#<- writing/snippets/etc etc etc

[feral-ass-raccoon]

making a new intro post bc i went to go update mine and it was fucking gone anyways i am so sorry this is gonna be a long one

hi welcome to the void (:

you can call me Feral or Raccoon or something else idk. secret third option ig

• i am aro/aceflux (:

• multi-fandom chaos. [i got tired of listing them all hjgjfjdg]

• if you follow me i will go look at your blog. Vibe Check

• swear warning. intense swear warning. it is a problem here and you have been warned. i swear a lot i'm sorry

• i also give mutuals nicknames. sorry. it will continue happening. i <3 abusing my moot privileges <333

• asks are always open, feel free to scream at me

• seriously send me shit. questions, headcanons, au stuff, more questions, even just silly little memes. i fuckin love asks

• this applies to OCs too!!! i have them!!! a few, at least, please feel free to send a fandom i'm in and i will tell you the OCs i have for it :D [aske me about the Guys. please. i beg of you.]

• sometimes i draw things, the tag i use for it is #raccoon's art

• i also cook. i love cooking. that tag is #raccoon's kitchen btw

• actually all my tags are listed in. the tags. so.

• I CAN BE BOTHERED!!! DO NOT BE AFRAID OF "ANNOYING" ME I DO NOT CARE. EVEN IF I DON'T RESPOND RIGHT AWAY, I WILL TRY TO.

• i do like tag games and such!!! feel free to tag me if ya want ESPECIALLY FOR UQUIZZES!! I LOVE UQUIZZES

• i schedule a shit ton of posts but i'm not always online btw so if i'm posting regularly but it's at even times, they're probably scheduled lmao

• DNI LIST: hah. nahhh tbh i don't really care as long as you aren't a dick. if i don't like you i'll jus block you.

• general boundaries are pretty much just idgaf, you live your life, and i won't bother you. unless you try dragging me into something i don't wanna be involved in. i will stab you /hj.

• before we get started: trans men are men, trans women are women, transphobia is stupid, homophobia is stupid, fandom is free, fanfiction is not a service, the block button is free, you are responsible for curating your own internet experience, don't be an asshole, etc etc

[trombonechurchill]

Thirsty Thursday

Tagged by @setmeatopthepyre and @chimneyz thank you~

😏been awhile since I've had anything to share but I've been struck down by yet another new WIP, shocker. a 5+1 of Bartender!Buck trying to guess the favourite drink of his new favourite, totally normal, very human patron, Tommy...

"Fine. I'm fine," he says tightly. It's not exactly convincing. "Alliums," he adds, unhelpfully, clearing his throat and gripping the sink tighter when Buck only tilts his head in confusion. "Allergic to alliums. Like onions or-" "Garlic- Oh shit, Tommy I'm sorry, there was garlic salt in the rim- I had no idea." Tommy raises a hand and Buck falls quiet, shocked as his mouth seems to close on its own. Tommy's breaths are still coming in rabid gasps, a shudder passing over him that finally manages to kick Buck's brain back into gear. It's been a minute since his last first-aid course but he'd feel better if he could at least check Tommy over, the urge to get his hands on him almost overwhelming, like Tommy might simply disappear into the ugly bathroom tile if Buck can't rest his hands on him. "Hey, you sure you're okay?" Tommy flinches when Buck's palm settles lightly on his back and he's struck by the lack of body heat. There's a sheen of sweat over Tommy's skin and he blinks thickly as he turns to regard Buck, seemingly confused how he could have gotten next to him. Buck frowns, reaching out to rest the back of his hand on Tommy's clammy forehead. "You're kinda freaking me out, man." "Sorry," Tommy says thickly, swaying into the contact and shutting his eyes. Buck swears he can feel the weight of it, the sudden lack of Tommy's eyes on his, like someone slowly turning the dial on the old radio in his Jeep, static fuzz creeping in if he looks too long. He let's the hand drop, suddenly not sure how long he'd been holding it to Tommy's flushed skin, laments the loss of contact immediately. He's been serving Tommy for months now but it's telling that he's never seen him drunk. Tommy's a social drinker, though he rarely talks to the other bar patrons when Buck's busy. It's part of why Buck likes Tommy as a customer so much, never had to cut him off, never had to haul Tommy bodily outside when they hit closing time. Now though, Tommy swaying in and out of Buck's space like a stormy sea, eyes hazy as he leans awkwardly, still breathing hard. Maybe Buck does really need to call someone- "Sorry, I'm really sorry," Tommy rasps again, finally loses his valiant battle with gravity as he presses his face into Buck's throat, full weight of him solid along Buck's chest as his arms come up to cradle him automatically. "Hey, no you're good, I've uh- I've seen way worse in a bar bathroom are you kidding?" Buck stutters at the cold press of Tommy's nose under his jaw, feels the flutter of breath on his skin as Tommy inhales deeply. Feels his blood burn hot at the idea that Tommy might be smelling him.

