed pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is a stupid fucking idea.”

“If you do this,” Pakor says, “I’ll give you the key to the royal library.”

Ed slowly lowers his hand, eyes narrowing. “I’ve been asking you to let me in there for years.”

“I figured I’d need to bargain it away eventually,” he says. “I was hoping you’d marry one of my daughters for it.” Having even light court obligations is bad enough, he’s in no way stupid enough to marry in. “You’re very difficult, you know. I’m your king. I shouldn’t have to bargain with you.”

“Tough shit,” Ed says, because Pakor may have known him for nearly twenty years, but that knowing goes both ways. Besides, he can’t piss him off because then he and Al will stop reparing all their shit bridges and infrastructure. “Fine. But if I lose my Amestrian citizenship over this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Noted,” Pakor says brightly.

Uhg.

It doesn’t help that everything he’s heard about Fuhrer Mustang makes the man sound insufferable.

#ling shows up halfway through this deception and is like hi ed why are you dressed like that and why are you talking like that #and ed has to strangle a prince of xing to keep his fucking mouth shut #every second he's ever spent at court was a mistake #al and winry are pulled between being appalled about this whole thing and thinking it's the funniest thing they've ever heard #prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #fma

[inkstaindusk]

*knock knock* es laying on the floor

Kohaku nearly trips when he enters the practice room and stumbles over Rinne’s prone body on the floor. He stares down at him for a second, stunned, before looking back up. Himeru is here, casual as can be, but Niki is nowhere to be seen. He looks back down at Rinne, who didn’t even twitch at his arrival, though he seems to be awake, if breathing shallowly.

“Rinne-han?” Kohaku says, lightly nudging him with his toe. No response. He glances at Himeru. “What’s up with him?”

Himeru looks up from his phone with an amused smile. “Shiina kissed him,” he says airily. “Then Amagi broke. He’s been like this for the past ten minutes.”

“Seriously?” That’s pathetic. “Where’s Niki-han then?”

“He went to get food, since our practice has been delayed. He said he’ll get up soon though.”

Kohaku nudges Rinne with his toes again, a bit rougher. “Hey, get up. We can’t practice without our center, idiot.” Rinne still doesn’t move. “Are you kidding me? It was just a kiss.” Rinne mumbles something into the floor. “What?”

He lifts his head, squinting up at him, and repeats weakly, “Kissing should be reserved for marriage.”

Kohaku stares at him. In the corner of his eye, he sees Himeru’s shoulders start shaking. “You’re kidding me.” Rinne plops his head back down with a groan. “Oh my god.”

Rinne and Niki are together. Everyone knows they are together. They share an apartment that they use more than the dorms, Rinne declares his love for Niki on a daily basis, and the only reason they’re not actually married is because, as Niki always says, it’s currently illegal for two men to get married in Japan.

“Have you never kissed Niki-han before?” Kohaku asks, genuinely confused.

The door opens and Niki walks in, arms full of bags. “He has,” Niki speaks through the bread in his mouth. He sets down the bags and takes out the bread. “He gets like this every time,” he explains with a put-upon sigh, then kneels down to poke at Rinne's shoulder. “Oiii, Rinne. If we’re not going to practice anymore, I’m just gonna head back alone.”

Kohaku hates them, but especially Rinne. He really does. “Not even Hiiro was like this the first time Aira kissed him,” he mutters as he drags his feet closer to where Himeru is.

Rinne jerks his head up. “Aira-chan did what?”

Ah, shit.

#rinne probably: you gotta give me some WARNING (<- guy who's been dating niki for a few years now) #enstars #ensemble stars #amagi rinne #shiina niki #oukawa kohaku #himeru #crazy:b #rinniki #anya tries to write #drabbles #enstars lb #asks #anon asks #prompt answers

[mistresslrigtar]

An entry for your 100 word drabble challenge!

Purah makes Zelda kiss a frog for *science,* except it turns into a boy.

Congrats on meeting your goal! 😁 I'm very excited to tag along on your pirate au!

Thanks for the prompt @sparklyhyperbole! Glad you’re enjoying Captain Araki and I hope you like this. This was fun to write. ☺️

“Truff or dare?” Zelda sipped from her glass of wine, sloshing half over her hand.

“Truth.” Rhoam would have Purah’s hide if he knew Zelda was tipsy.

“Where did chu get this frog?” Zelda, eyes slightly crossed, tapped the glass. The blue-eyed teal and brown frog responded, scrabbling against its enclosure.

“Kiss it and I’ll tell.” Purah grinned mischievously when the amphibian began croaking. Rhoam be damned.

“Fine.” Lifting the frog, Zelda pressed puckered lips to his.

“Princess? Why are you kissing a frog?” A bemused Link stood in the lab doorway.

Zelda froze, smiling sheepishly at her appointed knight.

#legend of zelda #zelink #the legend of zelda #drabble challenge #prompt answers #mistress lrigtar writes

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

Malleus + Blush (for the Valentine's Day ask)?

Prompt: blush: what could someone do this valentine’s to make you feel special?

Malleus:

-

Take him somewhere public, even if it just a walk in the town or Starbucks, doesn’t matter, just hold his hand the entire time so everyone knows you’re with him

Make him anything and he’ll talk about it to Lilia (and anyone else who listens) he might even introduce himself to strangers just to talk about it

He’ll loose his mind if it’s one of a kind or hand made. Made an art project about gargoyles and sculpted a mini one for him? It’s going on his desk so he gets to see it everytime he does his work

Give him black roses and he’ll be so happy, they are his favorite rose (just don’t cut the thorns it ruins the aesthetic)

#headcanons #hcs #prompt answers #valentine prompt answer #malleus x reader #malleus x mc #sfw

[megaphonegirlk]

❄ donna beneviento

Donna Beneviento feels at peace in the snow.

In the mountains of the village , it often snowed during the colder months. It was a time where things went quiet. When the sounds of the forest were muffled and the gently falling flakes would land and melt upon the sleeves of her dark dress, and in Angie's delicate hair. Angie would dance around among the bare branches, throwing snow in the air and cackling with childish glee as Donna watched with a gentle smile behind her veil. Once upon a time, before things had gotten so bad, Donna would take trunks of puppets and toys down to the village during the darkest days of the year to bring joy to the local children. Puppet shows by a small fire, with fresh baked treats distributed by the ever energetic Angie as Donna played out local folk tales of Miss Madelina, and gentle plays about the Lords and their various fictional exploits. Once upon a time, it was one of Donna's greatest sources of joy to see their faces as her dolls danced and played. Once the curtains closed, the dolls found new homes among the village children, There wasn't a child around who didn't know the local dollmaker and her toys as the first snow touched the trees of the unnamed village. But time passes, and things change. When Donna no longer could face the fearful looks of terrified reverence at the sight of her newest dolls and her deteriorating visage, she retreated to her family home. So now the winter is spent alone, in the quiet snowfall with Angie playing about among the graves of all those who'd left her behind. Perhaps...Perhaps Karl or Alcina would visit this year, passing through the driving snow to enjoy the beauty of the snowfall together over a cup of fresh tea. Or perhaps not. Not with the Ceremony quickly approaching. Donna was sure nobody would have time for cozonac and tea...or puppet shows by her fireplace...or an old reel of film in her study. So instead she would sit on her sister's graveside, watching the snow fall and the world turn white and still. Donna Beneviento felt at peace in the snow...and this year, she hoped that the peace could last forever.

#Donna Beneviento #Resident Evil #Resident Evil Village #prompt answers #ask answers #🪆🐍

[lemonluvgirl]

Make Me, An Everlark One Shot

I wrote this story in response to a request for a drabble featuring “Come over here and make me” + Everlark. It ended up being over 20 pages long in google docs, but hey! Fanfiction am I right? You can never tell what’s going to happen when you start a story lol. Anyways hope you like this, whoever requested this. It does get explicit in the end. 

It was supposed to be an ordinary Saturday night. The kind where I met my best friend for drinks at the local hole in the wall, and hustled some miners out of their pocket change. They were usually easy marks who paid more attention to the way my ass looked in my short denim shorts while I lined up a shot, than the actual game.

But a little into the first half hour, while patrons were still trickling in slowly, the mood in the bar changed from relaxed to filled with some kind of unnamable tension. It was still early, too early for any drunken disagreements to break out, but the tense mood lingered. I shrugged it off as Gale and I started to prepare for our first game.

