Oh crap, soldier boy is filthy. Girl, I wasn't expecting that. Tell me why I was expecting like, dean winchester, just in a different show. Omg what??? I'm just ---- no because I SHOULD HAVE expected that but oh damn, he just goes for it every time, doesn't he???
Soldier Boy is that asshole in high school you really wanted to hate but couldn't stop fantasizing about. He's a total prick. Just a true, honest to god, self-centered, self-obsessed jerk.
But the thought of him grabbing you, slamming you back against a wall, shoving his knee between your thighs as he beams down at you with a slick, cocky grin and those gorgeous green eyes... it's enough to make you drip.
He's a sexist piece of shit half the time, and despite your sensible, feminist views... when he mocks you with a laugh... condescends... tells you 'you'd be prettier if you smiled more' or quips that you'd be better served 'naked in the kitchen making him dinner'... fuck, you hate it, but it's almost enough to make you drop to you knees and praise the patriarchy.
Sure, you'd love to smack him for the things he says, but smacking him around a bit in bed might be more fun.
So, he grabs your ass and makes comments about your tits... So, he's probably one of the most infuriating people you've ever met...
There's just something about Ben you cannot fucking get over, and for the life of you, you do not want to.
Summary: Oscar tags along for dinner at Lando's brother's house and meets his nieces.
Excerpt:
"Last chance to back out. Are you sure you're ok with this?" Lando and Oscar were headed up the front walk of Lando's brother's house, having accepted a last-minute invitation to dinner while they were still in England and had a bit of time off.
"I would have stayed home if I wasn't," Oscar replied, "Besides, it's not like I haven't met your family. Oli and I get along great."
"Yeah, but you haven't really met my nieces, and I know how you are about kids."
"What? I like kids!" Oscar's tone bordered on defensive. "And I've met your nieces a few times at races."
"You're awkward around kids. And saying hi to them while they're hanging around the garage or hospitality on their best behavior isn't exactly the experience you're about to walk into."
"How am I awkward?" Oscar's tone was definitely defensive now. "I just talk to them like I'd talk to anyone else."
"My point stands," Lando teased as he rang the bell.
Matt and Keith haven't seen eachother in, like, 3 years. I wonder what they think about the change the other has went trough.
“You’ve changed,” Matt says suddenly into the silence.
Keith looks up; he’s spent the last ten minutes being reprimanded for his actions in battle but Matt’s tone is different now. Soft, in a way they both picked up from Shiro, to whom soft once came naturally; Matt is too blunt and Keith too sharp. Hard edges, the both of them.
“So have you,” Keith says belatedly.
Matt rubs the scar on his cheek, though from the way he stares at nothing Keith’s not sure he means to. “Yeah. Yeah, space’ll do that to you.”
“I don’t think it’s space that did it,” Keith points out, and Matt snorts.
“No, you’re right, it’s not space. It’s everything out here. And everything that isn’t.” He looks sidelong at Keith. “What’d you do after we went missing?”
Keith looks away. “...Left.”
“You went and hid in your shack, didn’t you.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” Keith insists, looking back at Matt, only to find him smiling.
“You haven’t changed after all,” he says, to which Keith rolls his eyes. Matt snorts and bumps into his shoulder just like he used to and Keith is distracted momentarily by the familiarity of it. Like, just for a second, they’re back in the Garrison and nothing has changed at all.
And then his eyes fall on Matt’s scar and he knows that’s wrong.
For the short prompts: 32 or 34. I hope you feel inspired and have a wonderful day even if you don't!
32. Dust Motes
Eileen purposely positioned her chair in the queen’s solar beside the window. She’d always preferred to embroidery with her face in sunlight, watching dust flicker around her fingers while she soaked up the warmth.
It was a crowded window today, however, as it was also a window overlooking the knight’s training yard, and--yes, her husband and six knights just took off their tunics.
Having Summerverse thoughts tonight about all the confirmations that Lando and Oscar apparently have seats at McLaren for as long as they want them...
Lando has always been McLaren's Golden Boy. More or less, what Lando wants, Lando gets. But he kind of hates it. He's used it for solely personal gain exactly once, and it wasn't even for any kind of advantage. Oscar had been eating his lunch during a briefing once, and the smell of the salmon had Lando focusing more on keeping his own lunch in his stomach than anything being covered in the meeting. So he asked that no one be allowed to eat fish in the briefing room.
In all his years with the team, that was the only time he'd asked for something entirely selfishly. Everything else had been for the benefit of both him and his teammate, whomever it had been at the time.
When he'd been the junior teammate, he found he rarely had to go to bat this way. But once Oscar joined, and Lando was suddenly the older and more senior teammate for the first time, the privilege allowed him to spread around the protection his status afforded him. Upgrades were only rolled out once they were available to both cars (though they remained free to choose not to take them for the first race they were available). A haven free from interruption and observation was created in their driver's rooms via Lando's request for a privacy door in the hallway. In a later iteration of the team hub, a small lounge that adjoined their rooms was added instead, giving them both a personal space and a private common space in which to spend time.