np tagging @emphasisonthehomo, @ambernotember, @frogsinflannel, @dark-alice-lilith, @sunnywithachanceofbi, @disaster-j, @3min17sec, @mustlovetommy, @nzchance, @gothwizardmagic, @insecuregodcomplex, @bangpop91, @powersuitup @vamphours, and @o0anapher0o if you guys have anything to share <3

[defectivehero]

Villian (hero's lover) locks up injured hero until they get better, hero was injured many times before and would always convince villian that they were fine, this was the last straw.

i am allergic to explicit romance (or romance at all), so i'm skipping over that part haha

"Well, isn't this fun," the villain remarks, raising their brows as they study the hero's form. They've been waiting for the hero to arrive. After all, the villain's misdeeds are never ignored for very long. And the villain has enough experience to know exactly how to unsettle and unnerve the hero—how to get them running over in five minutes; how to summon them without so much as a single word or action. They are the puppet master and the hero is their faithful mannequin, bending to their every whim.

Yet the hero has been running about with loose strings recently. Surely that is the only explanation for their current state: as they stand unsteadily, blood spattered across their clothes and bruises and scrapes nearly everywhere. It looks like they're favoring their left ankle over their right and there's a dazed glaze in their eyes, as if they're fighting off fatigue. "Just what makes you think you can take me on in such a state?" The villain asks lightly.

"Shut up," the hero hisses. They take a step forward—evidently intending to fight them—only to fall to the ground in a crumpled heap. The villain chokes on a laugh; after a few seconds, they walk over and look down at their enemy, clicking their tongue.

"This is embarrassing," the villain remarks. They lightly kick at the hero's side and the hero groans, flipping to lie on their back. The hero squints up at them as the sunlight evidently burns bright spots in their vision.

"Just... leave," the hero bites out. It's clear that their pride is wounded, if they're admitting that they can't fight. If the villain were a kinder person, they would leave the hero be. But they have never been kind, so they laugh instead.

"I don't think so," the villain says, regarding the hero with mild interest. "You were the one to seek me out, remember?" Indeed, the villain got here first, and the hero arrived shortly after. The villain stares down at the hero's form for a long moment, a plan quickly taking shape in their mind.

"What are you plotting?" The hero asks, breaking them out of their thoughts. The villain must've had a smirk on their face. They raise a brow and the smirk returns. Something in their expression must betray their intentions, because the hero immediately tries to back away on their elbows. "Don't touch me," the hero spits.

"Sure," the villain remarks easily, ignoring their request and instead bending down and picking the hero up into their arms. They're sure their rival wants to resist, but they're evidently much too injured to do so. Regardless, the hero looks positively murderous. The villain takes a deep breath and closes their eyes, until the familiar feeling of darkness encompasses them and they visualize their intended destination: their laboratory. Within moments, the villain is standing in the center of their lab with the hero.

"What the fuck are you doing-?" The hero spits, blinking rapidly as they recover from the quick teleportation. A person who is teleported against their will can experience dizziness, blurred vision, headaches... The list goes on. The villain supposes these side effects only further aid their current plans, making the hero pliant in their arms.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" The villain asks quizzically, walking mechanically towards the glass enclosure near the edge of the room. They feel an amused smile growing on their lips. "Taking a walk in the park? Honestly." The motion sensors activate and the door to the enclosure slides open. The villain walks to the corner of the space and unceremoniously drops the hero onto the ground. Their enemy groans at the

The hero is hardly able to move—they will not be able to escape. The villain watches as that realization crashes down on them, as they're forced to accept their sudden captivity.

"I don't understand-" They mumble, looking around the space with a sort of dazed confusion.

"You really do talk too much." The villain murmurs regretfully.

"I-" The hero sputters. It seems they've never been told that before. That is really a shame—they need more honest friends, the villain thinks to themself. "This isn't- I could die in here!" They stare up at them with panic.

The villain pointedly looks at the adjacent wall and the hero turns their head to the side. Their reaction is incredibly amusing—so much so that the villain wishes they had the foresight to record it, so that they could watch it over and over again. The hero regards the water machine with a truly nasty glare, as if the machine did something to personally offend them.