The first time I noticed him was when he stood in front of the bar but didn’t sit down. He just held up a finger as he gave the bartender his order. His hair was pale blond, and he had a thicker build than most of the olive skinned men from the Seam. I only caught a side glimpse of his face, and then the crowd flowed around him, obscuring him from view.

Well, an outsider coming into our bar certainly explained the weird feeling I’d gotten earlier. I chocked it up to obliviousness, maybe a traveler passing through who didn’t know the customs of the locals.

The second time I noticed him was when he slowly sauntered over to the pool table that all of the regulars at the bar knew as mine and Gale’s spot. At first he just seemed familiar, but the closer he got the more familiar he appeared. He walked up to us and placed a quarter on the rail, at the same time I placed him, and where I knew him from correctly.

“I call next.” The now taller than I remembered, but still stocky blond guy said in a voice too cheery for the dreary establishment we all called The Hob. The only identifying mark outside was a busted neon sign labeling it ‘Bar’. He couldn’t have chosen to come in here based on the aesthetics, or the welcoming atmosphere. This place was usually only frequented by exhausted miners and out of work Seam residents, and he stuck out like a sore thumb in his brand name jeans and his expensive looking sneakers.

Beside me Gale laughed.

“I think you missed your exit Merchie. The townie bar is 4 streets over.” Gale told the guy, who I went to school with from elementary to high school. He had been the youngest son of the baker, valedictorian in my class, captain of the wrestling team. I vaguely remembered the circumstances surrounding his reappearance in our podunk town.

His father passed away last year. People said their family bakery was in trouble, and the former golden boy had to move back home because his university scholarship had been cut when he blew out his knee. A string of unfortunate events that seemed to plague the kind boy I once knew.

All that and his pale merchant good looks weren’t winning him any popularity contests, tonight. At least not in this place.

“It's a free country.” Peeta Mellark said, voice firm instead of placating like I assumed he would be. He had a reputation for being a nice guy back in school, not really a push over, since he was strong and athletic, but more….gentle than anything.

But right now Peeta’s blue eyes didn’t look gentle. They looked immovable and hard as he met Gale’s gray gaze, stare for stare. It was a little shocking to see him so…unintimidated by my 6’3 best friend who could scare off guys who sniffed too closely around our pool table in a heartbeat.

I elbowed Gale in the ribs to cut the tension and the macho male bullshit going on. He turned to me with a scowl.

“Your turn to break.” Was all I said.

Gale grunted and took up his pool stick, as Peeta leaned against the side wall watching.

I turned my back to him, hoping he’d get bored and leave eventually.

But he didn’t.

He stayed through the entire game, and I could feel his eyes on my back. Although he didn’t outright leer when I leaned forward to take my shots like some of the other guys were known to. Several times I caught his eye, but he always looked away or covered it by lifting the mug of beer to his lips, his stare getting lost in the dissipating foam.

Eventually, I kicked Gale’s ass, like I usually did on a Saturday night. When the last ball sunk into the pocket, my best friend handed over five bucks with a scowl but didn’t leave to go get us some drinks like he normally would. Instead Gale stuck around and eyed Peeta watchfully like he was a wild animal lurking around one of his game trails, waiting for Gale’s back to turn so it could swoop in and steal some meat from one of his snares.

Peeta, seemingly unbothered by Gale’s lingering presence, took up a pool stick and a cue and ignoring Gale’s glare. He instead looked over at me expectantly.

I looked back at him with a neutral expression. If he wanted to spend his Saturday night in a shitty bar, losing his money to a known pool shark like me, who was I to argue?

“It's your turn to break right?” Peeta asked me in a voice I almost mistook as shy. And when I looked closer at him, he smiled a little at me. It was…sort of adorable? I wasn’t used to guys giving me such blatant puppy dog eyes and sunny smiles with just the right hint of self consciousness.

I nodded, fighting off a blush, and was about to ask him whether he wanted to be solids or stripes, but before I could, Gale cut in.

“She’s not gonna play with you.” He said in a menacing voice.

My head snapped quickly in Gale’s direction, and now I could see there wasn’t just dislike in his eyes, but something akin to fury.

“I didn’t know you were her keeper.” Peeta replied, as he shifted his gaze to Gale who crossed his arms over his chest. There was something icy in his tone that I had not ever heard before.

I was taken aback for a second by the bizarre turn of events. Sure, my long time best friend had always been protective of me, but this was down right ridiculous. What did he think Peeta Mellark was gonna do? Shank me in the middle of the bar in front of a crowd of witnesses with a pool stick?

“He’s not.” I bit out the words to cut off Gale’s answer before he spoke.

“Grab a drink Gale. Or take a walk. I’ll be done here in a bit.” I ordered, fed up with his posturing and bad attitude.

“I’ll do that once this merchant asswipe gets the hell outta our bar.” Gale said, undeterred.

Before I could tell Gale what an absolute idiot he was making of himself, Peeta answered.

“Why don’t you come over here and make me.” In a challenging voice.

“Crap.” I muttered right before Gale took a step forward. The night was turning out decidedly different to how I envisioned my weekend going.

~

The fight was short lived, and ended with a black eye for Gale and nasty gash on Peeta’s temple. Sae, the actual owner of the bar, threw them out on their asses after they broke one of her tables.

I shook my head as I watched the blood drip down Peeta’s face, still flowing freely and in danger of getting into his eye. I suddenly felt bad about Gale’s behavior. Attitudes like his were what kept the merchant/seam divide alive in our small community. It didn’t sit well with me how he had attacked Peeta over nothing more significant than a game of pool.

I walked over to Peeta, ignoring Gale as he picked himself up the parking lot floor gingerly.

“You’re gonna need to put something on that cut.” I told Peeta who was holding up his sleeve to the cut on his head. The wound did not look like it was going to stop bleeding anytime soon, in fact his sleeve was almost soaked through with blood already.

“I’ve got a first aid kit in my truck.” I added and then extended a hand to him to help him up.

Peeta looked up at me with surprise.

He allowed me to haul him up and I tried to shake off the warm feeling that traveled up my arm from the heat of his big hand in mine. I dropped his hand as soon as he was on his feet and started walking in the direction of my truck, without looking to make sure he was following me.

I heard Gale call out my name but I ignored him. He could go home and ice his face without any help from me. I wasn’t going to baby him for starting a pointless fight.

I walked around to the passenger side door, unlocked it, turned on the overhead light and dug the first aid kit out of my glove box. Then I turned around to motion to Peeta, who was standing behind me patiently, to sit down in the passenger seat.

He moved around me carefully, and sat down, with his legs facing me as I leaned in to inspect his cut.

Thankfully the cut wasn’t deep enough to require stitches, and looked worse than it really was. That was the nature of head wounds though, they bled a lot and looked scary but were usually not that bad aside from the risk of concussion. Which Peeta was not in danger of, since the cut was caused from a scape when he caught the edge of a chair when Gale pushed him.

“Not too deep. Shouldn’t need stitches. But I can call an ambulance if you want to make sure.” I told him quietly.

Peeta shook his head slightly.

“No, it's fine. I trust your judgment.” He replied, his good eye looking at me with something undefinable, while he kept his other eye closed so blood couldn’t get in it.

I scoffed.

“You don’t even know me.” I pointed out.

“We’ve known each other since we were five years old, Katniss.” He said with amusement.

I frowned as I rifled through my first aid kit for the right kind of bandage and an antiseptic wipe.

“You haven’t seen me in four years, Peeta. For all you know, I could be a serial killer who buries bodies in my backyard.”

“Somehow I highly doubt that.” He says, before he winces as I start to clean his cut.

I didn't reply, and instead focused on putting on the small butterfly bandages to help hold the edges of the cut closed. I breathed through my mouth, to avoid the smell of blood making me ill. I was not like my little sister and mother, who didn’t bat an eyelash at gaping or festering wounds. There was a reason my mom had been an ER nurse for years before she met and married my father. It was the same one that ensured Prim got accepted into medical school while I stayed behind and took general community classes at the local college. I didn’t like the sight or smell of blood. But I could work through it, if I had to.

After applying the 2nd bandage I stepped back and surveyed my work. His wound was no longer bleeding, and he could open both his eyes, which he did as he searched my face for the answer to some question only he knew.

