!microfic

puppetmaster55  asked:

Jack Frost & Danny Phantom, "Well one of us is gonna have to change."

If North had known the catch–that when Jack asked, “Can I invite a friend to the party?” he’d meant, “Can I invite a human to the party?”–he probably would’ve said No.

“What are you talking about?” Jack laughed, face scrunching up in amusement, crossing his arms. He looked a bit out of place without his staff (it was a masquerade party, and he’d come dressed in the black and white garb of a popular American superhero named Phantom), but Jack’s eyes still shone with the familiar glint of a trickster. “Danny’s not human. Not entirely.” 

“Ah, but there is the issue, my friend. Part human is still human.” North explained, casting a wary glance across the room. The boy in question chatted animatedly with Tooth, Bunny, Coatlquetzal, and the Groundhog. Danny himself had a blue hoodie, brown pants, and a certain crooked staff in his hands. North tried to shake off the uncanny resemblance; if Danny only had a white wig, he’d be identical to Jack Frost.

Danny wasn’t having any trouble seeing the guests, though, despite being well past the age of most believers. North wasn’t sure if the boy was a medium or had nonhuman heritage, but it didn’t matter. It was still dangerous.

“There are many spirits here who would take advantage of a human,” North pointed out. “Not at my party, perhaps. But after.”

“Danny? No. he can take care of himself.” Jack said.

North raised a skeptical eyebrow, so Jack called over, “Hey Danny! Come meet Santa.”

From across the room, Danny and Jack shared a knowing glance, and briefly North wondered what was going on between the two. He didn’t have much time to ponder it, though, as the teen tactfully broke away from his conversation and ambled over with a smile.

Danny offered a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, North, Jack’s told me a lot about you. And… my dad’s a big fan,” he admitted sheepishly.

North shook the offered hand, casting a confused glance to Jack, who just grinned, eyes sparkling. “So North seems to think,” Jack started out before North could get a word in edgewise, “That you’re human.”

A pause, and instantly, Danny grinned too. “I knew that whole ‘watching you 24 hours a day’ thing was BS.” He turned to North, eyes dancing with such amusement that North irrationally wondered if he was Jack’s twin. “Are you asking for a demonstration, then?”

North blinked. “Demonstration?”

Grinning, Jack stole his staff, and Danny stepped back, hands clenched at his side.

And then a white ring appeared around the teenager’s waist.

Heads turned as the bright flash grew, parting over Danny’s form to completely change his appearance. The hoodie and pants transformed into black and white hazmat; Danny’s black hair inverted to white. In an instant, the human was gone, replaced by Phantom, ghost superhero of legend.

North’s jaw dropped. Jack, behind him, laughed.

“See? What did I tell you? That was priceless!” Jack sauntered over to lean an elbow on Danny’s shoulder. North blinked. Now Jack and his guest were both wearing the same outfit, and except for the height difference and one’s green glowing eyes, the two looked identical.

Danny poked Jack in the chest. “Yeah, but now one of us is gonna have to change.”

“Bloody hell,” whispered Bunny from somewhere behind North, echoing his thoughts. “I can barely handle one Jack Frost–what’re we gonna do with two?”

Microfics to break my writer’s block. :)

Drowsy 《Microfic #2》[Nookie]

Nate groaned as he flopped over the back of the couch in his and Hunter’s office, looking much like a blanket thrown over a clothes line.

He hadn’t slept in days, finding it impossible to sit still long enough to close his eyes.

And now, he was paying for it.

Hunter wandered in after his friend, looking up from his phone at the sound of the groan that came from the smaller male, eyebrow raised. “Nate?”

“Dude…” The musician whined, his voice muffled by the fabric of the couch. He then picked his head up, his eyes half-lidded and tired. “Duuuuuuude…”

“What is it, Nathan?”

“I’m fuckin’ tired…”

The brunette chuckled softly and shook his head. “Dude, you’ve been on a fucking crack high for the past three days. I’d imagine you are.”

“Huuuuuuunter…” Hunter sighed, moving to crouch in front of his friend.

“Yes?”

The smaller male held his arms out towards his friend, whining. “Carry me to bed?” The brunette raised an eyebrow.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you love me…?”

Hunter sighed, standing. “Alright, fine.” He moved to the back of the couch, collecting the smaller male into his arms, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot, Nathan.”

“’M not an idiot…” The ebony-haired male grumbled.

“Who the hell stays up for three fucking days with no sleep?”

“Shut up…” The musician mumbled, nuzzling into the larger male’s neck. The brunette chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You’re mad because you know I’m right.”

Nate muttered something unintelligible, curling closer to Hunter. The brunette shook his head, tsking softly. “Idiot…”

He carried him to bed, humming softly to himself as he did. He laid Nate down in the bed and moved to leave to allow him to sleep, though, the smaller male gripped tightly onto his shirt. “Nate, ya gotta let go, man.”

“No…”

“Nate–”

“NoOoOoOoO.”

Hunter sighed, shaking his head. “Do you want me to lay with you?”

“Yes…”

The larger male scratched the back of his neck, sighing. “You’re being really whiny today…”

“HuUuUuUunter…”

“Alright, alright. I’m laying down. Calm your tits.”

Hunter sighed, laying down next to his friend, flopping one arm around the musician’s waist, the other tucked under his head. He laid on his side, leaving Nate to curl into his chest, nodding off.

Hunter had to admit, Nate looked absolutely adorable like this.