"You're joking," the hero seethes. "What is this, a fucking hamster cage? You're missing an exercise wheel." They scoff, looking around the rest of their new cage. "...And food."

"You know humans can survive for three weeks without food," the villain remarks helpfully. "And I've always wanted to test that theory..." They smile, clasping their hands excitedly.

"Seriously?" the hero hisses incredulously. "I'm not a fucking guinea pig for you to experiment on."

"You aren't?" The villain asks, slipping on a mask of genuine confusion. "Then why did you come when I called?" The hero stares at them in irritated disbelief. The villain hums in satisfaction. The hero's anger and confusion gives them immense joy. "Maybe now you'll learn to take better care of yourself," they murmur patronizingly, crouching down and placing a hand on the hero's cheek.

"Don't touch me," the hero repeats like a mantra. The villain isn't sure if that remark is meant for them or the hero themself. They don't think it quite matters.

"This is your own fault, you know," the villain whispers, standing back up. The accusation sinks heavily into the air and the hero must know it to be true, if the way the light in their eyes briefly flickers and dims. "if you hadn't come to me in such a state, this wouldn't have happened."

The hero looks to be considering their next words thoughtfully. It's clear they want to beg or plea, but they must know that their efforts will be to no avail. The villain has never bowed down to the hero's desires, and they don't plan to start now.

Evidently discouraged, the hero switches tactics. Their composure promptly shatters, as it is instead replaced with raw, unbridled fury. It's clear that they've come to one inevitable conclusion: they will be trapped here until the villain wishes to release them (if the villain wishes to release them). "You can't do this to me!" The hero screams, their eyes wide and their voice unsteady.

"I believe I just did," the villain says with a slight smile. They take a step backwards. "See you in a few days. Try not to die. Or do—just don't make a mess of it." They walk out the door and it slides shut behind them, leaving the hero caged in walls of glass. The villain sits down at their desk and busies themself with their newest blueprints. Their enemy's agitated screams and desperate shouts are a pleasant hum in the back of their mind as the villain resumes their work.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

me typing: "raw unbridled furry." me: wait. fury. i meant fury.

tag list: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @agayprince @starsick1979 @a-lonely-little-ghost @agayprince @plum-tello

click here if you’d like to be on/off the tag list!

[theokusgallery]

Small anxceit snippet — 278 words

Janus has a split tongue.

Virgil doesn't know how he never noticed. It's not like the man doesn't run his mouth constantly. His favorite hobby is to talk, about anything and everything — truth or lies or just pretty stories, Janus is a storyteller and he weaves words around like a magician doing card tricks. Sometimes it feels like his mouth doesn't close — except when he's eating, because he can be rude as hell when he's pissed but somehow Janus still has rich boy manners. Janus always takes off his hat when he enters a building, even when it's just Virgil's house. Janus leaves his cutlery in specific positions on his plate, whether he's at home, at the cafeteria, or at a fancy restaurant. Janus very politely doesn't interrupt people when they speak, even when his eyes are laughing in their faces.

And it's not like Virgil doesn't look at him, either. It would be a feat, he thinks, not to let his eyes get caught on the chain of his earring, or the gold plated ornaments he wears on the tips of the collar of his button-ups sometimes, or on that strand of hair he leaves out of his ponytail that always manages to catch the sunlight just right no matter which way he's facing. Virgil always looks away when he sees Janus twirl it around a gloved finger, because that means Janus is bored, and when Janus is bored, he looks around for the next best thing to catch his attention. And, judging by the amount of times they've locked eyes recently, Virgil always seems to be the most interesting thing in the room.

So, really, Virgil is perplexed that he only notices Janus has a split tongue when said tongue is in his mouth.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i think all good writers should be locked in little jail cells and shipped across the ocean . forever

[ataleofcrowns]

Putting in an official request for A and X patreon bath snippets (I'm kidding this is a joke this is a joke do whatever you want forever, I just really like the R and D snippets you've given us so far they're very very good thank you so much for them) (also for everyone else reading this if you're looking for a sign to subscribe to the patreon this is it, it's absolutely worth it)

Oh, you mean these tier 3 snippets?

Yeah, I'll probably write a version for X and A as well 🤭

[envysparkler]

So far, Jason’s return to Gotham was going horribly.