“Why are you helping me?” He asked, after a moment.

I blinked at him, caught off guard.

I shrugged. Probably for a lot of reasons, but mainly because I didn’t like how everything had gone down tonight.

“You helped me once.” I finally said, remembering the one kind gesture from so long ago.

“You mean from when we were kids?” Peeta asked, his voice slightly confused.

I nodded.

“That was middle school, Katniss, I think we can let that go now.” Peeta said in a tired and slightly disappointed sounding voice.

I shook my head. He didn’t get it. Of course he didn’t. He was a well to do merchant, who never wondered where his next meal was going to come from. He didn’t know the significance of what it meant when he fed me, when no one else would.

I cleared my throat, pushing away the old overwhelming emotions that resurfaced whenever I thought about that dark period in my life. I was no longer that starving girl, who tried to dig through the school’s trash bin to recover a half eaten sandwich without anyone noticing.

He was no longer the boy who slipped twenty dollars into my backpack after he caught me scrounging for scraps that day, like a desperate animal.

“The first gift is always the hardest to pay back.” I muttered under my breath, stepping further away.

Those twenty dollars had gone a long way. They paid for some much needed groceries for my sister and I. When I finally had enough to eat, I remembered about the bow my father bought me for my birthday before he passed away. I remembered about the woods and the animals I could hunt for meat, and the plants I could gather for sustenance.

Those twenty dollars changed everything for us in a way he would probably never understand.

Me bandaging his cut barely scratched a dent in the surface of what I still owed him.

But it would have to do for now. It was a start at least. I had never really gathered up the courage to thank him, too embarrassed to say anything after he had seen me at my lowest point, willing to eat literal garbage because I was so poor and hungry.

“Where’s your car?” I asked him, clearing my throat before he could say anything more on the subject.

“I walked.” Peeta replied.

I shook my head.

“I’ll give you a ride home.” I said, thinking this was one more way I could start repaying that debt.

I walked back over to the driver’s side door of my dad’s old pick up. The one I’d inherited after he died. My mother never could bring herself to drive it. So it passed to me when I reached driving age. It was old, but I loved it. It was one of his things I still had left, after all these years.

Gale met me when I got to the other side, his face a quickly bruising mess.

“What are you doing?” He seethed.

“Dropping off the guy you attacked for no reason.” I replied blandly, opening my truck door, determined not to let Gale do any more damage tonight. The easiest way to disarm Gale was to pay him no mind when he was throwing a fit. His anger usually burned itself out as long as I didn’t give it any fuel.

“No reason? Are you kidding me? You know he just wants to get in your pants right? Why else would he come here?” Gale yelled, loud enough for Peeta to hear from inside the truck.

I fixed Gale with my best scowl, pointedly not looking back to where Peeta was sitting in my truck.

“I don’t need you or anyone else to play gatekeeper with my underwear. I can do that just fine on my own. Go home Gale. Ice that black eye. I’ll see when you’re done behaving like a neanderthal.” I told him with a roll of my eyes.

“Just don’t come crying to me when you wake up in the morning and he forgets your first name.” Gale says bitterly, before turning around and stomping off.

I hold back from shouting something equally cutting at his retreating back and instead yank the door open with more force than necessary.

~

The drive to Peeta’s apartment is quiet, and he only spoke to give me directions. We drove a short distance from the bar, and stayed on the less expensive side of town. At the end I pulled up in front of a moderate complex, which surprised me because I thought he’d be back living above the bakery with his mom, but I found I respected him more for having his own place.

I parked and cut off the engine. Just when I thought I was going to get away without having to address the embarrassing things Gale said, Peeta broke the silence.

“Sorry I ruined your night.” He said.

I shook my head.

“Wasn’t really your fault.” I told him in an even tone.

“I still feel bad you had to leave early.”

“I’ll get over not getting my usual Saturday night beer.” I said to him with a shrug.

He looked over at me, tilted his head a little, with his hand still on the door handle.

“I’ve got a couple of bottles in the fridge.” He offered quietly, in an offhand way.

I began to shake my head, but then I thought about going back to my empty, rundown little studio apartment and reheating some leftover chinese takeout, while I watched some mindless tv.

I looked over at Peeta assessingly.

It could be that Gale had the right of it, and he was trying to make a move on me. But somehow I doubted it. The Peeta I remembered from school didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. Even during the fight, Peeta reacted defensively to Gale’s tactics, and hadn’t seemed out to hurt my friend.

After a moment I nodded.

“Ok.” I said, confident that if he tried anything I would put those defense classes I took at the community college to good use. That and I always carried some pepper spray in my purse.

Peeta’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t expected me to say yes, but then he opened the passenger side door and waved at me to follow him.

Which I did, up a short flight of steps to the second door on the right. Peeta unlocked his apartment after fumbling with the key for a bit, and I blinked when he flicked on the light.

His place was small, but clean and it looked well lived in. It was an open concept, but not quite as tiny as my studio. Books lined one wall. Paintings another. I vaguely remembered art being his favorite activity in elementary. I think I heard he even minored in it when he went to college.

There was also an entertainment center with a newish looking flatscreen and a few game consoles that took up the majority of space in the living room. But his couches were old, the faux black leather peeling along the arm rest and on some of the cushions.

“It’s not much but-” He started to say, one hand gripping the back of his neck in mild embarrassment. The movement caused his shirt to ride up slightly, and I caught a glimpse of the skin above the waistband of his jeans.

I looked away, in an effort not to ogle the faint dusting of dark blond hair that caught my attention.

“It’s nice.” I cut him off, by passing the living room and heading for the kitchen. He had a small standing counter, with the sink on one side, and a couple of stools on the other turning it into a short and cramped breakfast bar.

I plopped down on one of the stools and waited for him. He walked around me, and headed towards the left side of the kitchen. He opened a door that I assumed to be his pantry, but was apparently his laundry room. I watched him from the sliver of space he left from the slightly open door as he stripped off his blood stained shirt and pulled a clean one over his head.

My throat suddenly felt very dry at the sight of his naked, broad, and well muscled back and arms. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. It had been a while since I’d seen a guy without his shirt on in real life. The image was a little dizzying.

He made his way over to the fridge then, unaware of my spying and pulled out two bottles of Corona. I watched as he opened a drawer and dug around in the clutter for a bottle opener.

He placed the beer in front of me after uncapping it and I took a slow pull from it, savoring the hoppy taste.

“I didn’t mean to cause any problems in your relationship. I just wanted to play some pool.” Peeta said as he stared at his hands on the table top guiltily. His knuckles were bruised, and peeling slightly from hitting Gale’s face.

I sighed. Took another sip.

“You didn’t. Gale will get over it. He gets a little overprotective sometimes. But it’ll blow over in a day or two.” I replied dismissively.

“He looked really upset.” Peeta argued. I looked over at him in annoyance.

“That’s Gale’s default mode. He’s not happy unless he has something to gripe about. But he’s my best friend and a good hunting partner, so I put up with his snark most of the time. Tonight he was over the line though.”

“Over the line? Why because he tried to kick my ass for daring to walk into a Seam bar or because he acted like you were his property?” Peeta asked, finally looking up at me.

There was a blazing question in his brilliant blue eyes. They were just as captivating as I remember from our years in school together. If anything, age and maturity had just given him a more magnetic stare.

“Both.” I answered simply.

Peeta made a ‘ahh’ sound, and clucked his tongue. He took a larger swallow from his beer and I watched the movement of the muscles in his throat as he swallowed.

Watching his adam’s apple bob is actually highly stimulating. Either that or I hadn’t been alone with an attractive guy around my age who wasn’t Gale in…how many months again?

“Gale gets territorial sometimes.” I found myself explaining, “We dated, like a million years ago. He was my first boyfriend, but it didn’t work out. We went back to being friends, but sometimes he forgets that I can fend for myself just fine without his help.” I said casually, trying to explain away the strange relationship Gale and I had.

Peeta eyed me, his lips pursed, as if he was holding back from saying something.

“What?” I asked in a gruff tone.

“Nothing, just…are you sure he doesn’t think you’re going to get back together someday?”

I laughed.

“We fought like cats and dogs the entire time we dated, drove each other nuts, and sex wasn’t even that great.” I said dryly. “We’re better off as friends.” I added with finality.