“Hey dude?” Nate hummed acknowledgement, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

The brunette chuckled and nuzzled his nose into Nate’s neck, causing him to giggle softly. “You’re adorable, Natey-kins~”

Nate’s cheeks dusted pink as he took the pillow under his head and mushed it to Hunter’s face. “That’s gay- Shut the fuck up.”

The larger male laughed. “Aw, but you’re blushing, cutie~”

“NoOoOoOoO…”

“Admit it, you are~”

“Shut uUuUuUp!”

Hunter grinned, again nuzzling into his neck. “Naaaathan…”

“…What?”

“You’re still adorable, love.”

Nate hid his face in his hands, groaning. “Stop talking!”

mikiri  asked:

Microfill: Cuddle Puddle! Someone got out of the Healing Pod and everyone wants to cuddle.

i’m sure this ‘someone’ will come as a big surprise. :)

When Shiro stumbles out of the cryopod, shivering and kitten-weak, the team is ready for him.

Keith and Hunk are first by Shiro’s side. Hunk wraps Shiro in a blanket immediately, the fabric warm and fresh from the space-heater Pidge built to live in the infirmary. Shiro burrows gratefully into the warmth. With Keith’s help, he staggers down to sit on the steps, blinking rather owlishly at the sudden light. Keith presses up against his side as Hunk drapes a second blanket over Shiro’s shoulders, just in case.

“You,” Pidge announces, hands on her hips as she bends down to exactly nose-height with Shiro, “are not allowed to do that again.”

“Noted,” Shiro croaks.

Lance snickers and butts Pidge gently out of the way, pressing a steaming mug into Shiro’s hands. “Here you go, Shiro. Drink up.”

“Thank you.” Shiro sniffs at the mug’s contents curiously, at first content to just hold the warmth in his hands. “What happened? What time is it?”

“Mid-afternoon,” Keith supplies. Shiro takes his first sip, humming with delighted surprise. Hunk beams, large hands bracing Shiro’s shoulders. Keith waits until Shiro’s taken a second and then a third sip of the hot chocolate before he clarifies: “Mid-afternoon, three days later.”

Shiro chokes.

“Don’t kill him!” Lance exclaims, quick-wrapping his hands around Shiro’s before Shiro can drop the mug. “He just got out!”

“T-three days?!” Shiro sputters.

“Which is why you aren’t allowed to do that ever again,” Pidge repeats, glaring.

“It was just a scratch,” Shiro protests weakly.

“Sure,” Lance says, “Scratches just so happen to be poisoned all the time. Coran says you were lucky. Don’t put us through that again, man. I’m serious. Keith got all morose and woopy.”

“I did not,” Keith says.

Lance presses the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically, the pose totally ruined by his shit-eating grin. “No, I can’t! I’m not ready to lead Voltron-”

“I’m going to kill you,” Keith growls. He makes no move to get up.

Shiro tilts his head back, locking eyes with Hunk. “Three days?”

“Three days,” Hunk confirms. He squeezes Shiro’s shoulders. “Which is why we’re taking the rest of the day off. Allura and Coran said the poison’s all gone, but you might be a little weak for a day or so.”

Shiro frowns down at his mug as if it would contain answers (or better yet, a fast forward button for recovery). “Do we have time?”

“We’re making time,” Keith says, firmly.

“That’s the leader-Keith we all know and love,” Lance crows. “Shiro, hurry up and finish your drink. We’ve got plans.”

Shiro blinks. “Plans?”


“Would you look at that,” Coran comments softly, several vargas later.

All five of the Paladins are fast asleep in the main lounge, limbs akimbo and sprawled heavy in slumber. Shiro’s stretched out the length of the curving couch, snoring peacefully. Pidge is curled up practically on his chest, glasses set neatly on top of the couch and guarded by four snoozing mice. Keith’s fast asleep along Shiro’s right, body twisted in a way that shouldn’t be physically possible but somehow keeps all of him on the couch and not the floor. Lance is on Shiro’s other side, squished comfortably between Shiro and the couch; Hunk’s asleep right next to him, legs tangled up with both Shiro’s and Lance’s. A soft pile of blankets covers all five of them, artistically tossed and kicked loose to not cover noses or the occasional foot. The light of the softly playing ‘moo-vee’ washes over faces and hair, highlighting shadows lined in sleep.

Allura smiles fondly, gesturing Coran down the hall so as to not wake their sleeping friends. “I suppose we can ask Shiro tomorrow if he is feeling better. Coran, what is the matter?”

“Oh, nothing.” Coran sniffs, indeed wiping away a nostalgic tear. “Just thinking. The Paladins of new, just like the Paladins of old!”

Allura sniffs too, more of a huff as she folds her arms. “Oh, Coran. My father never had slumber parties in the lounge.”

“Ah, the innocence of youth,” Coran says, fondly, and puts his arm around Allura’s shoulders as they head off down the hall.

Murder Strut

Glow Cloud @nursedarry had a rough day, and lovely @micromarvel had a prompt, so…

Originally posted by peterparkher


The enemy hits the wall with what should have been a loud sickening crunch of bones, but the protective vest he’s wearing does its job as he only slumps down against it, looking mildly disoriented. That is, up until Bucky reaches him and finishes the job by planting a metal fist in his face. Seconds later, Steve is grabbing Bucky by the same arm to spin him around in order to plant his lips on Bucky’s face in a swift, ardent, and very much promising kiss, before returning to the still-raging battle once more. Bucky doesn’t give it much thought, even as he raises his rifle to take aim at a new target, smiling with the taste of his patriotic lover still fresh on his lips.