Sure, it had started on a high—the drug trade had been easier to take over than he’d expected, even if he had to hold back the nausea every time he saw a collection of syringes or packets of pills.  Black Mask had done exactly what Jason predicted he would do, and the Joker had escaped from Arkham exactly as planned.

And then Batman had looked him in the eyes—as Jason begged, as he pleaded his father to kill the greatest monster of Jason’s nightmares—and walked away.

Even the explosion he’d wired hadn’t managed to do its job—not on him, not on the clown, not on the Bat.

Jason had managed to recoup some of his losses by going after the Replacement—the kid that Bruce actually cared about, the black-haired blue-eyed heir he wanted—and proving that he was still the superior fighter, but it was a hollow victory.  There was no real satisfaction in trashing the Tower—it had never been his the way it had been Dick’s—and his enjoyment had soured by the time he met Drake’s wide, scared, hurt eyes and choked him out.

He’d managed to demonstrate that their security was laughable and their baby heroes pathetic, but he’d left a fifteen-year-old unconscious and beaten on the floor in the process.  It had left a bad taste in his mouth, one even the soothing, green-laced rage couldn’t wipe, and he could still hear the kid’s lost, confused, desperate voice.

“Jason—stop—why are you doing this?  Bruce loves you!  Just come home!”

In the moment, it had only stoked his fury.  Now it matched the roiling disgust in his stomach.  The disgust at Batman.  At the oh-so-sanctimonious heroes.  At this filthy, stinking garbage pile of a city.

At himself.

He—he needed a break.  From the violence.  From the killing.  From the rage.  He needed to get out of this fucking city before he lost his mind, and there was only a couple of things he wanted to take with him.

Unfortunately, some of them were in the Manor.

A photo of him and his mother.  The old, faded red hoodie Jason had refused to let Alfred throw out.  His books.

Before, Jason might’ve asked Bruce’s permission—before he broke into the Tower and beat up the kid—but now Jason was forced to wait until he got news that Bruce Wayne was in London for a business trip—coinciding neatly with the intel that the Justice League had a big, week-long space mission—before he dared to sneak into his old home.

He didn’t try his security codes.  They would’ve definitely fixed that after he pointed out that glaring mistake in Titans Tower.  But Jason had spent more than three years at the Manor, and he’d long since mastered getting into or out of the house without setting off any alarms.

The first bedroom after the stairs was the one with the window that didn’t latch all the way, and the security system couldn’t register whether it was open or closed.  It was a little difficult to reach, involving free-climbing up two floors, but Jason had been Robin and now had League training under his belt and it was easy to haul himself up on the ledge and jimmy the window open.

The bedroom remained barren, bed stripped, desk and closets empty, the room cold with the chill of desertion, and Jason shivered as he toed his shoes off on habit and headed for the door.  Alfred usually went with Bruce on his ‘business trips’, so the Manor should be empty, leaving enough time for Jason to get whatever he wanted.

He had the petty thought that he could leave behind some random destruction—if he was leaving Gotham anyway, he might as well leave a message that even their precious Manor wasn’t as safe as they purported.

But Alfred was the one he’d really hurt, and Jason didn’t want to do that.

Jason tiptoed across the hall on automatic, his steps silent and muffled as he crossed to his old bedroom door.  He paused for a moment to scan it, making sure no one had added any traps, and hoped that his stuff was still inside this room.  He didn’t want to have to hunt through the massive house, and if they gave his room to the Replacement, he was going to fucking set something on fire.

Slow, shuffling steps sounded from the stairs, accompanied by the tinkle of glass and china, and Jason paused.  That didn’t sound like Alfred.  The Manor was supposed to be empty.  Who—

Messy black hair came into view, blue eyes firmly fixed on the wobbling tray held in one shaky hand, the other attempting to hold up a crutch as the Replacement limped up the stairs.

Fucking fantastic.  Jason wondered if he had enough time to slip inside the room before the kid looked up—his attention was pretty firmly fixed on the tray with a bowl of stew and a slice of cake—but he was frozen by the dark, fading bruises across the kid’s face.

Around his throat, finger marks obvious.  The awkward way he was holding the crutch—Jason remembered dislocating that shoulder.  The cast wrapped around the left ankle—Jason could still hear the sickening snap of bone, the scream, the sound of his chuckles over suppressed sobs—

The kid looked up, three steps past the edge of the stairs.  And Jason watched the blood drain from his face.

The tray hit the floor with a resounding clatter, china splintering and skidding in all directions.

