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#i wrote this!
mtlyfe · 9 months ago
Summary: Derek attends a werewolf rights rally when someone literally runs into him carrying a sign reading "So Raw Your Local Alpha Today!"
Inspired by this post (x) and @incorrectsterekquotes tags “stiles stilinski and allison argent start the ‘let’s fuck werewolves movement’ and i think that’s beautiful.” I think your tags are beautiful.
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hippohead · 6 months ago
Okay, here goes for the prompts: number 4 on friends to lovers!
I hope you're doing well :)
thank you so much! sorry it took a little while also i’m feeling a little rusty but here’s a little something-something. 
4. “you deserve better. it doesn’t have to be me, but you deserve better.”
Blaine went through a superhero phase when they were seven years old.
Kurt went along with it because he liked the capes and he thought it was cute when Blaine lifted his fist into the air and pretended to fly. The only part of it that was tedious was The Question, every day:
“What would your superpower be?”
The first time he asked it, Kurt answered honestly: “I want to be like Matilda. Move things with my mind and stuff.”
Blaine nodded and then picked super speed for himself. He ran around his backyard in loops until even Kurt felt dizzy, and they decided to just be superheroes who lay on the grass for the rest of the evening.
But then he asked it the next day, and the next, and the one after that. Over and over for almost a year. He wasn’t allowed to say the same one twice. Kurt ran out of superpowers to want.  
When he finally moved on to his next obsession, Kurt was relieved, but right now he’d give anything for Blaine to ask him that question.
He’s not sure why Blaine would, though, considering it’s been over twenty years since the last time he did and they’re both wearing suits, not capes. But he’s got a new answer.
Time travel.
In fact, he’d do just about anything to flick a switch or drive a car past 88 or hop into a telephone box and end up thirty seconds earlier, before he said The Words.
The words. The ones that weren’t meant to come out. The one’s he’d vowed to keep stuck inside of his throat, even if it made it hard to breathe sometimes.
“You deserve better. It doesn’t have to be me, but you deserve better.”
Most of the sentence was fine and allowed. Most of it.
“What- what did you say?”
Shit. “I said you deserve better.”
God, he can see a million different things on Blaine’s face right now. He’s read those lines so many times; deciphered them, understood them, figured them out. He can still see all of the lingering pain about Tom not showing up, and the anger at himself for letting that be okay, and the tiredness of fighting for a relationship that neither person really wants. He can see the comfort that Kurt’s giving him, his best friend, in this tiny little restaurant cloak room, and the confusion, too.
“Look, I know you don’t like Tom-”
“It’s your thirtieth birthday. He should be here,” and it comes out like grit in Kurt’s teeth.
Blaine doesn’t say anything. If he did, he’d have to admit that this is actually pretty low on the list of Tom let-downs. There’s been worse - this one just looks bad.
“We should get back out there,” Kurt says, just to say something. The air is starting to feel too stuffy in here. He starts to leave, aware that Blaine’s parents and their mutual friends and a couple of Blaine’s coworkers are sitting at their table, probably wondering where on earth they’d disappeared to.
He stops halfway through the door, bracing himself - there’s no way Blaine would let Kurt just breeze over a slip-up like that. It’s not the first slip-up, either. There have been others in the past, from both of them. And it always goes the same way; the one who slipped up deflects and ignores, and the one who heard the slip-up pushes a little bit, desperate to see if the other will be brave this time.
Neither of them are ever brave.  
“Yeah?” he says, resigned to the inevitable.
There’s plead in Blaine’s eyes – so much so that it makes Kurt kind of want to be brave this time, even though Blaine hasn’t questioned him yet. He’s gotten stuck, just sort of halted and trying to find the words.  
And then the soft sound of a Billy Joel song starts to play from Blaine’s pocket – his ringtone.  
Blaine holds his gaze for a second and then checks his phone, sighing, with a little puff of exasperation once he registers who’s calling. “It’s Tom.”
Kurt nods, drained of any bravery, and heads back to the table.  
- - - - -
Kurt drops Blaine home after the dinner because even after the phone call, Tom still didn’t turn up.
It’s a quiet ride. Blaine had managed to do what Blaine does best which is to put on a cheerful face and convince a room full of loved ones that he’s fine, but he doesn’t have to do that in this car. Not in Kurt’s presence.  
There’s a free spot right by Blaine’s apartment building so he pulls into it and turns the car off. It’s even more quiet now; the hum of the engine had been giving them some kind of music and it’s confronting now that it’s gone. He waits. Blaine seems settled in his seat. He’s staring at the sidewalk, curved in on himself but grounded, grounded to the space next to Kurt.  
“Are you okay?”
Blaine’s shoulders lift, “I’ve had better birthdays.”
Kurt thinks that’s all he’s going to say but then he keeps going, his tone lightening a little bit.