Bucky kicks aimlessly at one of the mercenaries lying on the ground, and the soldier grunts when he’s turned over onto his back by the bloodied tip of Bucky’s boot.

“Amateurs…” Bucky mutters dryly.

“Bucky.”

He gives the now-unconscious body another nonchalant kick with his heel, and turns around.

“You good?” Steve asks, and Bucky scoffs while tucking his knife back into the sheath strapped around his thigh. There’s sweat forming on his brow, but it’s the good kind of sweat – the kind that makes you feel like you’ve actually been productive.

“Of course,” he says. He tries not to make it sound like he’s smug about it. He might be, though.

“Good,” Steve says, smirking while he pulls Bucky in by the hip, and Bucky lets him, humming when Steve mouths at his jaw. “You looked hot,” Steve murmurs. Bucky frowns a little, but decides not to comment on the cryptic praise when Steve begins to nip at his bottom lip.

Another fight; another incompetent enemy. Bucky snorts as he watches their unrefined technique while they flail around, trying to land a hit on him. It’s ridiculous. Three steps, and he’s got five of them down, the sixth and final one staggering back with eyes nearly bulging out of his head when Bucky turns his gaze on him. One, two, three, four steps, followed by the muted thud as the stock of Bucky’s gun connects with the asshole’s face. It all goes ludicrously quick, and by the time Bucky turns around, the rest of the fight is already over.

Steve is heading his way, striding towards him with that look on his face. Bucky braces himself, because that face could mean that he’s about to get the biggest scolding of his life, or kissed within an inch of it.

Turns out it’s the latter, and Bucky groans with surprise when Steve drops his shield to the ground by their feet to cup Bucky’s face with both hands, mashing their lips together with a low snarl that travels all the way down to Bucky’s toes.

Slowly, Bucky begins to sense a pattern.

It’s ten minutes past midnight, the warehouse is nearly pitch black apart from the flickering fluorescent lights above their heads, and Bucky is pissed off. As the target makes a break for it, running down the narrow hallway leading towards the loading docks out back, Bucky is already looking forward to the punch he’s going to land on the bastard’s face when he gets to him. He’s not even going to use his enhanced arm.

That had been Bucky’s good gun, dammit! He spent days tuning that thing, and now it’s gone, all thanks to this bastard!

Up ahead, the man throws a panicked stare over his shoulder just as he slams against the door leading to the loading docks out back. The door remains firmly closed, and Bucky’s lip pulls up in a snarl as he stomps his way forward, boots beating hard against the concrete floor.

“No!” the man wheezes. “No, no, please!”

Bucky doesn’t listen. The man cowers when Bucky’s hand clasps around the back of his neck, hauling him up and throwing him back the same way they’d come. The coward lands on his back, sliding over the floor like a shuffleboard piece. “I’m sorry!” he wails when Bucky stalks after him, although Bucky knows he has no idea what he’s apologizing for. It’s a wild chance, a final resort, and for some reason that makes Bucky’s anger flare up in a blazing rage, only to die out just as fast. He looks down at the human being huddled up into a ball on the floor, shaking like a child while Bucky looms over him, and slowly, Bucky uncurls his fists by his sides.

“You’re pathetic,” he hisses. Then he gives the guy a swift kick to the face, and the man goes out like a light.

Bucky straightens up, lifting his gaze, and he’s already expecting it when he sees Steve standing there at the end of the corridor, looking at him. Steve’s eyes are dark, his breathing rapid, and Bucky decides that it’s time to put his theory to the test.

He pulls his shoulders up, canting his head down, and walks. Firm, determined steps, eyes on the target. He puts his entire body into the motion, using it to put additional weight to his gait, and he can see the effect it has reflected on Steve’s face, clear as glass.

When he stops, his chest is just an inch shy from Steve’s own, and he doesn’t have to wait long before Steve’s hands are grabbing around his shoulders and shoving him squarely up against the wall behind them. It knocks the breath out of Bucky’s lungs in the best of ways, and Bucky gasps when Steve’s mouth lands on his with a predatory growl.

The kiss is rough, fierce, and Bucky melts into it with a moan, like butter in a frying pan.  

“You jerk,” Steve breathes against his lips. “You know I love it when you strut like that.”

Bucky grins, gasping a little when Steve moves down to suck a bruising kiss over the skin of his neck. “I sure do…” he pants, closing his eyes.

He tries not to sound smug about it.

He might be, though.

hamatomiwa  asked:

For the micro-fic thing! What about Ulaz, Allura & Coran finding out that Earth has over a thousand different languages? If you feel up to a part two then maybe a Uliro micro-fic where Ulaz finds out that Shiro speaks two languages from Earth (English & Japanese) & wants to learn one or both.

(I cheated and went to the second one)

“What are you speaking now?” Ulaz asked, voice soft with fascination.

“English,” Shiro replied.  “It’s habit, now.  That’s what I spoke at the Garrison, and it’s the language we all know.  It feels weird, to speak Japanese at the others and to expect them to understand.  It’s one thing for the translator to work on alien languages, but they can tell I’m speaking Japanese.  You still half-hear it.”

Ulaz tilted his head.  “I believe I understand. I can tell the difference between Altean and your languages, even if I do not know any of them.”  Ulaz tapped his fingers against Shiro’s thigh thoughtfully.  They faced each other on the bed, and Ulaz had to stoop so that Shiro wasn’t looking straight up the whole conversation.  “Do you have a preference?”