Peeta seemed a little surprised at my confession, he probably wasn’t expecting me to mention anything about Gale’s and my uncompatibility in the bedroom. Gale had a reputation for being a lady killer in town, but size wasn’t the only thing that mattered.

I’d had better and more consistent experiences with my medium sized vibrator.

“Well, that’s kind of surprising.” Peeta said, with a little cough at the end.

“Why?” I asked curiously.

“Because, he’s kind of famous for being the king of the slag heap.” Peeta replied, his cheeks flushing slightly as he avoided looking at me directly.

Was he weirded out by this conversation? I was kind of weirded out by it myself. I didn’t make a habit of discussing my best friend’s sexual prowess with aquaintences I hadn’t seen since high school.

I shrugged.

“Some people just aren’t as compatible in real life as they are on paper.” I stated. Which was the crux of the whole me and Gale problem we’d realized many years ago. Theory said we should have gotten along perfectly, but in actuality we were too alike to mesh well.

Peeta nodded, but his cheeks were still pink.

I cleared my throat, preparing to change the subject.

“Have all your relationships worked out the way you thought they would?” I asked, because it seemed fair he spill something after I just admitted why Gale and I didn’t work out.

Peeta shook his head.

“I dated a little in college, but no one really left a lasting impression, you know?” He said, with a shrug of his own.

I nodded. I did know. After Gale I had tried to date a few other guys. Darius who worked as a traffic cop. Thresh from my freshman psyche class.

But I had never felt that spark.

Peeta looked over at me then, as if trying to gauge my sincerity.

“The dating pool is unsurprisingly shallow in our small town.” I said with a chuckle before I took another sip.

“Oh, I won’t write it off completely.” Peeta said, adding a laugh of his own and glancing over at me. I squinted at him and he busied himself by wiping a nonexistent speck off his clean countertop.

I was starting to get the feeling maybe Gale wasn’t as far off the mark as I had initially thought. Surprisingly the thought didn’t alarm me. I had never been the kind of girl that let some guy pick her up in a bar, but for some reason Peeta’s assumed interest didn’t feel sleazy to me. I was cautiously pleased at the idea that he wanted me.

But there was only one way to find out for sure.

“Why did you come to The Hob tonight Peeta?” I asked, settling down my half finished bottle and looking right at him. “And don’t say for the atmosphere.”

He got a sort of deer-in-the-headlights look on his face then.

“It wasn’t because of you-I mean-well in a way it was I did ask Thom where I you usually hung out when he came by the bakery this week, but it's not how Gale made it out to be-I’m not trying to sleep with you-I mean, not that you’re not attractive, or that I think I’m superior or-or-shit.” Peeta stumbled over his words and I just watched, slightly mystified as to why the former homecoming King was nervous about trying to pick me up. Which it was now clear he had intended to do.

“Gale called it.” I said, sitting back in surprise.

Peeta shook his head emphatically. I laughed at his denial, it seemed this night was just full of surprises.

“I just wanted to ask you out on a date.” Peeta blurted, his cheeks and neck looked splotchy now, and his blue eyes were still wide in alarm.

I cocked my head, giving him a ‘don’t lie to me’ look.

Peeta shook his head again, but I’d had enough. I could deal with a straightforward proposition. What I didn’t like was being led on, or jerked around.

“I don’t like liars.” I said, before I stood up and started in the direction of his front door, ready to leave. I heard Peeta following a few steps behind, and I turned around to face him. He put his hands up with his palms out, and backed off, when he saw my angry scowl.

“You don’t have to believe me. I guess you have no reason to give me the benefit of the doubt.” He finally said, his tone defeated. He hung his head, and shook it, almost imperceptibly.

I looked at him then, scrutinized him really. I tried to weigh what I knew of him against the circumstances. It was the last thing he said that really stuck in my mind.

I guess you have no reason to give me the benefit of the doubt.

That was the problem. I did know him. He was the boy who always picked the nerdy kid to be on his team first so they didn’t get picked last. He would stop in the hallways and help people who had dropped their books. He loaned people his homework before the bell when they forgot theirs at home.

And he showed me kindness when I thought the world was a cruel and thankless place.

“Can you tell me your intentions were one hundred percent honorable?” I asked, with one eyebrow arched in question.

“Peeta’s head snapped up.

“Um, maybe 95% honorable.” He said, his voice hushed. He looked at me with a little shame but I didn’t focus on that. I made my way back towards him slowly.

He watched me warily, as if he were preparing for me to try and slap him.

“95% is a lot better than most.” I said quietly as I continued to stalk towards him.

“I’m not going to sleep with you just because you were the homecoming king, you know.” I told him, a note of warning in my voice. My worn hunting boots stopped just an inch away from his orange nikes.

Peeta smiled at me a little crookedly when I looked up at him.

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

I shrugged.

“You were kinda hard to miss up on that big float, with people throwing roses at you.” I replied.

He laughed, relaxing a little.

“I hope you know I don’t expect anything at all from you, Katniss. I knew it was a long shot just showing up at that bar. But I’ve wanted to ask you out for years.” He said, his eyes slightly dilated, the blue of his iris receding as he studied my features in the low light of his living room.

I bit my lips, debating for a minute. I had noticed him looking at me over the years, across classrooms and gymnasiums. At school dances and football games. He always had this question in his eyes. One I was never really sure how to answer before.

But in the moment, I decided to throw caution to the wind. Here he was, and here I was. I wanted him and it seemed he wanted me too. So, I simply stretched up on my toes to kiss him.

He made a startled sound in the back of his throat when our lips met, and his eyes remained wide open and locked on mine, but when I swiped my tongue across his top lip he shuddered, and closed his eyes.

I closed mine too, as he returned pressure and our mouths melded together.

He kissed me back softly, tilting his head just enough to give me better access as I tasted him. His mouth warm, his tongue neither too aggressive or too passive, for an introductory kiss. He tasted mainly like the beer we had both drank, and he smelled like something deliciously spicy and male.

When I didn’t break the kiss he wrapped one arm around me, palm pressed flat against my back tentatively. I leaned in closer, resting my hand on his chest, over his hard pec, where underneath the muscle and tissue I felt his heart beating hard.

The feeling of that fast rhythm pounding away under my hand did something to me. I ended up with my hands wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers woven into his short hair, pulling him in for more.

He moaned into my mouth, and his other hand came to rest on my hip. His fingers dig into my skin when I cloyingly bit his lip.

Finally, we broke away, both of our chests heaving. His eyes were almost completely black, and his lips were wet and swollen, as I’m sure mine were too.

He looked down at me in amazement and I smiled back at him.

“What was that for?” He asked, licking his lips like he liked the taste of me on them.

I smirked.

“That was because I always wondered what it would be like to kiss a valedictorian.” I joked.

Peeta tilted his head back and laughed, and in the moment he looked so beautiful it made the spot between my thighs clench.

“I should have known. You only want me for my intelligence.” He said, his voice playing at being wounded but his blue eyes were alight with amusement.

“Now you know my big dark secret.” I said in a playful voice. “Smart guys turn me on.” I added, my shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

Peeta raised his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah?” He asked in a husky voice that sent a little thrill through me that settled like languid heat pooling in my lower abdomen.

I nodded, biting my lip again. His eyelids drooped into something more hooded and his hands caressed my back through my shirt.

“I could talk to you about art theory, and the techniques used by master painters, or I could recite the history of the evolution of art, from cave paintings to the modern renaissance.” He told me in a low, seductive voice. I knew he was just kidding, but I almost wished he would start reciting some stupid art facts that were ultimately meaningless to me. I just liked it when he talked to me in that smooth drawl of his.

“How about we find another use for that smart mouth of yours?” I said in a suggestive voice. I was aware of how bold the request was, but then again, he had come to the other side of town, to a seedy bar to ask me out.

I was kind of betting on him wanting to do more than just kiss at this point. His nostrils flared and his hold on me tightened a little.

“Sweetheart, I could do things to you with this mouth that’ll have you singing prettier than the angels before we’re through.” He promised in a silky tone, pulling me backwards towards the couch.

“Big talk, but I like a man who can walk the walk better.” I replied, pushing him down so he fell gently against the couch first before I moved to straddle him, my hands pressing down on his shoulders as his larger ones bracketed my waist.