“Do you remember that time you paid for all of the Warblers to fly into the city to surprise me?”
Kurt laughs, melodic and sweet at the memory, “I overshot my budget a lot that year.”
“I couldn’t understand why you wanted to go to the top of the Empire State so badly on my birthday,” Blaine laughs too.  
“God, it was so stressful. Rachel was helping me co-ordinate it all but there was no service in the subway, and I had no idea if they were all in position and ready, and you were being... difficult, to say the least.”
“I wanted to go to Benny’s.”
That makes Kurt smile. It had been for Blaine’s twenty-first birthday. It was a big deal. And all Blaine wanted to do was get a milkshake from their favourite diner. Maybe share a plate of fries. Nothing big or fancy – just dinner in a place they discovered together. “If I remember correctly, I took you to Benny’s afterwards.”
“You did,” Blaine confirms. And then, with an odd mixture of wist and sadness, “I can’t believe you did all of that for me.”
“Is this your way of telling me you hate the watch?” and it’s an attempt to lighten the mood back up. He reaches for Blaine’s wrist and picks it up, admiring the new silver and ignoring the way it makes him feel to have Blaine’s skin under his palm.  
“I love the watch.”
They catch each other’s eyes and oh, here it is. He almost got away with it.  
“What did you mean tonight?”
Kurt drops his wrist.  
“When you said it didn’t have to be you, but I deserved better?”
He looks straight ahead, the heat from Blaine’s stare burning into his cheek. He doesn’t know how to tell this lie again.  
“Do you want me to be brave?” he asks, almost wanting permission to be.
Blaine nods, resolute. “I want you to be honest.”
Okay. There’s the permission. And he keeps it simple. “It doesn’t have to be me, but I want it to be.”
Blaine nods again, barely surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me this when we were seven?”
“Seven-year-olds aren’t in love yet.”
“We were.”  
And maybe they were, or maybe they fell into it somewhere along the way, but one thing is for sure.  
They definitely are now.  
Blaine looks like he wants to kiss Kurt but doesn’t, mumbles a little incoherently about needing to sort some things out first which they both know means breaking up with his useless boyfriend, and then he squeezes Kurt’s hand.  
Just as Blaine’s reaching for the door handle, Kurt can’t help but ask him something.  
“What would your superpower be?”
Blaine looks a little confused, and then the context of his old obsession sinks in and his eyes crinkle as he laughs. And once his laughter settles, he thinks about it. “Time travel.”
He means: I wish I could go back to that day in Eighth Grade when we came out to each other and explain that you were the reason I knew, or, I wish I could go back to that party we went to when we were 17 and instead of getting horrendously drunk, kiss you instead, or, I wish I could go back to that night at your first apartment in New York when we argued and hold your hand instead. And Kurt knows that’s what he means.  
“What about you?”
Kurt sets him with a look that is love, and adoration, and hope, and says, “I’m gonna go back to my original answer.”
“The Matilda thing?”
And he remembers. Of course he remembers. 
“Yeah. The Matilda thing.”
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fine-with-my-spite · 4 months ago
Jack O'Neill didn't sign up for Sam Carter, especially not his feelings for his 2IC, but he wouldn't trade her for the universe.
Jack tries not to resent the Air Force. He really does believe in serving his country, protecting its peoples, the whole kit and the kaboodle that goes along with devoting one’s life to the military.
Sometimes he fails, though.
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wishthatiwasnessiesgirl · 6 months ago
Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo/Niè Míngjué, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Niè Míngjué, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo, Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo/Niè Míngjué, background WangXian Characters: Lan Huan | Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao | Jin Guangyao, Lan Qiren Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Slice of Life, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, meng yao is going to clean the entire house, very happily in love 3zun, Established Relationship, Really just a lot of fluff, But also, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bossy Meng Yao, D/s elements, Threesome - M/M/M, But its still soft, lan qiren is visiting and it causes 3zun a LOT of stress, ft. meng yao in overalls Summary:
Lan Qiren is coming for dinner. Meng Yao definitely is not freaking out about it. Get rid of the couches, they can't let him know they SIT.
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swordsandnerdshit · 6 months ago
I've spent
a lot of time
looking down
So much so
that I'd forgotten
how big the sky
really was
But I've been
looking up again
and I've seen
A great blue sea
hanging weightless
above my head
Clouds passing along
in migration
or filling up the sky
to roar
Stars dotting the night
like dewdrops in the morning
And pitch black voids
that threaten to swallow you whole
All these sights above me
serve to humble me
To remind me the world is big
and to remind me I am small
But when I see them
I see magic
in the flesh
Because the sky's
so beautiful
when I'm looking
with you
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baronessblixen · a year ago
10 please!
This (super old) prompt was: “I might have had a few shots.” A revival fic. Tagging @today-in-fic
“Scully, are you…,” he pauses to stifle his grin. “Are you drunk?”