Considering that, Shiro hummed thoughtfully.  “I’m more used to speaking English now.  It’s been a long time since I spoke Japanese regularly.  But Japanese is… we’d call it my ‘mother tongue’.  My first language.  It’s what I learned as a young child.”

Ulaz nodded, though the phrase ‘mother tongue’ got him an odd look.  No doubt it sounded strange in a direct translation.  “The smallest, Pidge.  She is learning Altean.”

Is that what had brought this up?  “She’s coming along.  I have to say, the Altean way of teaching is… not typical for us.  But interesting.”  Once Shiro had discovered that the holograms couldn’t really hurt anyone, watching them chance Pidge edged more toward funny than horrifying, especially giving her rapidly improving poker face toward the situation.”

“Can I learn your Japanese?  Or your English.  I wish to speak with you in your… tongue.  Were there ever to be a time without translators, I want to be able to speak with you.”

Shiro’s brows rose.  “But I speak… small Galra.”

“Little,” Ulaz corrected.  “And you do, but the way you learned it was… unfortunate.  I don’t wish for you to need to use it.”

Ducking his head, Shiro swallowed hard.  “It’s a useful thing to know, though,” he replied.  “I’ll teach you English or Japanese if you help me improve my Galra.”

Ulaz frowned, unsure, but he finally nodded.  “Alright.  I wish to learn Japanese.”  He held up a huge hand, pausing Shiro’s words before he started.  “I know it is the less useful of the two.  But I wish it.  I want to give you the opportunity to speak it.  And if the need arises, you can translate for the others.”

“Alright,” Shiro replied, nodding slowly.  He looked a little like Ulaz had physically shaken him, ruffled and stunned, but then he smiled.  “I’d like that.”

Good.  Ulaz wanted to understand Shiro better.  He wanted to know how this small human had overcome and done so much.  Maybe understanding his language could be the first step.

If not, then it was just time spent together, and Ulaz couldn’t regret that.

“I thought I told you to keep our relationship secret.”

“I am!” 

Ladybug opened Chloe’s Instagram to a picture of her kissing a sleeping Ladybug’s head and flashing a peace sign to the camera, the caption reading catching a nap with my lovebug xoxoxoxoxo <3 #lifegoalswifegoals. 

Chloe stared at the picture for a moment before glancing up at her girlfriend’s deadpan expression. “…o-oh my god, I’ve been hacked!” 

Miscalculation

Day 1: Movie Night

—————–

Genre: Romance
Pairing(s): Genji/Zenyatta aka GenYatta
Rating: PG
Summary: Genji wants to watch a scary movie with Zenyatta.

—————–

Warning: This is my first (and probably last) GenYatta fic attempt.  I didn’t really wanna put it out here because these two are my second most respected pairing in Overwatch (second to AnaHardt).  But I’m posting it anyway.  It’s short and simple and cliche, but I hope you like it.

—————–

Miscalculation

Genji grinned when he got the idea in his head to watch a scary movie with his master.  The omnic was such a gentle and kind soul, yet Genji wanted to see how he would react to something gore-filled and frightening.

He imagined Zenyatta trembling with fear and clinging to him.  Yes, his master would be helpless and he would be there to give his master the comfort he needed.  It would be the perfect excuse to cuddle with his omnic crush.

“Master, master.  There is something I want you to watch with me,” Genji called innocently to Zenyatta.

“Oh?  What is it, my pupil?” Zenyatta asked.

“It’s a movie.  You told me that you enjoy movies, but it is rare that you ever get to see them.  So I thought we could watch one tonight,” Genji explained.

“How wonderful.  I would be happy to watch a movie with you.”

—————–

Genji was ecstatic to have his master sitting beside him.  And as the movie played, he waited for the jump-scare moments where Zenyatta was sure to throw his arms around him, shivering with fright.  To see his master so vulnerable would be cute.

So, he patiently waited as the movie played, but Zenyatta never flinched.  As a matter of fact, the omnic seemed fascinated by all those scary moments that Genji hoped would trigger a cute little scare.

What had he been thinking?  Zenyatta was calm of mind and spirit.  Surely a simple horror film wouldn’t undo him.  And once the movie was over, Genji just sat there looking disappointed.

Zenyatta seemed to enjoy it, however.  "That was a very interesting movie.  It was a bit more violent than I would have liked, but it had some amusing parts as well.“

Genji simply nodded.

"My pupil.  What is the matter?  Did you not enjoy the movie?”

“No, the movie was fine, Master.  It just didn’t go the way that I’d hoped,” Genji said quietly.

Zenyatta hummed curiously.  "Were you hoping for a happy ending?  I was under the impression that a lot of horror movies had sad or scary endings.“

"It’s not that.  I was just…expecting a different reaction from you.”

“Such as?”

Genji frowned and he wished he’d been wearing his faceplate.  "I don’t know.“  Oh, he knew exactly what he’d been expecting from his master, but he couldn’t say it.  It was much too embarrassing.

"Perhaps something like this?” Zenyatta asked, leaning close to Genji and burying his face in the ninja’s arm.

Genji really wished he’d been wearing his faceplate then because he could feel his whole face become warm.

“Oh dear.  This is too scary to watch,” Zenyatta said, sliding his arms around Genji’s waist.  He looked up at his pupil.  "Like that?“

It took Genji a while to answer, but this was exactly what he’d been hoping for.  "Y-yes.  I suppose.  Something like that.”