The second selfish request Lando ever made was ultimately not entirely selfish. After Oscar's second contract renewal, following all the circulating rumors and ominous insinuations by Mark that the team were nonetheless treating him poorly and trying to force him out, Lando went to Zak asking for a guarantee that they would both have seats at McLaren for as long as they wished. Zak told Lando that he already had that, but Lando wanted assurances for Oscar, as well.
Zak, knowing their history fully by this point, understood the weight and meaning of Lando's request. And Zak was nothing but a romantic at heart in any case, already finding the childhood connection between his drivers to be a strong advantage, even if it wasn't public information. He suspected that their relationship had gone deeper than just friends and teammates, moreso given the urgency and manner of Lando's request, but as long as their results were at least consummate with the capabilities of the car, it wasn't his place to pry.
Oscar's contract still said what it said as far as when and how he was allowed to depart the team early. Oscar had assured Lando multiple times that they were only there to appease Mark, and he had no intention of ever using them as long as they remained teammates. But regardless, Lando knew every one of Oscar's exit clauses by heart.
So as the 2026 season approached a lackluster middle, several things happened at once. Zak was forced to quell rumors that McLaren were considering replacing Oscar with Max Verstappen, confirming in public for the first time the thing Lando had asked for: that he and Oscar would both remain at McLaren for as long as they both wished. Lando also carefully managed his races to ensure that Oscar stayed in the top 5 of the driver's championship to prevent any ministrations from Mark Webber regarding Oscar's strongest exit clause lest a team make an offer that might turn Oscar's head.
Lando felt fairly confident that Oscar would stay put regardless, but he didn't care to take any chances. The car was underwhelming, and his chances at a title defense were shot, but he still had the power to make sure Oscar had no extra reasons to consider leaving. And could it really be selfish if he was sacrificing his own results?
Later consideration would at least inform Lando that he was maybe a little crazy, and later disclosure to Oscar about it would draw that uncomfortable mix of disapproval mixed with affection that Lando came to expect in situations such as these where Lando had made a decision without entirely consulting Oscar (even if the outcome was still what Oscar would have chosen).
The outcome in this case was exactly what both wouldn't have dared dream as kids: Seats side by side on the same team in Formula 1, theirs together for as long as they wanted them.
Castiel doesn’t have any nicknames for the others. He thinks that the names Gabriel, Sam, and Dean were born (created) with are more than beautiful, because it describes them. However, when he says each of their names, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that is only reserved for the three he loves most.
Gabriel:
Dean - Dean-O. Kiddo. Other variations on Dean’s name. He likes using them because Dean hates them, and boy does Gabriel love pestering Dean. However, soon the nicknames take on a more fond edge as Gabriel realizes he caught feelings.
Sam: Sammose, Samalam, Samarang, Sammich, Sammo. Pretty much whatever he wants. He’s one of two people (beings) that can get away with calling Sam a nickname, and boy he takes advantage of it.
Castiel: Cassie, Cassafrass, Casshole, Cassachusetts. Really anything that has an “as” in it, he’ll substitute for Cas. However, Castiel never corrects him. Gabriel is one of the few allowed to give him a nickname.
Sam:
Castiel - Cas. Sam uses Dean’s nickname for Castiel, but it’s in the way that he says it that it’s special. His voice softens and he can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy. It’s rare that he says Cas’s name without a look of wonder in his eyes.
Gabriel - Gabe - Sam started calling him that after the events of Unfinished Business, and Gabriel has never corrected him. But just like with Cas, it’s not the name itself but the way Sam says it that conveys wonder and love with which he says his name.
Dean - He’s never called his brother anything else. Dean was one of his first words and the word he cherishes above all. He would walk through hell and fight heaven for this name. He has it burned into his heart and soul. And it’ll be his last word before he dies. There’s no nickname that exists that can encapsulate the breadth of his feelings.
Dean:
Castiel - Cas - When Dean gives someone a nickname, it means that he’s established a place for them in his heart. It’s the only nickname Castiel will accept (from anyone that’s not Gabriel). He first used it in 4.04 Metamorphosis.
Gabriel - Gabe - Sam is the one who first started calling Gabe by his nickname and it stuck. When Dean started using it, it’s when he started accepting Gabe as a member of their foursome and when he started to catch feelings.
Sam - Sammy - The very first time he saw Sammy was when his brother was a little bundle of cloth and wrinkles in Mary’s arms. “Say hello to your baby brother. This is Sammy,” Mary said as John hefted Dean onto the hospital bed next to her. While John supported Dean’s back, Dean held little Sammy in his arms for the first time.