She sways from side to side, making him feel intoxicated by proxy. “I might have had a few shots.”
“A few?” There’s no more stopping his amusement. Her appearance is too adorable; there’s no sign of the proper Agent Dana Scully he knows so well. Her hair is a beautiful, red mess. Bedroom hair, he thinks and dismisses the thought right away. Her clothes aren’t faring much better. Mulder is certain that if he were to check thoroughly – and he won’t because he’s a gentleman (sometimes) – he’d notice that her blouse is buttoned wrong.
Scully holds up four fingers and stares at them.
“You had four shots?” he asks.
“Yes, and… and another four.”
“So you had-“
“Ten! I had ten shots, okay?” She stumbles forward, groaning in frustration. Mulder chuckles but then the noise dies in his throat when she looks at him. Her eyes are fiery, flickering at him hotly. Her cheeks are rosy, as if someone’s pinched them. Right now he feels like pinching himself, doubting what he believes to recognize in her look.
Desire. For him.
“Why are you here, Scully?” His voice turns soft. Many, many years ago he showed up at her door, faintly drunk, drowned in self-pity, and chasing the truth. There never was any truth if she wasn’t by his side. Not then, and certainly not now. When she left him, when she said she needed time, and that he needed to heal, there had only been pain in her eyes. For the longest time, it was all he could see. And now… and now there’s something else.  
“Not the reason you’re thinking.” She presses a finger into his chest. Her breath smells like sweet expensive alcohol. He can’t help but wonder what she’d taste like tonight. Familiar like the Scully he knows? Different? Like a stranger?
“Why are you here?” He repeats his question.
“Why is your hair so soft?” She gets on tiptoes to touch his hair and falls against him, trusting him to catch her. He does. His hands land on her hips, steadying her in a gentle, but certain grip.
“You didn’t come here to talk about hair products, did you?” There’s an old shampoo bottle of hers still in the shower. He never removed it, didn’t have the heart. The bottle is half empty. Or half full. He can never decide which.
“No,” she says with a sigh, running her fingers through his hair. “I love your hair. I always have.”
“Scully,” he mumbles, losing himself in her touch. “What are you doing?”
This time the question gets through to her. She untangles her fingers from his hair but doesn’t move away, remains pressed against him, warm and surprisingly heavy.
“You want me to leave.”
“Never,” he assures her with a soft kiss against the crown of her head. “I’m just surprised you’re here.”
“I didn’t mean to.” She softly rubs her cheeks against his t-shirt clad chest. It distracts him so much that he needs a moment longer to process her words.
“Didn’t mean to what? Get drunk?”
“Not drunk,” she mumbles, sounding tired. “I didn’t- I wanted to go home. That’s what I said to the cab driver. Home, Mulder.” She looks up at him, tears swimming in her eyes. Her statement is fractured, but for once his heart understands more than his head. “The driver he – he asked where home was and I told him.”
“Home,” he repeats dazed, his lips curling up into a smile.
“Can I stay here?” she asks miserably, not looking at him.
“Of course,” he says, kissing her head again. This is her home, he thinks, hoping it’s another step in her journey back home, to him.  
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lisalisalisalisalove · 8 months ago
(1/2) Is it just me, or does nobody talk about the racism in Lisa: the Painful? I liked the series for a good few years, most of its slipped my mind by now, but looking back on it - the entire premise of Bloodmoon Mountain is horrifically racist. There’s the antiblackness sprinkled around the game of course, but I feel like the racism goes overlooked when talking about Painful’s flaws.
(2/2) It’s a little conflicting since there’s things that the game does really well, like depictions of complex trauma for one. I don’t know. You honestly just seem like one of the more (if not, most) normal Lisa fans so I wanted to hear your thoughts. Feel free to delete or ignore these if you’re not comfortable responding though.
this is one of many very sad drawbacks of the games niche appeal; because it stayed popular primarily in circles where people either didnt notice the racism or didnt care about it (i.e. /v/), its an oft unmentioned issue with the game.
i actually did talk somewhat at length about the bloodmoon tribe already and imma just leave it at what i (and that other anon LMAO) said before cause i think we covered it pretty well. its an extremely lazy and stereotypical section of the game, and i do find this extremely frustrating because the area itself is VERY cool and the music goes off. but even taking the bloodmoon tribe out of it, the other depictions of indigenous characters throughout the game are lazy as fuck too and go the same stereotype route. i dont doubt that he meant for this to be a loving send-up to his home state (he is from colorado, “olathe” is a town name in colorado as well, and obviously there is a sizable native population there), but the execution is just so god awful that any good intentions are lost completely, i think.