“Katniss, we can take it slow. Go on a few dates.” He offered, in a more gentlemanly tone but the outline of his erection that I felt through my shorts and his jeans told a different story.

I shook my head.

“I’d like to keep going.” I told him as I leaned down, and kissed his neck, before I began to suck on his pulse point to emphasize my intentions.

He swore, as his hips gave an involuntary upward thrust. I let out a small moan of my own when our centers collided. I dropped my hips then, seeking the exquisite friction of his hardness once more, as I slowly started to grind against him in time to the workings of my mouth on the skin of his neck. His hands wanded down, gliding over my back and hips, and stopped to cup my ass as he tugged me closer to him.

“Fuck, you feel so good. I don’t want to stop either.” He admitted. One of his hands ventured further then, coming around front to slip up the inside of my shorts, skimming across my inner thigh and stopping when he could feel the outline of my slit through my soaked panties.

“Ohhh,” He groaned, tracing my lower lips with his middle finger, “you’re as turned on as I am.” He said, almost to himself, as he played with me, making me lose my concentration. My lips fell away from his neck as I instinctively rocked my hips in time with the motion of his hand. Peeta leaned forward and captured my lips with his mouth, while his other hand snuck under my shirt to palm my breasts alternatively. I reveled in the way he multitasked. He kissed me so well, played with my hard nipples through my thin, unpadded bra, and his other hand didn’t let up on teasing my wet folds through my underwear.

I was so wet, and his movements felt so good, his tongue in my mouth, his fingers over my breasts, and my lower lips, but I wanted more.

I reached for the button on my shorts and quickly worked them open, Peeta made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat and helped me drag the shorts off my hips. He dipped his hand down the front of my underwear, as he cupped me in his palm.

He dragged two fingers through my wet folds, back to front, before slowly circling my swollen clit.

“Ahhh!” I cried out, as more wetness gushed from between my legs as he touched me just where I needed him to.

“Yes,” I hissed, practically gyrating in his lap.

“You’re so wet for me. Practically dripping. Did you ruin these panties just for me Sweetheart?” Peeta crooned in a slightly smug voice.

I growled into the skin of his shoulder, and bit him through his shirt, making him swear.

“Finger fuck me already, golden boy.” I ordered, before I took his earlobe in my mouth and sucked on it. He choked on his saliva then, and thrust up against me harder, making me mewl in pleasure, but when he finally thrust his thick finger inside of me I cried out. Loud enough to disturb the neighbors, I was sure.

“Golden boy huh?” he teased, as I rode his hand at a fast pace, plunging up and down vigorously while his thumb circled my clit.

“Homecoming king, valedictorian, captain of the wrestling team,” I panted as I fucked myself on his fingers, “Need I say more?” I added, circling my hips and pressing down on him through his jeans, making sure to brush his hard on with each pass.

“You-ah-never seemed all that impressed in high school.” He said, his voice thick and his hips straining upwards towards mine. But his eyes were confused as he looked into mine.

It made me pause for a second.

“I wasn’t really impressed by your accomplishments. It was your kindness that got to me. The fact that you could be all those things, and a decent human being.” I told him, hand traveling down to rest over his pounding heart. Then I tilted my face up and kissed him softly, sweetly.

He blinked, as I pulled away, his eyes filled with emotion.

“That’s why I always liked you. Because you saw to the heart of a person. You were never impressed with the pointless bullshit.” He whispered, resting his forehead against mine.

I shrugged, I didn’t know if that was really true. I thought everyone tended to be biased and looked at the world from their own perspective. But I knew I saw Peeta clearly. I felt like he saw me clearly too. Mostly.

Peeta inhaled deeply, and released a soft sigh.

“Can I eat you out?” He asked in a soft voice and I made a surprised noise in my throat. I hadn’t been expecting that even though we had discussed it when all this started.

“Um, sure.” I said, squirming a little because his finger was still inside me, and my body was thrumming with pent up energy from the long pause I had instigated in the middle of our activities.

“Ok, lay back.” Peeta said, his voice slightly breathless, excited even.

I did as he asked, laying back until my head hit the couch cushion. He pulled my shorts and underwear off simultaneously. Then he gently pried my knees apart to look at me. I tried not to be self conscious but there was always that awkward moment when someone saw you naked for the first time, that made me want to crawl out of my skin.

Peeta however put me at ease rather quickly.

“Oh Sweetheart, you’re so pretty and wet. So fucking sexy.” He said, tracing my swollen lower lips with his index finger and making me whimper.

Then he licked his finger and moaned.

“I’m gonna love this.” He said before he reached underneath me and hauled me towards him by my ass. He placed my legs on his shoulders and licked his lips before diving in literally face first.

He didn't bother with soft, cautious licks. He gorged on my pussy like there was no tomorrow. I had never been eaten out so enthusiastically, and it showed.

I chanted a chorus of ‘oh my gods’ up at the ceiling while Peeta lapped and sucked and plunged his tongue into me. I felt my muscles and inner walls tightening and throbbing in time with his minstrations. He was thorough, paying equal attention to my clit as he did my hole and even adding his fingers for extra stimulation.

He flicked his tongue back and forth against my clit, while two of his fingers searched inside me for that soft spongy spot that would make me scream. I moaned embarrassingly loud when he finally hit the right spot, but I didn’t come right away.

“Come for me, Katniss. Come all over my face, I wanna feel you squeezing my fucking fingers while they’re inside you!” He commanded, massaging my walls with his fingers, and I was close so, so close, but I had never responded well to commands.

I looked up at him, his blue eyes burning into me as he stared down at me with his face between my legs.

“Make me,” I panted, in a challenging voice, just like the one he used at the bar when he didn’t back down from Gale. “Why don’t you fucking make me come, golden boy?” I said, and his eyes narrowed at me, while his mouth latched onto my clit and he sucked hard, at the same time he rotated his fingers and then curled them inside of me.

I came in a delirious rush then, shouting his name while he licked me through my orgasm.

Peeta pulled back to survey me as my legs fell in boneless heaps on either side of him. My head rolled tiredly as I looked up at his smiling face.

“Did you like that?” He asked smugly. I just rolled my eyes at him.

“Give me a minute, then it’ll be my turn to make you.” I promised and his answering smile was more blinding than the sun.

#everlark #one shot #smut #everlark smut #fanfiction #thg #modern au #lemonluvwrites #prompt asks #prompt answers

[wellthatsnogood]

Hello! Thank you for the cpr, we sure do need it! Maybe something with Yashiki mentoring Akira, where Akira comes to meet the cast of DM, i think that'd be super cute aaa they'd all be a few years older and stuff! It's pretty vague but I'm not good at imagining concrete scenarios;; i just want some dad kinda yashiki,,, bonus if mashita and yashiki are a couple

So maybe not exactly on topic but I had so many ideas for this prompt! I love writing interactions between Death Mark and NG characters, so I’ll probably be writing more down the road!

That said this was both super fun and somehow felt like punching a wall. I have to post it now or I’ll mess with it forever. Thank you so much for the prompt!!

Word count: 960

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Water dripped from the doorway to the ground, the irregular pattering on the concrete signaling an end to the day’s storm. A small break after a harrowing night. After all, bringing an umbrella had been the last thing on Yashiki’s mind. One moment he was reading more old tomes about seals and the next he’s on an urgent call from Mashita, rushing from the manor.

“What were you even thinking, ya brat!” Mashita’s the first to break the silence. He’s staring Akira down as the young man trudges over to his overturned bike. Yashiki could see Mashita getting more pissed as the kid ignored him in favor of checking the bike. Maybe another night he’d let the inevitably brutal lecture start, but not tonight. Not when everyone seemed worn so thin. Not when he knows Mashita’s worry turns his concern into biting words.

Yashiki put his hand on Mashita’s shoulder to stop him, squeezing gently. He received his own patented scowl but answered with a gentle, pleading look. After a tense second Mashita huffed and shook off his hand. “Whatever. I’ll be in the van, it’s too damn cold and damp in this alley. Give me the keys.”

“Thank you.” Yashiki smiled and handed over the van keys. He watched Mashita give another quick glare to Akira before turning away.

“Don’t take too long old man. And don’t be too soft on him either.” Mashita waved over his shoulder as he walked out of the ally. The silence grew again, only slightly changed by the scraping noise of Akira righting and checking his bike.