The Replacement stumbled back—and abruptly remembered that there was nothing behind him but empty space, jerking sideways before Jason could even start the instinctive ‘look out’.  He flinched, and Jason realized that he’d just stumbled onto the china shards.

Another panicked step—but the shards were clearly digging into the kid’s bare feet and when his good leg spasmed, his bad leg buckled completely, sending the kid crumpling to the ground.

Jason stepped forward automatically, one hand raising—and froze when the kid jerked back, pressing against the railing and all but scrambling into the corner.

Blue eyes were wide and shining, face drawn pale, breaths too fast and too shallow as his chest fluttered, knees drawn up and hands slightly extended, as though to ward him off.  Jason swallowed, and stepped back.

Okay.  He got the message loud and clear.  He was clearly the monster here.  Jason kept his mouth shut, and stalked back to his old bedroom.

~#~

His bedroom was just the way he left it, which was both exactly what Jason wanted, and also extremely creepy.  No one had even tidied up the homework sheets on his table.  It would make sense if the room had been locked and dusty, but it looked as though Jason had just stepped out yesterday.

It was enough to make anyone a little bit dizzy.

Jason retrieved the items he was looking for—the picture with his mom, his old hoodie, a couple of worn copies of books that had ‘property of Jason Todd’ marked in loopy handwriting.  He wanted to take more stuff, but that meant sitting down and figuring out which stuff was his, and which stuff Bruce had bought him, and the Replacement would’ve already set off the alarm so Jason didn’t have much time.

He hadn’t considered the kid in any of his plans—he’d figured that the kid had gone with Alfred and Bruce, or with Nightwing, or somewhere—and barely managed to tamp down on the seething annoyance.  The Replacement was always getting in the way.

Well, at least Jason was going far, far from here.  He’d never have to set eyes on that scrawny little shit again.

Jason collected his stuff and headed for the door—he’d planned to stay another night in Gotham, but he wasn’t up to dealing with the return of a furious Batman and Nightwing.  He’d have to pack the rest of his stuff quickly, and get out, and—

The lunch tray was still on the floor, stew in a growing puddle, cake a soggy lump, shards of the broken plate and bowl scattered all over the hallway.  Jason hadn’t exactly expected the kid to have cleaned the mess, but he had expected the kid to be gone.  Hiding.  Or confronting him with that stick, if the kid was particularly determined and had no common sense.

He hadn’t expected the shivering, curled-up form in the corner, knees up, head tucked down, arms wrapped firmly around shins.  Or the quiet, shuddering breaths, or the choked gasps.

Jason stared at the Repla—at Robin, pressed firmly into the corner like he was trying to make himself a smaller target, and felt the pit of his stomach drop.

He hadn’t moved.  Jason had spent—had spent at least five minutes in the room, and the kid hadn’t moved.

Jason took a step towards the room he’d entered through.  He needed to leave.  Clearly the kid thought—and Jason couldn’t exactly fault him—but Jason needed to go.  Once he left, the kid would come out of it.  Eventually.  Jason couldn’t exactly call anyone, the only numbers he remembered were the ones to the Manor, and they would’ve locked him out of everything in the Cave.

Red.  There was red pooling under the kid’s feet.  The pieces of broken china littered the floor like a minefield, and that was way too much bleeding to be a minor wound.  That was the kind of bleeding that needed immediate attention and probably stitches.

Jason swallowed.

[darethshirl]

solas/felassan, historical au (ancient greece)

The baby goat in Felassan's arms still smelled of milk.

He firmed his grasp against its instinctive kicking, let it bleat against his chest. It had submitted so easily to Felassan's hands when he'd plucked it from between its brethren, unaware of what was coming for it. So innocent. So trusting. So completely unsuspecting of what was happening beyond the confines of its mother's shed.

Animals are the lucky ones, Felassan thought to himself, a bitter dollop of philosophy. What does knowledge bring to a man other than suffering?

Still, he made his way down the path mechanically, his sandaled feet stomping against the packed dirt road. The noon sun was merciless, beating down against Felassan's head like the very hand of Elgar'nan himself. Felassan ignored the meager shade offered by the olive trees, swaying so peacefully in the breeze, and kept walking. He only had eyes for his goal. For the temple.

Under the sun's bright and glorious light, Mythal's temple gleamed like a jewel with no peer, perfect and unblemished. In truth there were cracks in the columns, Felassan knew, scraggly grass blades pushing up through the flawed mosaic floor. But from here, from this distance, all flaws were hidden. The marble gleamed, bleached white, expensive. Mythal's statue rose overhead in awesome proportions, inhumanly large, the pinnacle of engineering ingenuity and artistic talent. Her outstretched arm beckoned all devotees to come to her. Or perhaps just commanded them.