as for the antiblackness, i DO see it and can think of a few scattered incidents of it, but tbh i find the anti-native racism to be much more overpowering in this case. the most racist thing i can think of off the top of my head is rick’s kid being black in an obvious cuckold joke, and yeah that was pretty god awful, but im at least appreciative that the scene ends very quickly (and if im being honest, i actually didnt get this for a while after playing the game and thought the joke was that the kid was adopted but rick was pretending he wasnt LMAO).
theres also the moment when salvation black says “no race jokes please!”, but as mentioned in the other ask, thats a reference to the old rumor that the black power ranger quit due to being given a color stereotypically associated with his race. i dont consider this one particularly racist on its own
that aside, if memory serves there are a few black characters (rick’s kid included) who have red lips, but i actually think this is less an issue with austin actively using an antiblack stereotype and more an issue of his design style. a LOT of his character sprites have red lips, both big and small, and the majority of his sprites are white (or at least, not visibly characters of color), so its obvious that hes just like. taking some of those characters and making them brown instead, without actually considering the ramifications of those same traits on a brown character. yikes LMAO
again this is not to excuse any of this stuff, as its all pretty bad and he ABSOLUTELY shouldve had someone vet this shit before he published it; this is just the impression i get as a fan and as someone who has played this game entirely too much. i think an actively racist voice wouldve had a lot more malice behind it and come up much more often, but the majority of these cases are very blink-and-youll-miss-it, which i guess is what makes it so easy to not realize theyre there in the first place (with the bloodmoon tribe being the obvious exception). i do love this game with all my heart, but if he ever does rerelease it i sincerely hope he does a fuckton more research, ideally WITH actual people of color, and improves or removes this stuff entirely. this is definitely something fans need to be more aware of, and i think if he was to be open about it and admit he fucked up, it would really speak well on who he is as a person.
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rjsavagesayswhat · 2 months ago
Shameful plea for reviews—good, bad, or ugly.
Pals: For those who have read, or made a dent in my new book, A Century of Swindles, would you take a moment to tell the internet? The __ out of 5 stars, and pithy comments (positive or otherwise) are invaluable for the algorithm. Even a two-to-ten word review on Amazon (I know, I KNOW) would go a long way for the digital traffic but also, like, my confidence.
We’re all trying to survive the existential mantle by shouting into the void, but I humbly ask that y’all shout at/to/about this book, if only for a moment. An in-person reading won’t happen for a while, unfortunately, so here’s a chance to tell me what I got wrong right away.
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mozztastic · 8 months ago
I would not have considered myself much of a romantic
In fact, if I had ever said it before, it was sarcastic
The idea of a gift of flowers is nice
But a hug and a kiss would definitely suffice
And I do not know how, and I do not know when
Maybe after a row, maybe it was then
But I came home one day to this beautiful bouquet
And I just could not get over this wonderful display.  
They sat there, ever so pretty, smiling sweetly
And I just fell in love, utterly, and completely.
A small act of kindness, to confirm what I know
They tell me he loves me, without having to say so.
So no, I’m not much of a romantic, but buy me flowers?
And oh my love, I’ll stare at them for hours.
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balkanradfem · a year ago
"Like all stories do, it begins with a woman.
Her name was Varsha. She was blessed by all of the nature, the sky and the winds, the rain and the clouds, the soil and the rivers, even the sun gave all of their powers to her. She was called "Varsha the Powerful, since she was born. The sky would light up at the movement of her fingertips, the rain would fall if Varsha turned in her bed, the earth would tremble if Varsha turned her anger upon it. But, Varsha also had a kind heart, and she loved others just as much, if not more than her powers. Varsha would use her powers not to gain advantage, but to nurture and grow. She would direct the sun at the gentle spring crops, she would let rain fall in the worst summer drought, she took care of the soil and the women. And she was loved and praised, almost as a Goddess, for some felt she had reached that level, and came to see her, to thank her, to admire her power and her kindness.
Varsha prided herself on her power, she felt her capacity was to do good, so much  more good than others could, and felt it was her duty to use her powers every day, not denying them to any living creature who might find use in what Varsha could give. It was on a starry evening, just like this, when Varsha's hands started feeling cold. That night, the Moon spoke to Varsha. 'My daughter' said the Moon, 'Your powers have been yours for so long, you have forgotten who you are. Please remember, my child, you are not the power you wield.'  Varsha spent the night sleepless, trying to understand what the Moon wanted her to know. But the next morning, there were dry fields and hungry crops, and Varsha couldn't spend her day thinking, she called the clouds and the rain, and spent her day being the most powerful being in the world. That night, Moon spoke to her again. 'I can see now, my daughter,' the Moon said 'That the powers given to you have took something from you. I will return them back to the sun, back to the sky and to the river, the soil will stay still under your fingers, and the sky will sleep, and you will be Varsha, my daughter.'
This scared Varsha, and she begged the Moon not to take her powers, for who was Varsha the Powerful, without her powers? That night, she could not sleep, she turned around in her bed restless, and a thunderstorm raged outside. Varsha didn't call it. Varsha couldn't stop it.