“Then let us watch the movie again.  I will get it right this time.”

Bloodstained Petals 《Microfic #1》

Hunter looked over at Nate, sighing weakly.

He was getting worse…

Those flowers, those stupid invasive, parasitic plants were killing him, strangling the life out of him day by day.

The brunette remembered when he first met Nate. The musician had been so energetic, only a few flowers coiling his arms, clinging to his skin.

And yet, over the few months of being with him, Hunter watched his sweetheart’s health deteriorate.

He watched how he whimpered and winced at soft touches, jumping and flinching at loud noises. With his vision being obscured by those colorful flowers, the larger male understood why.

But, that didn’t mean the pain would be eased.

It was the second month that Nate would begin coughing up bloody and wilted flower petals, his voice jagged and rough.

And yet he kept smiling.

He kept laughing.

He kept acting like nothing was wrong.

He acted like he wasn’t in pain, though Hunter could see it in his body language, the way he shriveled at a simple brush of his fingers against his arms.

He could hear him crying at night, his soft sobs muffled by his pillows as he pressed his back almost desperately to the brunette’s chest.

Hunter would watch how hesitantly Nate moved, how he grazed his fingers over everything to determine what it was.

And that’s all he could do…

Just watch.

anonymous asked:

Hi! If you are still doing the micro-fic thing would you be interested in doing a Uliro one? (the promt would be Language if you are interested) Sorry if I bother you but your fic on this pair have dragged me in the rare-pair hell and I have yet to see the show T____T

Yes! Fills from me tend to be platonic, but I do enjoy some Ulaz and Shiro. :3

“I did not know you spoke Galra,” Ulaz says, later.

“A - I’m - not much,” Shiro says, hesitantly. That isn’t the right word. “Very - basic. Simple?”

“A little,” Ulaz corrects, for him. “When did you learn?”

Shiro starts, surprised. Ulaz’s yellow eyes are curious, not cruel.

“The translators did not work in the cells,” Shiro explains. Even that simple sentence sends panic fluttering through him, purple fluorescents flickering past the edges of his peripheral. He swallows, flesh hand gripping metal. “We had to - I learned. Not a lot. Just enough. Did you not know?”

Ulaz’s expression softens immediately into horrified regret.

“I did not,” he says, in careful Galra. His syllables are slow and careful. “I - apologize. I was not aware.”

“It is fine,” Shiro manages. It’s over now. He closes his eyes - purple hallways flash behind his closed lids - and opens them again. Breathes in at the blue lights lining the Altean walls. “I did not - know? Think of it?”

“Remember,” Ulaz prompts softly. The word sounds strange tripping off a Galra tongue.

“I did not remember,” Shiro agrees, and the word nearly chokes him.

Ulaz is quiet for a while. The aqua-blue lights in the hallway pulse ahead of them, warm and calm. The quiet hum of a ship in motion thrums beneath their feet. Allura’s piloting them back to the Olkari, the nearest place with a prayer of fixing the translators or perhaps even providing an upgrade. Shiro’s not holding out hope the repairs will be quick. Even if Slav is still residing with the Olkari where they’d left him, ten thousand years of obsolete machinery won’t be an easy feat to fix.

While Ulaz and the Alteans can communicate neatly via a shared fluency of their mother tongues, the rest of them aren’t as lucky. Pidge is holding up somewhat with her rudimentary Altean; the other Paladins haven’t a hope. Shiro is the nearest thing his friends have to a translator, even if it had taken him the better part of an hour to come to the realization in the first place. (Varga did it for him - the one word he could understand out of Coran and Allura’s first conversation. When Ulaz had repeated the same word in a different tongue - all of a sudden Ulaz’s strange syllables made a heart-stopping sort of sense. Shiro’d had to sit down with it, shocked and sudden. He’d brushed off Keith’s concerned grip to his shoulder - and blurted straight out into the middle of Allura and Ulaz’s argument in fragmented but clear Galra: “how long did you say this would take?”)

Long story short, Shiro’s been at this all day.

“You shared a cell with many others, for a considerable time,” Ulaz explains, slowly. Shiro strains to catch every syllable. “I am not surprised, now, that this would be a gift of yours. How many other languages do you speak?”

“Not fluent,” Shiro warns him. The memories are flickering at the edges of his vision with each new word, each new verb form and sentence structure butchered in his attempts to communicate between Galran and English. He’s exhausted.

“Of course,” Ulaz says, gently. “Could you guess?”

Shiro shakes his head. “Not from - out here. Not from space. My - Altean, it isn’t - Pidge is better. I speak - a handful? From - cell-mates. Pieces. Probably. I am not sure.”

“What about from not ‘out here’?” Ulaz prompts, carefully structuring his question.

Shiro swallows. “From Earth? Mainly two.”

“Two?” Ulaz’s pale eyebrows raise. “Which is your native tongue? Will you - ”

He devolves into a string of new words Shiro can’t follow.

“Slow down,” Shiro says, desperately. This is too much.

Ulaz smiles, calm and reassuring.

“Speak,” he translates, simply. His large hand grips Shiro’s knee, supportive and grounding. Shiro’s panic stills. “Your native tongue. I would wish to hear it.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, gratefully, and makes the mental switch into Japanese.