“Hi Sammy,” he said softly, his eyes wide and reverent. Sammy reached out and grabbed onto his finger and subsequently Dean’s heart.
Although his memories at age four are sparse and few, Dean remembers every night, being picked up and leaned over the crib so he could press a kiss to Sammy’s forehead and say “Goodnight Sammy!”
He’s always been Sammy for him, and Dean knows that there isn’t a him if there ain’t no Sammy.
It didn’t always mean pure or religious. Lancelot tried to live up to the ideal of knighthood in England and in the church, but he knew no greater feeling of righteousness than when he saw someone wronged and his hand lept to his sword hilt.
Also my guys. my buddies. my dudes. my pals. not just you nonnnie bc i’ve gotten four requests and absolutely no one of you any of you has done the thing but. my friens. how am i supposed 2 kno what fandom/character/pairing you want or are familiar with or know of when nobody gives me a character/pairing/fandom
you got a little time to send me one you wanna see but otherwise we’re going random grab bag and hoping it’s the right one
(here have a quick little oneshot about gen liking to bleed)
“I can help you get into the king’s good graces.”
The newly appointed baron of Lorenidias looked up from the book on his desk and into the face of that guard, the one who was rarely out of Attolis’ sight. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, Ormenides or Caritos or something. It had hardly mattered to the ex-Sounisian when they’d been introduced, and if Lorenidias was honest with himself, it didn’t matter to him now. The man was expendable, unimportant to his plans.
What was important, however, was what the man claimed to offer just now. Lorenidias knew he had been sent as gifts staff to Attolis because he was on outs with the new young Sounis, and Sounis had Attolis’ ear. He was to be “sorted out” by the Attolias, which meant if he wanted to remain alive and in power, he needed to ingratiate himself with their majesties quickly. Still, there was no reason to trust this lowly guard, particularly with information that important and delicate.
He looked down his nose at the man. “What do you mean? Why would you know anything about politics and the king?”
The guard shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. But I still know a way for you to get the king to like you. “
Lorenidias tried not to look interested and failed. If he had been paying more attention to the guard, he would have noticed the very subtle eye roll only someone in a line of work that garners many eye rolls but does not allow them can pull off. He gave an imperious wave.
“You are good with a sword, are you not, sir? Or in a scrap? The king is on the training grounds daily and often joins in.”
“What does that have to do with convincing him to like or trust me?” Although he could see the merit in frequenting the grounds and showing the king he could fight, particularly since Attolis appreciated shows of strength. The guard would know that for certain, at least.
The guard smiled very slightly, the honest, small smile of an honest, small man. “Try fighting him. Personally.”
“That would hardly be permitted.”
“It is. It happens all the time. His Majesty encourages others to spar with him. Enjoys getting hands-on experience. He did fight every man on duty in the guard once.”
Hand-on, a little voice in the back of Lorenidias’ mind told him, but he ignored it for a squinting look at the guard. “I…did hear something about that once.”
He nodded. “yes. It’s true. I was there. When you do fight him, you should hit him, too. The harder you hit him, the more he’ll like you.”
“Now that does sound like treason.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But it’s true. The king of Sounis gave Sounis to Attolis after hitting him first. I punched him once and I wasn’t killed for treason. Hell, the queen cut off his hand and he married her.”
Lorenidias considered this. It sounded risky, and dangerous, and not altogether like a clever move. “…thank you for your advice, sir guard, but I am perfectly capable of conceiving my own plans for winning the king’s favor.”
The guard shrugged, and after a moment’s awkward silence, continued his rounds.
Three weeks later, even further on the outs with their majesties and at his wit’s end as to how to fathom the peculiar royal creatures, Lorenidias took the guard’s advice and gave the king a hard fist to the jaw on the training grounds, in the middle of a friendly bout between the two of them. The same guard who had given him the tip then rammed his own much firmer, harder fist into Lorenidias’ gut, then temple, sending him sprawling. He was executed for treason and attacking the king’s person the following day.
The king gave the guard a withering look following the beheading. “Costis. I know it was you. What did you do?”
Costis shrugged and looked ahead. “You were complaining of having to sort out the troublemakers Sounis sent your way. Constantly complaining. If I offered help, it was to save my own ears as well as you the trouble. He is gone now, isn’t he?”
Attolis closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching very slightly. “I’m corrupting you.”
“Very likely, my king.”
“Gods help us if you’re gathering schemes as well. I’d prefer there not be a next time, but if there is, could you make one that doesn’t involve me being punched in the face?”
Costis blinked innocently. “I don’t see why I should. The nuisance is gone, and I got to watch you get punched in the face. There was no downside.”
The king chuckled, a rare sound both savored and feared by those who knew him well. “Watch yourself, Costis. That’s very close to treasonous talk.”