Varsha didn't leave her home next day, or the day after that, or the day after. She could not face the world not being who she was, not being able to do as much as turn the sky bright. She mourned her powers, and she mourned the love she was no longer receiving, for nobody would come see Varsha the powerless, nobody would come thank her, or admire her. Varsha no longer felt she was needed by the world, and wished not to be a part of it. Every night she cried to the Moon, and Moon only shone on her brightly.
One night, a small girl found Varsha crying, and asked her why she was sad. Varsha said 'I lost all of my powers, and I am no longer myself.' Small girl said to her, 'Don't be sad, here, I will play with you.' And the girl came every day, teaching Varsha to play games. Every time Varsha would get sad because she couldn't bend the sun and the sky, the girl would laugh and say 'Neither can I! We can still play, and you wont be sad.' And it was true, and Varsha grew to love the girl, just as the girl loved her back, and came to see her every day, even if Varsha could do nothing but play. The girl wouldn't stop at games, she was soon teaching Varsha to play music with her, to dance and grow flowers and sew and tell stories. Varsha learned every day, there were things she could do without powers, things that made her heart feel warm. 'Warmth in women's hearts is more powerful than warmth of the Sun' the girl would say, and hug Varsha close. And Varsha understood, because Sun had never warmed her heart as much as the girl's embraces did.
When Varsha's heart was light again, the girl took her to the village, and women recognized their old Goddess, and admired her once more, but Varsha told them she didn't want to be remembered as Varsha the Powerful. She wanted to be known as 'Varsha with a warm heart.' And she hugged each and every woman who came up to her, and they all could feel her heart radiating power, stronger than the sun. Since then, Varsha was never alone, the women gathered at her house, singing and playing and dancing together, the small girl watched it all with a smile. 'You are now yourself, Moon's daughter. I've been sent by the Moon to help you.' The girl said. 'You are not going back, are you?' Varsha asked, fretfully. 'I am not. You are yourself when we are together. Hearts can only be warm when they're surrounded with other hearts. I was sent instead of your powers, and I will stay by your side, for you needed me more than you needed your powers.' And Varsha saw it was true, and never cried for her powers again. The end."
 - excerpt from “The Forest of the Falling Sky”, all lesbian book (still in writing)
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mtlyfe · 16 days ago
I'm gonna have to go with #1 and #3 for the ask game ❤️ #1 sounds kind of dark so I'm intrigued, but then I want it followed up by the potential fluff of #3 😂
Thank you for asking! Huehuehue, now is my chance to ramble.
#1. Grass is greener where the bodies are buried.
I found this prompt from somewhere (probably tumblr), threw it at @ilovepeachystuff and low and behold, she threw ideas back at me! Then we bounced it back and forth and she went above and beyond and drew ART FOR IT! It's unpublished I think? But trust me, it's AMAZEBALLS! I'm trying to flesh it out when I have a chance to breath but I've hit a bump.
It's not actually dark (I think). My brain defaults to crack if I'm not thinking up kinky smut things. Though, crack is subjective and no one in real life laughs at my jokes sooo. Anyways.
Stiles is jealous Derek's has such a green lawn. He will NOT lose the upcoming neighbour garden competition but it's actually because Derek is a werewolf and he conveniently buries the bodies in his garden.
Shenanigans ensue. Stiles goes and sabotages the other neighbours' gardens. This competition is FIERCE, and "Derek, is that a hand sticking out from the rose bush?"
Derek: "No?"
#3. Roommates Derek and Stiles with some clothes sharing.
I wanted to find an excuse to have them casually end up sharing clothes and run into a, "Oh wait we're actually in a relationship" revelation. There's really not much written. I wanted to write this because there's this one line that I want to write. (That's how it always starts.)
It goes something along the lines of Derek and Stiles moving in together because rent is expensive! So roommates! Derek is really good at remembering to do his laundry and Stiles just... lets it pile up... until he runs out of clean clothes (also maybe he's a college student, undecided).
So he's out of clean clothes one day and spots Derek's stack of neatly folded CLEAN laundry. Derek's not home. He goes to the pile, gingerly picks up a pair of boxer briefs that looks like it hugs all the right places, gives it a precursory sniff and shrugs. Werewolves dig this sort of stuff right?
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jenseits-der-sterne · 11 months ago
Summary blurb: 
Link had held out the bouquet for her as Terrako had scampered around her feet. The bouquet was lovely... 15 perfect blossoms tied together neatly with a blue ribbon thoughtfully chosen to match the blue of the flowers themselves. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much. They're just lovely. This certainly brightens my day!" Terrako's excited beeps had made both her and Link laugh.
Eventually she'd worked up the courage to tease Link. "I take it Terrako carefully picked all of those flowers and then he somehow managed to tie the whole bouquet together?" Link had looked at her with a gleam in his eye. "Of course. He's a talented little guardian."