(send me a prompt and I’ll write a micro-fic! :) not an april fool’s joke, for real!)

ashinan  asked:

Micro prompt time aww yiss. Can I get a paladin cuddle pile and the Alteans confusion over it plzkthnx

Coran tilts his head, pressing his mustache flat with his thumb.  “You know,” he comments slowly, “we do have enough chairs for all of you.  If there isn’t enough space, more can be brought it.”

The paladins all look up at the Alteans as if they’re the ones who are strange just for making the suggestion.  As if they hadn’t call crammed themselves onto a single couch, limbs tangled and flopped over each other like blind yupper cubs.

“We’re fine,” Pidge finally replies, from her perch draped over Lance’s back to better see what’s in Hunk’s hands.

Allura meets Coran’s eyes and visibly shrugs.  “Well, if you’re certain.”

“We are,” Shiro replies, calm and steady as ever, from the bottom of the pile.

Humans.  Completely inexplicable. 

(Send me a prompt and I’ll write a microfic)

Secret Relationships 《Microfic #15》[Nookie]

Secret relationships.

They weren’t Nate’s cup of tea, but Hunter had been insistent.

The fans were always difficult to please and it was understandable that he wanted to keep their personal relationship on the down low.

And yet, ironically enough, it was his own carelessness that got them caught.

They had been recording all day, stocking up on videos before Nate went on tour. They hadn’t ate all day either and they were both pretty exhausted.

Which led to them getting Taco Bell at almost two in the morning.

Nate yawned sleepily while Hunter read over the menu, trying to lazily decide what he wanted. The musician whined, reaching his hand out to lock their pinkies together, knowing how mental his boyfriend would get when they held hands in public.

“Dude… You’ve been reading that fucking menu for the past twenty minuets. Please hurry up…”

The brunette sighed and raked his fingers through Nate’s hair, pressing a little kiss to his neck. “Patience, Nathan… I’ve almost decided.”

Nate again whined and leaned against the larger male’s arm, sighing. “Fiiine…”

And yet, little did they know, two fans happened to be eating at the tables behind them, noting the affection the two were sharing with silent squeals and giggles.

Everyone had a feeling there was something going on between them, but now there was proof .

Needless to say, the next morning, both of their social medias were blowing up…

lightshesaid  asked:

omg so much microfic. How about some Shiro & Ulaz & a panic attack?

how about it? ;)

“Shiro. Shiro!”

Shiro comes back to himself with a panicked start, lungs burning as he struggles for air. His heart’s pounding, fit to burst right out of his chest. His eyes skitter frantically over a blurred nothing. Where - where - ?!

“Shiro,” the voice repeats, insistent but calm. Something squeezes his hand. “Shiro, you must breathe. Can you do that? Inhale.”

Shiro sucks in a ragged gasp of air, lungs heaving, trying.

“Good,” the voice says, fierce but hushed. “Let it out. Again.”

Shiro obeys. Inch by inch he breathes; inch by inch the voice talks him down. Inch by inch his heart stops pounding. Gradually his surroundings clarify into dull sense. He’s sitting on the dirt floor, back pressed hard against two walls. He’s curled up into the corner. He can’t move his hands -

No. His right arm rests palm-up by his side, heavy and limp. Only his left hand is being held. Long fingers grip his, and the slight tip of claws brush against his wrist.

Someone crouches in front of him, their face furrowed in deep concern.

“Ulaz,” Shiro gasps.

“That is correct,” Ulaz says, quietly. His yellow eyes betray no alarm, merely worry. “Are you with me?”

Shiro’s left hand is caught up in Ulaz’s own, the Galra’s grip firm but not restrictive. Shiro’s knees are tucked tightly into his chest; Ulaz is crouched before him, immobile and steady. Even squatting down, Ulaz is so much larger than Shiro is. His knees press right above Shiro’s own, and his larger form neatly blocks Shiro’s view of the cell door. The edges of the door’s active energy field shimmer brightly around Ulaz’s form, a purple halo Shiro will see in his dreams for a week -

“No.” A hand grips his chin. Shiro flinches, bucking, but Ulaz’s claws are gentle. “Look at me. Do not look at the door.”

“H-how are you here?” Shiro manages. His tongue’s dry, lips cracked.

“I came after you,” Ulaz says, as matter-of-fact as if he were merely discussing the weather.

Came after you. But the cell door is active, and locked. That means -

Shiro fights against Ulaz’s grip, weak and shaking. Ulaz releases Shiro’s chin, but remains crouched before him, still blocking Shiro’s view of the active door. Even so - “You s-shouldn’t be here! What have you done?!”

“Do not worry about me,” Ulaz says, sharp. There’s no sign of injury on his face or hands. Ulaz is unharmed except that he’s imprisoned here, too, trapped just like Shiro. “This was my choice. Shiro, listen to me. The rest of your team is coming, but your Paladins will not get here in time. Your captors are coming for you first, unless we can stop them.”

The brief hope winging through Shiro’s chest sputters, caught. He thinks about crying: not in front of Ulaz. He thinks about running: the door is locked. He thinks about fighting -

“My arm,” Shiro whispers. His right arm is a deadweight at his side, metal fingers limp and lifeless. He cannot move them. “They - they did something-”

“I know,” Ulaz says. His calm voice is a rock, steady despite the undercurrent of urgency running through his words. “I can fix it, but it will hurt. However, if I re-activate your arm, we can use it to get out of this cell and find somewhere to bide time until your team arrives. Your captors will not hurt you.”

It will hurt.

Your captors are coming for you first.