Yashiki had to admit, he’d been surprised at just how well Akira took care of the motorcycle when they met two years ago. For him to let it lay on the ground in an alley was definitely abnormal. It was no wonder Mashita had called when he spotted it abandoned on his way home, voice as close to panic as Yashiki ever heard.

Pushing the thoughts away he quietly walked up to the boy, observing the way he tensed up despite Yashiki’s best efforts to be silent.

“What? Think I can’t handle getting chewed out?” Akira asked, back turned. He crouched down and started poking around the bike, seeming determined to look busy. “Wouldn’t be new. Probably one of my more deserved lectures.”

Yashiki sighed. “So you know going into a haunt alone was stupid? That you easily could have died?” Yashiki was certain there was a mild shake in Akira’s hands. “That you likely would have if Mashita hadn’t seen your bike.”

He waited for Akira to say something, or at least look at him but it seemed the bike was still more interesting. Or at least it was a convenient distraction. He let the silence grow heavy again before breaking it with a sigh.

“Can you at least say why you went? I know you’ve handled ghosts, worse ones too, but. Look, take it from me. A martyr complex only hurts everyone around you.”

This time Akira actually stopped, shoulders hunching up for a second before the fight drained out of him. He suddenly looked exhausted. “I know okay? I didn’t come here on purpose. Just heard some weird shit and went poking around. Thought it would just be some punks hanging in an ally or something.”

Akira stood back up, finally turning to actually look at Yashiki. The kid looked tired and frustrated, his scowl somehow deeper than usual. It made Yashiki feel a bit bad to be honest. “Quite the mistake. Maybe you’ll pay more attention to the articles on early haunting signs I gave you.” He smiled, trying to pass it as a light rib but Akira’s mood didn’t change at all.

“Sure.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged before turning back to his bike again. “Can I go then? Or you have something else to say?”

The response had Yashiki wanting to pull out his hair. He never wanted kids, felt he’d be terrible at it, and this awkward mentorship arrangement really felt like a cruel joke. “Akira. Just… be careful okay? You’re my responsibility and,” he paused, long enough for Akira to look back at him, “I worry alright?” The words felt clumsy but right. Akira gave him an odd look before looking away quickly.

“Yeah, okay old man.” He poked at his bike again. “I’ll be more careful, and uh, I’ll pay more attention.” Akira hopped on his bike, checking that the engine started before turning it off again. He leaned against the handle bars, looking back toward the building. “You should be more careful too though. Old men like you and that detective should be retired. Don’t want to find a new mentor for this ghost stuff.”

Yashiki smiled again, nodding even if Akira wasn’t looking. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be stuck with eachother for a while.” The distant blare of his van’s horn broke the moment. He jumped, looking over his shoulder and trying his best to ignore Akira’s snicker behind him. “Yes, well, I guess that’s all. Wouldn’t want Mashita to lecture both of us.”

Akira laughed, engine starting again. “Sure. I’ll see you guys back at the mansion.”

“Don’t take the long way. I’m sure you’ll still have to face Mashita’s wrath for this, and waiting will just make him simmer.” Yashiki stood back, letting Akira drive out of the alley. He shook his head, hearing the horn blare again, sure that Mashita just saw Akira pass by. He’d do his best to calm the detective down on the drive, though to be honest he wasn’t going to be the best voice in this situation.

Mashita would just have to live with being cursed by self sacrificing idiots it seemed.

#spirit hunter series #death mark #spirit hunter ng #fanfic #satoru mashita #kazuo yashiki #akira kijima #very subtle mashiki #this was very fun #thank you again for this!!! #damedanedameyodamenanoyo #prompt answers

[receding-tides]

Margin 26 + 49

26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions?

Margin tends to not emote much outside of Anger but if she is happy about something she will have a content look or maybe even a Very Rare smile.

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

She doesn't really have much emotional attachment to possessions tbh tho this is mostly a result of how she was raised. She probably has a few random small things the few people she's close to have given her and she's just, put in a pocket or something and they ended up staying there. I wouldn't be surprised if she found some way to safely store the scales from her notebook tho just as a lasting memory of Squidgy

#margin #prompt answers

[odysseywritings]

sneaking glances 👀

Thank you so much!

///

It was a relaxing day for once, as Haven wanted to meet up with Reina down by the placid river to look at the local nature. It was unusual for him to wear something that wasn't for survival or work; an orange shirt with a leathery blue vest adorned with floral stitching patterns. He wondered if she would also wear something unique and his imagination raced with ideas both mundane and extravagant.

"Ah, sorry I'm late," Reina said from behind, startling him in his daydreaming.

Haven was about to comment when he saw her attire. A soft, tight gold robe held by a broad sash was adorned with small roses across the hem and the sleeves in an interlocking pattern with petals attaching the next flower. He lost his speech and just looked at her as she sat down on her knees, more poised than his lotus style sitting. She couldn't help look at him with his dumbstruck face and grinned.

"What? Has my impeccable fashion rendered you mute? I can't fault you for being honest."

"No- No, I just really like the designs. Did you make them?"

"Mm? Oh, the roses! No, my grandmother on my father's side made it. I'm still impressed with how she did that. How about yours?"

"Same thing! I don't have that much to remember her by, so I try just to wear it for special occasions."

"Special... It's just a trip with someone you know."

He gave a bashful smile. "Yes, but it's someone I like very much."

She turned away flustered. "Agh, don't be a charmer! Only I can mess with you."

He snickered at seeing her lose some composure as she huffed. He then noticed her examining the nearby orange osmanthus nearby. She pulled out a small device used as a camera and took pictures. He was flummoxed why she didn't just get closer for a better shot. It did not hit him immediately that she wanted to stick by him.

Haven took time sketching the river and wildlife, keeping his mind calm when other thoughts kept racing in his mental freeway, and it was a solace he rarely felt before. In the middle of his drawings, he looked at Reina briefly just from habit to get a different image in his sight, and returned to his pages. He could not help glancing at her again.

While his mind calmed, his heart now raced. She had always been pretty to him, with her dark eyes, black hair that swam with the cool breeze, and the healthy glow she wanted to show off. But this time was different. He saw up close the wrinkles when she focused or smiled. The bags under her eyes from long work days and fighting. The cute frowns when she made a faulty shot. There was something 'human' about her that he did not feel with others. Even her ego felt transparent as he looked at her.

He felt butterflies in his stomach over this casual and comforting side of her. A side that he wanted to protect but also wanted to be protected by. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, and all other sorts of things he tried to fight off thinking about. For all their flirting, he knew she wouldn't really be interested in someone who looked and acted like him, let alone if they'd even both survive as their odyssey continued.

She turned over to his direction as he quickly looked back to his paper, realizing he drew a portrait of her, and rapidly flipped back to his fauna drawings.

"I think I have all the pictures I needed," she said, oblivious to his conflict. "Are you finished with your art? We can share what we found while walking back."

He scratched his neck with a pained smile, "Yeah, I'd like to see your pictures. But, uh, don't look too far back in mine. It's a secret."

"A secret drawing? What an odd guy you are..." She chuckled and then paused over her words. "Rarity is a nicer word. It makes life more interesting to live in."

"Thanks," he said smiling, trying to accept the compliment. "I didn't think today would so relaxing. When we get another chance for free time, I'd like to do this again somewhere different. This has been one of the best days I've had in a while thanks to you."

"Jeez, again with the nice words..." She tried to hide her smile by looking down. "I guess neither of us can take a compliment. Alright, I accept. And yes, we should continue this another time."

The two walked on with Haven cradling his notebook with beautiful sights found today and others treasured in his head. He only hoped that they could continue these moments in a more peaceful time away from threats and toil. As it was, the day gave him strength for what may come tomorrow.

#prompt answers #starlight journey #haven #reina #romance

[threesorrows]

Howl's Moving Castle, what are Sophie, Howl, and Markle up to post movie?

Of the two palace’s Sophie has visited, she likes Justin’s palace best. The lack of an agonizingly tall set of stairs on which to bake in the beating sun is certainly a point in it’s favour. She really does have sympathy for those poor guardsmen who have to stand there all day.

His palace is rounder where her country’s is boxed, stepping up in circles to the great central dome that houses the throne room. Sophie has never been inside, though Justin has offered to take her on a tour many times. She much prefers the grounds over the stuffy enclosed walls, no matter how grand the gold-framed windows.