Zelda gets gifts. Link is coy. Terrako is beeps!
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hippohead · 11 months ago
and I’ll be yours for the weekend
it’s FINALLY done. this fic and i have spent some very tense time together. it was a battle to write (i don’t know why) and @kurtstinypurse bore the brunt of my insecurities about it, so thank you Em for being patient and reading bits of it and telling me that it was good. ANYWAY. if you, like me, cannot stop listening to taylor swift’s ‘tis the damn season and are also dedicated to imagining every premise as a klaine au, then have i got the fic for you! this is a little merry (belated) christmas gift from me to you, and i am sending lots of holiday love to everyone xx
Pairing: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Rating: Mature Words: 11,063 Summary: Sleeping with Blaine Anderson is Kurt’s favourite Christmas tradition.
Kurt cannot keep his eyes off Blaine Anderson tonight.  
He has a reason for it, though. He’s trying to figure something out; the shift. Because for all of the years they spent together at high school and in the same glee club, things had remained painfully platonic. It had been a mutual stubbornness, really – the nature of their relationship. They were the only out kids at their school and so everyone had just assumed they’d get together. He still remembers the day they decided they wouldn’t. It wasn’t long after Blaine had transferred to McKinley and they had hung around after glee practice to re-organise the sheet music, and they’d found their way to that conclusion.  
It was because it so typical of everyone to pair them off, to just shove the two gay kids together whether there was any attraction or not, and so they'd shaken hands and confirmed that they would be friends, nothing more, just to spite everybody. Kurt was young and indignant about his sexuality and so he'd agreed, ignoring the fact that there was attraction. From his side, anyway.  
But it had felt like a way to rebel. It had felt like a way to have some power.  
And then they had gone to colleges on different coasts – Kurt in New York and Blaine in Los Angeles – and they had spent a couple of months apart adjusting to their new surroundings and only vaguely keeping in touch. He can’t know for sure but if Blaine’s experience has been anything like his, he’s met so many guys just like him that he can’t keep count. He knows what it feels like, now, to not make up one entire half of the out gay community at a school.  
Maybe that has something to do with this shift between them. Because he knows what the looks and glances that Blaine is sending his way are, now. He knows what they mean. And he’s sending them back.  
He takes a sip of his eggnog – and who keeps letting Mercedes make these? They're all going to die from alcohol poisoning in Tina’s basement – and turns it over once more in his head. Then it dawns on him, final and clear, and he smiles as the understanding of it all settles around him: stubbornness is no longer a part of this. If anything were to happen between them now, it would be a choice, rather than the only option.  
It would be them choosing each other.
read the rest on ao3
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k1tty97 · 8 months ago
Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sarah Rogers (Marvel), Winifred Barnes, George Barnes (Marvel), Rebecca Barnes Proctor, Original Barnes Sisters - Character, original female trans character, Original Dog Character(s) Additional Tags: First Meetings, Cute Kids, Playground to battlefield, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, My First Work in This Fandom, Historical, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Racism, Period Typical Attitudes, its the 20s through 40s, what do you expect, Pre-War, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Health Issues, I DID TOO MUCH RESEARCH, i literally spent so much time researching this in the library, the Librarians at my local library definitely think I’m doing a paper on the lgbt+ history, but nope, just fanfic, ive never posted fanfic before, Irish Steve Rogers, Irish James “Bucky” Barnes, Irish Sarah Rogers, Irish Winifred Barnes, Irish-American George Barnes, I gave them Irish names and I might use them, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Catholic Character, Catholicism, Catholic Steve Rogers, Catholic Bucky Barnes Summary:
Steve and Bucky met as kids, this is their story from first meeting up to entering the war. Basically, another Steve and Bucky meet as kids during a fight, but this time there’s a dog and a black trans aunt for Steve, plus that extra Barnes sister from tfatws.
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swordsandnerdshit · 26 days ago
Excerpts from the Diary of Nadia Wingshadow
Good tidings, diary!
It’s been about twenty days since I left home, and about a dozen since I reached the topside. I haven’t written in you for most of it, but you can understand why! I’m on the surface!!! And not just up in a topside cave! Outside with the grass and the trees and the sky! It’s incredible!
I’ve had to keep my goggles on during the days, and with the tint on those, I can't say too much about how the sky or the plants look when it's bright, but the stars! My goodness, the stars! I’ll never forget when I first saw them for as long as I’ll live. Oh, and I knew the sun was bright, but I never knew it was so warm. I could just talk forever about the grass and dirt and the trees and how they all felt, but there’s still a lot of journey ahead, so I need to get done and get some rest. A good darkling lives on caution, and being tired won’t be any help with that, now would it?