Not even a choice. Shiro laughs, the shakiest of exhales. “Do it.”

Pride flits into Ulaz’s eyes, chased by a clear measure of confusion. Maybe laughing about their impending demise and torture through one way or another isn’t the reaction Ulaz expected. Oh, well. Ulaz should’ve thought of that before he ended up in this cell with Shiro.

“Do you understand me?” Ulaz repeats. “It will hurt. The hard reset was not designed to be easy on the host.”

“I heard you,” Shiro confirms. It takes all his energy but he pulls his head away from the wall, staring back at Ulaz with determination. “Do it. Pidge and Hunk can fix it later.”

Ulaz’s gaze softens inexplicably.

“I will assist them,” he promises. His hand hovers over Shiro’s immobile arm - and then, for the first time since Shiro came to, Ulaz hesitates. “You are sure?”

It will hurt.

Your Paladins will not get here in time.

“No other way, right?” Shiro says, hoarse. “My hand can open the door. Do it.”

“Then take a deep breath,” Ulaz says, and gently - carefully - he takes the elbow of Shiro’s Galra arm into his hands.

chonaku-things  asked:

5 times Nico di Angelo was the best boyfriend ever and one time it was Will

1. That time Nico beat up six Roman soldiers effortlessly and in less than a minute while looking about to faint, and then got pissy at Will. They weren’t boyfriends yet, but that’s when Will definitely confirmed that Nico di Angelo would make the best boyfriend ever.

2. That time Nico held down a patient while Will reattached their leg. Unsqueamishness is a critical trait for healers’ boyfriends. Also, strong arms.

3. For similar reasons, that time Nico gave Marisol (youngest known daughter of Apollo, at six months) her bottle and helped her burp and didn’t care that she vomited all over him.

4. That time Nico came back from a Hades trip with a message from Will’s mom and having learned her recipe for the cookies she made when Will was a child.

5. That time Nico went to ask Apollo for a doctor’s note saying Will had contracted a rare magical disease and that the only way to cure it meant that Chiron absolutely must allow Will to take a vacation to Hawaii on this specific date that just so happened to correspond to their anniversary.


1. That time Will turned to Nico and said, “Hey, Percy Jackson’s coming over here, we should make out.”

ashinan  asked:

Okay okay okay how about. Micro prompt time: Hunk repairing Yellow during a battle?

“This is fine,” Hunk said to Yellow - okay, mostly to himself, but technically directed to Yellow - as he ducked further down into his Lion.  Over the comms, Shiro was calling out orders as they compensated for their smaller numbers and switched focus to protecting him.

Because that last hit had managed to shake something lose, and they all trusted Hunk to fix it in the next few minutes.  Or else they could well be overwhelmed, and they’d all either die or be captured by Galra forces.

So no pressure or anything.

Pulling open the panel Yellow directed him to, Hunk pulled it open and started to pull out the frayed wires.  “Just fine.  Fun, even.  It’s Hunky Dory.  Get it?  ‘Cause I’m Hunk?”  He kept up the chatter as his hands worked, voice low so hopefully it wouldn’t disturb anyone.  Not that the others were paying attention, or at least not replying.  His chatter was being drowned out by the constant back and forth as the rest fought off the Galra.

While Hunk was dead in the water.

This was not remotely fine.

As soon as he thought that, Yellow purred against his mind, steady and sure.  His own memory flashed over his eyes, repairing the same issue in training and getting it done in minutes.  When he looked down at his hands, he was almost done already.

He could do this.

Hunk was fine.  They were both fine.

With a slow breath, Hunk closed his eyes, sending back the warm, steady feeling that Yellow inspired in him.  Then he reattached the wires and closed the panel.

Yellow rumbled around him as energy began to flow properly again.

“I’m ready,” Hunk called, standing up.  And he meant it.

anonymous asked:

Amelie finally buys Angela a new mug.

Amelie places the mug on Angela’s desk, turning it with her fingertips until the handle faces inwards, easier to pick up from the opposite side. Steam lifts from the dark liquid and curls in the cool office air, making the surrounding space smell like hazelnut and vanilla.

She prefers the sharp yet pleasant smell of tea over the smooth yet bitter smell of bean water, but she no longer makes such an obviously displeased face over it.

Angela strides in a few minutes after Amelie sits down, barely registering that she has company due to the distracting levels of work currently heaped on her, as usual. That soothing lavender is unmistakable though, and her head snaps up a half step past the doorway. “Ame-”

Her words are cut short by how quickly Amelie moves, standing and crossing the room faster than she can finish processing that she’s even really there, capturing her lips in a soft but desperate kiss.

Amelie draws back very little. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers, tracing her thumb over Angela’s cheek, giving another gentle, lingering kiss.

“I got you something.” She tilts her head towards the desk where the fresh coffee is waiting in a white mug with gradient orange and yellow lettering which matches the Valkyrie colors.

It reads: You’re Welcome.

Justice is righteous, Justice is hard, Justice is beautiful and necessary and a brilliant, bright blue flame that Hawke loves, because Hawke knows that Justice is not and has never been a bad concept.

Justice, Hawke knows, is inherently Good.

Always There 《Microfic #11》[Nookie]

“Son of a–!”

“What?! What happened?!” Nate’s tone was worried as Hunter’s pained voice erupted from under the desk and the brunette crawled out, clutching his head.

“Fucking fuck fuck!”

“Dude, did you hit your head?” Nate was on his feet in seconds, scampering over towards his friend, gently taking his arm to help him to his feet.