Today, they sit on a gazebo in the middle of an artificial lake populated by eternally blooming water lilies and bounded in by weeping willows.

“Calcifer has gone on another trip, I wouldn’t be surprised if you see him passing overhead sometimes soon.” Sophie took a sip of her tea.

“I’ll let my astronomers know to keep a lookout.” Justin says with his usual cheer. He hasn’t lost it despite the wearing years of rule and Sophie is glad of it. “He’s driven both you off in rather quick succession I must note. Though I always enjoy your visits I can’t help but wonder how?”

“He broke his last bottle of hair dye in the bath and as such has to suffer a week of ugliness with the rest of us until the next batch finishes brewing.” Sophie says, fond exasperation warming the sarcasm.

Justin nods with a knowing that can only come from living in proximity to Howl for a significant time. 

Sophie loves Howl, she really does, and Justin has long since accepted Sophie will never return his feelings, but between the two of them, it is always fun to pull on Howl’s hair with their visits. He gets quite sulky, which, on occasions like after insisting on rearranging the house for the fifth time in a month, or this, Sophie thinks he might deserve. 

Besides, Justin is a lovely conversationalist and the tea is wonderful.

They’ve moved the conversation on to the latest baffling creation his court sculptor has created and how Justin ought to respect the artistic process when the sound of feet pounding carries over the water.

“Sophie! Sophie!” Markl wails as he runs down the bridge. There’s no guards chasing him this time. “He’s turned to slime again!”

Sophie settles more comfortably into her chair as he skids to a stop in front of her. 

“Come now Markl, I’m having tea with royalty, I can’t be expected to come clean up Howl’s mess.”

Markl looks almost as betrayed as the first time she did this, then draws himself up, trying to stretch himself the last few inches his growth spirt hadn’t managed.

“Well I’m staying too then, I knew him as a scarecrow just as long as you did, I get to escape Howl as well.”

Justin tries to hide his smile behind his cup but Sophie can still see it. “By all means, we have more pastries than could possibly be eaten by the two of us.”

The stack of cakes and cookies in the center of the table was truly too much for two people alone. Of course, it hadn’t been placed with that intention. Markl eagerly grabs at one, his hands getting sticky with icing. No doubt Howl would soon follow without someone left to listen to his wailing, and between the four of them, Sophie thought they could manage the food nicely.

#my writing #prompt answers #howl's moving castle #hmc

[shanastoryteller]

Merry bday! A continuation of Enola Holmes marrying the viscount of Basilweather would be really cool 😀

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

She wrinkles her nose when Tewksbury passes over her cup of tea with two sugars, unstirred, and she knows.

She puts down the cup too quickly, blood pounding in her ears, and Tewksbury frowns, reaching for her hand. "Enola?"

"Got to go," she says, pushing herself to standing, almost just leaves him sitting there, hand outstretched, but he's her husband and she loves him, so she darts over to smack a kiss on his lips before she's running for the door.

"Enola!" he calls out again, but now he sounds less worried and more exasperated, which is better, which is good. There's nothing for him to worry about.

She wants her mother, who's banned from London and is causing political unrest in Southern France currently, or Edith, who's doing something clever and illegal in Scotland. She'd take Victoria, but Mycroft will be there, and he's the last person she wants to see right now. Sherlock, while beloved, is useless, but his boy is a doctor.

She drops in at 221B Baker Street, picking the lock like always, and is relieved that Sherlock is still asleep and decides not to have any opinions on the various bones scattered about the kitchen table. She assumes there's a reasonable explanation for them.

"Oh, Enola!" John grins and shoves some femurs to the side to make space at the table. "Here, join me, would you like some oatmeal? Are you looking for your brother? I can wake him-"

"I'm pregnant," she blurts out, then bites her bottom lip.

John blinks once, then twice, then says with a gentleness that had made her like him in the first place - because Sherlock wanted to be gentle, but was quite bad at it, so someone had to teach him - "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Wanted seems like not the correct word, although of course it is, because she and Tewksbury had been, not trying, but not-not trying, which probably amounted to the same thing, considering how often they - well.

"I can fix it," he says, voice low and serious, "if it's something that needs to be fixed."

Enola lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "No. No, it doesn't need to be fixed."

She loves that he offered. She loves John, more her brother than Mycroft will ever be, sometimes even more her brother than Sherlock is. If nothing else, her brothers had picked their partners well. Victoria and John are a delight.

John is the functional one between them, explosions and skeletons notwithstanding. John is the one that coaxed her brother into a proper relationship and John is the one that knew they were like parents to all the Irregulars and John isn't normal but he grew up normal.

"Are you worried something's wrong?" he asks. "I can look you over."

"No," she says, although, "I mean, yes, that'd be nice because Tewksbury will go spare, but no, I'm not worried anything's wrong."

He leans back in his chair, looking her over, and after almost ten years of dealing with her and Sherlock and even occasionally Mycroft he can read them almost as well as they can read everyone else.

"It's alright to be scared," he says finally. "Lots of women are when they find out, even when it's wanted, even when the baby's healthy."

"I'm not scared," she says, but for the first time her words feel like a lie. "I shouldn't be scared. What do I have to be scared of?"

She wishes her mother was here.

Will her children miss her like this too?

Sometimes she misses her mother even when she's right in front of her, and if nothing else, she's her mother's daughter.

John gets to his feet, stand in front of her, and opens his arms. She looks away even as she steps forward, like if she doesn't look at him when she does it then it doesn't count as weakness.

His arms close around her. He smells like chai and antiseptic and it's only years of association that make the combination comforting. "I can't wait to be an uncle."

He'll be an uncle. Sherlock will be an uncle. Even Mycroft, and Victoria will be delighted to be an aunt, and to raise her children with Enola's. Of course there's her mother-in-law, and Tewksbury's uncle, who have been angling for her to have a child from the day they married.

There's Tewksbury, who loves her, who isn't going to die on her or leave her if either of them have anything to say about it, who isn't going to leave her to raise their children the way her mother raised her.

Alone.

She's been saying she wasn't going to do this alone from the beginning, but standing here in Sherlock's kitchen, with John holding her steady, she really believes it.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #enola holmes #if we get a third movie my characterization of john will be wrecked #but know in my heart he is a lovable mad scientist with poor impulse control

[inkstaindusk]

A prompt I saw recently and liked a lot: start the story with a character admitting a secret and end it with a character telling a lie, or vice versa.

Personally it made me think of dcmk but I have no clue if you still write for that. Among enstars characters, kohaku comes to mind! (Sorry if this is too vague...?)

I haven’t read or watched dcmk in a good while but you know what, sure why not! Have some hakukai hurt! Just hurt. There's no comfort. kaito please gain more allies

“I won’t turn you in.”

Saguru holds his breath as he waits for Kuroba’s response. It’s taken a long time for him to reach this conclusion, and longer still for him to get the opportunity to tell him as much—the opportunity being Kuroba currently in a hospital bed. It’s not how he wanted this conversation to go, but he can’t hold it off any longer. Not after what happened at last night’s heist.

Kuroba turns to him almost mechanically, and Saguru glimpses the caution and intelligence he usually hides behind his cheer. Whether it’s deliberate, he can’t say. Kuroba lets out a dramatized sigh. “You can’t possibly think I’ve committed a crime when I’m like this.” He gestures to his body, clad in a hospital gown, currently hiding the bandaged bullet wound in his torso. “For the last time—”

“Kuroba,” Saguru says tersely. “Those snipers shot into the crowd. You are the only reason no one else got hurt.” Because he shielded them. Because he drew them away. He can take a guess as to why Kuroba had contingencies in place for snipers shooting at civilians. He noticed them months ago, himself, and he has his suspicions about how long they’ve been around.

Kuroba blinks guilelessly at him. “KID-sama’s really great! I mean, it still sucks I got caught in it, but I’m glad there were no other casualties.”

Saguru does not pinch the bridge of his nose, if only because he needs to see this conversation through. Needs Kuroba to recognize that he is one man—boy—and he doubts Aoko or her father know what he’s doing or else he would have used them as more than just convenient alibis. Saguru doesn’t know why Kuroba does what he does, or why people are trying to kill him for it, but Kuroba's safety is more important than his crimes. Kuroba needs help; Saguru has dedicated his life to protecting others in the best way he knows how.