Interacting with topsiders is a lot of work! Defaulting to common isn’t something I’m used to, and everyone seems to be on edge when they see that I’m this bundled up, so I’ve got to put in extra effort to seem trustworthy! Not that I don’t understand, most people look each other in the face when they talk, but there’s not much to be done about that. Most of them don’t shrivel up when the sun hits them! Just the vampires, hahaha. But back on track! I’ve just been telling people I’m traveling from afar, but I’m gonna have to start adjusting to topside manners if I want to smooth out future talks up here. First, learning greetings and such. So far I’ve heard “good morning”, “good evening”, and “good night”. It’ll probably be less awkward to just copy what I hear then try to ask what to use when. Oh! I’ll try practicing in here when I write to you! I might also try writing dates too. It’ll help me learn the calendar up here, and it’ll help keep you neat and tidy! How does that sound?
Last bit! A man in a wagon delivering beer and salt let me ride along with him. (A human man!! Isn’t that exciting??) It’s been about two days since we met, and he says it won’t be long until we hit the next town. Once we get there, we start the search! First, we get a map and find out where we are on it, then we go about planning our next steps. Ideally, somewhere with a lot of books. Interesting books! But we won’t say that second part! Can’t exactly lead off by asking after information on Her Lady of Summer! A good darkling lives on caution!
P.S. Maybe we should restock on food in town too… And find out how we’ll pay for it, for that matter…  Well, if it comes down to it, we’ll just have to work for our dinner!
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baronessblixen · a year ago
Here’s my “shopping” fic for the @xfficchallenges challenge! Set after “The Goldberg Variation”.
Also tagging @today-in-fic
Mulder has never put much thought into grocery shopping. In and out in under twenty minutes, buying whatever he could grab the quickest and happy as long as he had orange juice and sunflower seeds. That’s him. Until today, that is. He’s standing in the produce department, leaning over his cart, staring at Scully. Yes, they’re grocery shopping. Together. Sharing a cart and all. What are the odds of that?
They got back from their latest case in Chicago where they left one Henry Weems to his luck. Their own running out, he thought, as they didn’t get to sit next to each other on the plane. They found each other after, Scully rubbing her eyes tiredly and Mulder wondering whether she’d used a stranger’s shoulder as a pillow. 
She didn’t have her car and so he offered her a ride. Good partner that he is. Until she remembered that she needed to go grocery shopping. Right now? Yes, right now. That is why he’s in the produce department, between the carrots and the apples, one half of a pair.
Scully is squeezing the tomatoes, scrutinizing them. He’s never seen her like this, in a grocery store. What an odd, strangely intimate moment to observe. He’s seen her naked, scared and hurt, but seeing her bagging tomatoes and licking her lips while doing so is a sight he’s unaccustomed to and wildly unprepared for. As if noticing his stares, Scully turns to him and carefully puts the bag of tomatoes in the cart. Their cart.
“You have to check them,” she says, giving him a side glance, “for ripeness.” She wanders off, knowing he will follow. As he does, one wheel spinning wildly, squeaking madly, he can’t help but wonder one thing:
Are they - him and Scully - ripe, too?
They make it through the aisles, a maze built out of products, barely speaking a word. From the outside, they must look like they do this every week. Exhausted couple goes grocery shopping before the weekend. Mulder looks around, sees other men like him, women like Scully, variations of them both. But are they a couple? Is this why he’s here? 
“Don’t you need anything?” Scully asks him as she puts a bag of flour into the cart. He stares into it, sees the small empty corner that he figures must be reserved for his purchases.
“Uhm,” he says, staring at the shelves. What is he supposed to do with flour? He briefly considers buying a bag anyway, just to make Scully happy, but decides against it. They move on, Scully occasionally stopping to load their cart. Mulder makes eye-contact with a father of two small children, who fight over what cereal to buy. He gives him a small nod in acknowledgment and grabs a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch for himself.
“Look,” he says to Scully, “I’m buying something.” He half expects her to give him a lecture about how cereal is just sugar and wheat, both of which are not good for him. Instead, she gives him a smile and says, “we need milk.”
Not “you need milk”, not “I need milk”. It’s “we need milk”. Mulder quickly glances around, looking for witnesses. Did anyone else hear her say it? She said “we”! In his euphoria, he almost loses Scully. He quickly makes his way through the aisle, wanting to catch up with her. His cart crashes into someone else’s and he gets a dirty look. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the fact that they need milk.
He’s beginning to think they are as a ripe as the tomatoes Scully bought. Or even overripe.
Scully buys rice, pasta, yogurt and all kinds of reasonable food Mulder hasn’t had in his cupboards for years. If ever. He buys eggs and fresh orange juice, his purchases slowly tipping over to her side of the cart. Scully hands him two bags of sunflower seeds and he takes them from her, his fingers brushing hers in a silent thank you.