“Yeah, and now everything is spinning and shit. Ugh… It’s really disorienting.”

Nate’s eyes widened. “Dude, we have to sit you down or something.” He hurried to help Hunter sit on the couch. “Stay here. Don’t move and do anything stupid.”

The smaller male hurried to the freezer, creating a makeshift ice pack with a plastic baggie and some ice.

Hunter chuckled weakly as Nate came back, holding the ice pack out to him. He took it, pressing it to his head with a soft groan. “Do… Do you need anything else?” He asked curiously, not really sure how to help someone who was injured.

Hunter shook his head, resting his head back against the back of the couch, sighing. “I’m fine. Head just hurts a bit.”

“Do you need some headache relivers or something?”

Hunter laughed, glancing over at Nate. “Why are you going mama bird on me?”

Nate scratched the back of his neck, shrugging. “I dunno, I mean– You know I’m always here for you, right?”

Hunter blushed, blinking before he burst into a fit of giggles. “Dude, that’s gay…”

ashinan  asked:

NOT SURE IF YOU HAVE ENOUGH TIME. Give me Uliro, naps

I always have enough time for Ulaz and Shiro. :3

“I’m going to kill him,” Shiro says. The effect is rather ruined by his enormous yawn.

“No, you will not,” Ulaz says, patiently. Shiro’s head is drooping down towards his chest again; he picks it up with an effort just in time. It’s fascinating to watch. “Who would pilot the Yellow Lion?”

“You could,” Shiro offers. Ulaz nudges his shoulder just slightly and tips Shiro down all the way onto the couch, lying prone. Shiro goes without complaint, curling up on his side. He must truly be out of it.

“He’s not - he’s - ” Shiro yawns again, cutting off his words. “ - Yellow would like you.”

“I do not need the approval of another space cat,” Ulaz says, glancing around. Humans prefer to be warm and covered when sleeping; ah. There’s a blanket over the back of the couch. Ulaz snags it with his long reach and spreads the thin but soft material over Shiro’s form. Shiro curls into it reflexively, scarcely aware of his own actions. “Yours is enough.”

“Hunk’s not allowed back in the kitchen until Coran labels every jar,” Shiro says.

Humans are so strange.

“They are labelled,” Ulaz reminds him, amused. “Merely in Altean.”

“Hunk’s not allowed back in the kitchen until he learns,” Shiro corrects, fiercely. It’s somewhat diminished by the slurring of his words, tumbling already towards sleep. What Hunk had innocently thought to be a different form of flavoring for lunch had turned out the complete opposite; Ulaz supposes they’re lucky only one of the Paladins had sampled the food as Hunk prepared it.

It is just unfortunate that it had been Shiro.

“Fear not,” Ulaz says instead. He slips off the edge of the couch, crouching instead to remain at Shiro’s eye level. Shiro cracks open a bleary eye with a supreme effort. “Your Blue paladin has offered to be your taste tester for all ‘surprise ingredients’ from this point on. In future, I highly suggest you take him up on the offer.”

Shiro’s quiet for so long Ulaz is afraid he really has fallen asleep. But no; the Black Paladin’s eyes are open, if a bit unfocused where he’s staring at Ulaz’s knee.

“‘m not really mad at him,” Shiro says, at last. His eyelids flutter again, drooping shut. He peels them back open. “‘m - ‘was an accident. ’m mad at me.”

Ulaz quirks a pale eyebrow. “You are mad at your body’s inability to remain conscious when subjected to an incredible dose of b’lire powder?”

“Had things to do,” Shiro murmurs. He’s glowering. It’s ruined by the fact that he can’t keep his eyes open. “The princess - still planet-side - can’t lead training. Things to do.”

Ah. Ulaz cannot exactly blame him. The responsibilities of leadership can hardly be set down even for accidents outside of one’s control. They have had this argument before.

“Rest,” Ulaz says. The blanket does not fully cover Shiro’s knee at this angle; Ulaz tugs it up, tucking the fabric in. Shiro hums, an unconscious sound from the back of his throat. “I will lead training for you this afternoon.”

“Hate drugs,” Shiro whines. It’s the only complaint he’s uttered since the entire mistake began.

The powder’s working fast, pulling him down despite all of Shiro’s efforts to fight it. If Ulaz hadn’t personally witnessed Hunk chuck the b’lire jar violently into the garbage chute, he’d throw the damn thing out himself.

“I know,” Ulaz begins.

A small chitter catches his attention; Ulaz’s ears twitch. The little blue mouse - Chulatt - perches carefully on the edge of the couch, waving a paw in his direction. Its two friends are helping the third and last mouse - the large one, Platt? - up onto the armrest by Shiro’s head. Chulatt mimes standing guard, striking a fierce pose and waving its tail dramatically.

What odd creatures. Still, Ulaz is grateful for them.

“You will not be alone,” Ulaz says, softly. Mission accomplished, the green mouse - Plachu, Ulaz recalls - slides down the armrest to tuck itself against Shiro’s neck; the red one, Chuchule, chatters something up at Platt. Platt yawns a little mouse-yawn from their content position in the corner of the couch. “Rest, Shiro. I will handle training. And I will be here when you wake.”

Chuchule curls up on Shiro’s shoulder, slipping just under the edge of the blanket. Shiro’s eyes drift shut.

“Make ‘em run laps,” Shiro mumbles with absolutely zero malice, and then he’s out.