Even when it’s his infuriating thief of a classmate.

“Kuroba,” he says again, “you are clearly being hunted by someone. I can help you if you’d let me. I’m a detective, I have connections. I won’t turn you in, you have my word.” A thief who makes a spectacle of his crimes is someone he needs to catch, but Saguru would rather him alive than in prison.

A ghost of a smirk rises on Kuroba’s face, but it doesn’t quite form. He shuffles some cards Saguru doesn’t know how he snuck in before disappearing them somewhere. “Good to know,” says Kuroba. “Make sure to tell KID that next time you see him, hm?”

As if timed (and it might have been), Aoko comes barging into the room along with a few other classmates. It turns loud as she and Kuroba snipe at each other, and Kuroba laughs like he’s not confined to a bed and refusing help willingly offered to him. Saguru wants to scream, but he forces a smile at Keiko’s greeting instead and tries not to let his frustration show on his face.

#thanks for this i started rewatching magic kaito lmao #asks #anon asks #prompt answers #dcmk #kuroba kaito #hakuba saguru #hakukai #anya tries to write #drabbles #admittedly i have no idea how to write hakuba #fp.txt #dcmklb

[mistresslrigtar]

Link and Zelda having a conversation at a campfire

TYSM for the prompt @hurricane105. I really hope you like this.

Zelda chewed her bottom lip and observed Link stoking the campfire. They hadn’t exchanged many words since he’d rescued her from the Yiga. If he disliked her before, he must despise her recklessness now.

“Link? How’d you know I was in distress?”

Looking up from his task, Link’s blue eyes glittered in the firelight. “I followed you.” 

She shook her head, puzzled by his response. “Then why didn’t you intervene immediately?”

“To give you a chance to handle it yourself.” His expression softened. “We’re a team, Princess.”

“I’ll remember that.” Zelda’s affirmation was met with a warm smile from Link.

#legend of zelda #zelink #the legend of zelda #drabble challenge #prompt answers #mistress lrigtar writes #breath of the wild

[jastertown]

Secret? or Sun? :)

Secret! >:)

-

Can you hear it, I wonder? she asks, and his words catch behind his collarbone. None reach his lips.

He can’t actually hear anything.

According to legend, and Zelda (who knows the history far better than he does), the sword has a spirit inside, and a voice it speaks with to its chosen wielder. If he’s truly chosen, he should be able to hear it.

He’s never heard anything. Not a voice, not a word, not even a whisper. It hummed with magic under his palms, when he fought to pull it from its resting place, and humming is the most notable thing it does. Nothing more than silent metal besides. Still, its an invaluable weapon, and he continues to use it…

Is it a lie, to say nothing?

He can’t hear anything. He doesn’t say so. It feels like tricking everyone. If it won’t seal the darkness in his hands, and he said nothing-

How can he know, though? The sword’s been asleep for millennia. Maybe it’s still asleep. Maybe he just needs to try harder. He hasn’t done enough yet, isn’t properly the Hero it wants; there’s an answer he hasn’t found. There’s another test out there, some requirement lost to time.

Time is ticking, though- flowing by quickly. If Calamity Ganon returns and he still can’t hear it, will it still do what they need it to do? Is he capable?

Zelda sighs deeply, focused wholly on the Slate in her hands. She’s frowning, like usual.

It makes her feel like a failure when it comes to her own destiny, Urbosa had said. He was someone chosen, Zelda supposedly felt, who fulfilled his destiny with ease. If they all knew he might not be…?

He could never risk telling them his doubts. It might shake their own resolves. If Zelda resents him for being what she isn’t, then telling the truth… He can imagine the despair. What’s the point in fighting to hear something that will never speak?

Even if it wouldn’t hurt them, how could he ever find the words to say it? It’s a secret. He’ll have to keep it that way.

Silent like the Master Sword.

#my writing #asks #prompt answers #ty rage!!!! i struggled with this one but :) i think the polishing worked in its favor #loz #botw

[duraxxor]

❝ what’s it like? being alone because of what you are? ❞

Question was loaded with flavor. A pulp in this bittersweet beverage, much like a grapefruit. It spoke of loneliness, something he was well aware of being all throughout life. And much like the drink that came to mind, Duraxxor found himself sipping delicately not to take in the flavor of crimson liquid in his wine glass too swiftly. After all, what better way to enjoy such thoughts than to take them in... slowly.

A gaze beyond a hood was watching, perhaps even considering. Pursed lips now releasing the edges of the crystalline glass as it was set upon the table. A faint hum given as if to contemplate further on what he must say about such a subject. " That's quite the freighted question one may ask such as myself. Let's pretend that this is about myself as a whole rather than what it is you may be referring to as me. " The glass was sent to his right side to await his next partake, laying his palms upon his lap in preparations of a lamentations.

" I have known loneliness since I was but a young lad. Death has a strong way of claiming people you are closest to when you least expect it. Some you may not even gain the chance to know. I'll spare you the sob story though. After all, I am well past what may have once been a family. " There was a pause in his own mind as he fast forwarded through his mental database. " It's funny, looking at myself a throughout my own history, even when there are those that claim they gave a damn, there was still this pit of darkness that held on tight, placing a chokehold even when I had everything, I ever thought I could have. A wife, children, family, and even people that I thought I could call friends. When you look at it on paper though, it almost feels like conveniences though. Even when I thought I had lost all memory of who I was... that nagging feeling remains. "

There's was another reprieve of silence was only negated by the fact that now, those ashen lips were twisting into a wry grin. " It makes one wonder, even amongst my own constitution... What am I?"

[ @nixalegos ]

#Dura #prompt answers

[megaphonegirlk]

🤫💀

🤫 “It’s our secret, just for us.” "It's our secret, just for us." Komaru had whispered that in Makoto's ear one night as they cuddled in the light of their flickering bedroom television. Star Ocean's menu screen sat frozen and untouched in time as she crawled onto his lap. She straddled him, looking down into his eyes as her arms looped their way around his shoulders. As they grew up alongside each other, feelings shifted. Long nights reading manga together on opposite sides of the bed gave way to the same in eachother's lap. Teasing and bickering never stopped, but took on a new flavor. A hint of flirtation, mixed in with the playful barbs. Feet had begun to brush under the dinner table, glances shared took on meanings their parents would never understand. They had their individual friends, sure. Their hobbies, their circles. Komaru would gush about the latest craze with her school friends, and Makoto surfed the net and hung around corner stores and the riverside with the guys from school...but nothing was like that bond with his sister. Nobody was ever quite as close as them. Nobody knew the whispered secrets, anxieties, and truths that they shared under the dim and flickering light of a television screen. Komaru's fingers wound in her brother's wild hair, as she leaned in for a kiss "thanks for being my little secret, big bro." she whispered again as their lips brushed together. 💀 Shipcest couple almost gets caught by another family member.  He wasn't supposed to be home yet. Komaru hurriedly attempted to pull her shirt back over herself with a grimace. Maybe she'd gotten carried away, you know? It'd been a bit reckless, waiting at home with her shirt off in an attempt to entice Makoto into a little fun while he was home on break. But Mom and Dad, they weren't supposed to be home. Mom was shopping in the city with some friends, and Dad was supposed to be working, so why did she hear his voice as he entered the front door? At the first sound of his voice, she'd kicked Makoto's door closed, nearly clipping her brother with it as it slammed shut. Now she fumbled with the straps of her own bra with a muffled curse as she worked to make herself presentable. "Dammit, dammit , dammit!" Makoto grimaced, his face tomato red as he shifted into his own shirt. "we really shouldn't have tried anything." he murmured 'i mean, at least we should have gone somewhere first!" "Like you could afford a love hotel, dork." Komaru huffed as she pulled her shirt on...backwards. She fumbled and rushed to fix it. "That's not what I meant!" Makoto replied back "Komaru I..." Despite being in love, some things never change...like bickering siblings. There was a knock on the door, Komaru sucked in a breath through her teeth and broke out her biggest smile. "Just be cool. I'll handle this." She pushed the door open with a goofy smile "Hey dad! Home early? that's greaat" Makoto just buried his face in a manga and pretended to read.

#ask answers #shipcest #shipcest prompts #komaru x makoto #prompt answers #i always love getting these #🌟🌺