He’s lost all sense of time and space. They’re closer to the exit now – he thinks. Only a few aisles remain. Scully dashes into one and he follows, staring at shelves of feminine hygiene products. They’ve come a long way from fruits and vegetables to tampons. Mulder moves on slowly and finds himself in front of condoms. He stares at the colorful selection in front of him. Blue, green, yellow – condoms that glow. It’s been a long time since he’s had to even think about buying a box of condoms. 
“Hm?” Scully is next to him, her eyes darting between him and the condom selection.
“I’m done here,” she says, the words drawn out. “Do you need… these?” He can’t look at her. She’s pointing at one of the boxes that reads “x-tra large”, waiting for his answer. 
“Do I need these?” He parrots back and dares to look at her. Now he definitely feels like a tomato. Ripe or not, he knows they’re a matching color. 
“How would I-,” but she stops herself. They’re almost there. He can hear the incessant beep-beep of the checkout counter. “You don’t need them,” she says, meeting his eyes.
“I don’t.” 
Scully shakes her head. “Unless you have plans this weekend that don’t include me.”
“No plans,” he interrupts her. “No plans other than… this.” He makes a hand gesture towards the shopping cart. He can no longer say which items are hers and which are his. He’s beginning to realize that Scully never planned to keep them apart. They’ve been inching towards the inevitable since New Year’s Eve and his half-drugged, tender kiss. Maybe even before that. Ripe, he thinks again. They really are.
“Then we don’t need them.” The “we” is back and he likes this “we” - and its implications -  even better. 
“Or we could try out the glowing ones.” He beams at her. Not because of his joke. Well, not entirely. It’s because he understands now. He gets to go home with her. He gets to be with her. In every way. 
"Maybe next time,” she says. “Ready?”
“I am,” he says, swallowing hard. Scully puts her hand on the cart next to his. They push it towards the checkout together, their pinkies touching in a gentle promise.
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rjsavagesayswhat · 2 months ago
JUNK FOOD: Impostor Syndrome
He combs and slicks his hair. He slips lenses into his eyes. He glues a false fingerprint with a tiny blood sachet to the end of his index finger. He looks the part, but now he must live it.
This is, essentially, the elevator pitch for the 1997 film Gattaca, starring Ethan Hawke and Jude Law as interchangeable, doppelganger white dudes. I watched this movie many, many times in high school but hadn’t revisited it until recently. (And certainly not since Jude Law’s iconic, inimitable crisis surrounding the Shania-Twain-tuna-fish-sandwich story—"How am I not myself?”—in I <3 Huckabees.)
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Ethan Hawke’s character is born biologically ‘deficient’ for space travel, so he assumes Jude Law’s ‘superior’ genetic identity after he'd faked his own death; they’re both pretending to be something they’re not. The two men can only succeed by working together to create an identity acceptable to the world, but they don’t stop to ask whether they should.
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I’ve wanted to be a writer my entire life. I’ve wanted to hold a book in my hands and read the words aloud and feel pride for the thing I’ve created. I’ve wanted to claim the title, and feel honest about it. Whereas the white dudes in Gattaca felt entitled to lead their impostor identity I worry my claim will ring false to others because I can barely believe it myself.
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Readers, I’ve written a book about scammers and con artists that I took a year to research, and still I worry someone will ‘find out’ I’m not the real deal. But if the confidence of (white) men can teach us anything, it’s that each of us is entitled to be whatever we want just so long as we believe in ourselves. Therefore:
A Century of Swindles: Ponzi Schemes, Con Men, and Fraudsters, by me – Railey Jane Savage, thank you very much – is available now wherever fine books are sold. The scammers’ currency was, more often than not, sheer confidence and I’m trying to take a page out of my own book. So now when someone asks what I'm about I will reply, with confidence, “I am a writer.”
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helenajr · a year ago
Fandom: One Piece
Relationships: Monkey D. Dragon/Original Character(s), Monkey D. Garp/Original Character(s), Monkey D. Dragon & Monkey D. Garp
Characters: Monkey D. Dragon, Monkey D. Garp, Monkey D. Luffy, Original Characters
Summary: After Luffy’s mother’s death, Garp comes to talk with his son.
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wonderlandleighleigh · a year ago
Twin Suns Lulabye
From the Jundland Wastes  To the Old Dune Sea Where the Banthas roam  And the womprats wander 
Where the sandstorms blow  And the Pika grow  And the old farmers ponder 
Shine, shine on me Oh Twin suns shine on me The nights are so cold  And the Raiders too bold So shine, shine one me
In the deepest sands  Grow the desert plums  And the funnel flowers Smell so sweet 
Where the lamta bakes And Black melons break In half For a favorite treat 
Shine, shine on me Oh Twin suns shine on me The nights are so cold  And the Raiders too bold So shine, shine one me
Shine, shine on me Oh Twin suns shine on me The nights are so cold  And the Raiders too bold So shine, shine one me
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