Felassan climbed steps weighed-down by the passage of so many other feet. As he approached the top Solas came into view, his expression hidden by the sun's glare. He was wearing his full priest regalia, with the azure-blue chiton and the golden brooch. He had his arms crossed behind his back. Even faceless, he looked somber.

Felassan stopped. He extended his arms, the goat an offering. A rebuke. Solas closed the distance and took it in his own arms, avoiding Felassan's gaze. He hushed at the animal, spoke to it softly. He rubbed a thumb between it's milky eyes, affectionate as any parent.

Then he gently, benignly and oh-so-kindly, set it on the sacrificial altar.

Felassan pressed his lips together. He watched Solas's back, observed every ripple of motion in his muscles. "Quite the sorry sacrifice, this little runt," he said into the pious silence, even though he promised himself he wouldn't. Even though it was useless. "Perhaps the goddess will be displeased. Insulted, even."

Solas made to look back—then stopped himself, an aborted motion. "The All-Mother loves us," he said, and infuriatingly, he sounded like he believed it. "She would not begrudge any offering honestly made, even a paltry one. All she asks of us is our devotion."

"And is that enough?" Felassan pressed, angry and unwilling to hide it.

Solas stood silent, his shoulders bowing and he stared down. The goat bleated, squirmed—but it couldn't more far enough. Solas had it under his palm, secure and trapped. "It will have to be," he said.

And raised his knife.

[chimielie]

wonderland

summary: didn’t they tell us ‘don’t rush into things?’ didn’t you flash your green eyes at me? haven’t you heard what becomes of curious minds? (or: what happens after graduation to a pair of teenagers in love)

word count: 1k

cw: irresponsible decision making (but i assure you there will be no consequences), The Teenage Need To Get The Fuck Out Of Your Hometown, mountains of fluff, my usual Thing iykyk, excessive 1989-related puns

hajime’s never considered himself an impulsive person.

sure, he’s: headstrong, audacious, hotheaded. but he almost always has oikawa spearheading his more reckless decisions with wild emotional situations, a shield that makes him look like a calm, responsible adult. oikawa could make almost anyone look sane.

hajime is pretty sure even oikawa would call him crazy right now, if oikawa weren’t in argentina. maybe, for all his turbulent nature, his friend really is some grounding force; since he’s been gone, hajime’s felt on the precipice of something… big. earth-shattering.

“i just can’t stand it,” you say, head lolled back onto his shoulder, spine curving into his chest. hajime is trying valiantly to ignore the soft weight of your ass on his lap, even though you’re mostly sitting between his applesauce-crossed legs. he can feel it, though, against his right thigh. he is failing miserably. “it feels like everyone’s moving and i’m… stuck.”

“stuck,” he echoes, and you roll your head so you’re looking right, out of his bedroom window at the familiar landscape of miyagi. the sun is close to setting, having burned through the daytime clouds and casting a brilliant glow over you. your lips look darker and fuller and more kissable in this light, he’d thought earlier, right before he’d kissed them bruised.

“more like a balloon,” you muse. “on a still day. just drifting up, and up, and up, and the birds are just flying by.”

he hums, deep in his chest, in agreement. something’s felt wrong ever since graduation. you and he had stayed, and it had been what you both wanted at first.

but not like this.

miyagi without oikawa, without makki, who was rooming with mattsun in the city while the latter earned his junior degree and the former chased youtube fame, wasn’t what he’d thought it would be at all.

“it’s gonna be all ours,” you’d promised him, graduation cap tilted jauntily and smile brighter than the pure white clouds drifting above. “you’re all i need, hajime.”

but miyagi without the people you’d grown up with was empty, a melody that only echoed memories. it was you and him—and the ghosts of your childhoods.

“you’re not happy here,” he says. not a question.

you twist to look at him, eyes open wide. “i’m happy with you. i didn’t mean—”

“i know,” he says, kissing your pursed, worried mouth. “but we’re not happy here. i feel it too. maybe i’m crazy, but i think we need—”

“change!” you’re sitting straighter in his lap now. “every day is the same. i’m starting to feel like i need to do something insane. i need enrichment in my enclosure.”

he puts his arms around you and you draw yourself tighter into him until you’re cheek to cheek.

“do you trust me?” he says. you snort.

“what is this, haji, aladdin?”

“yes,” he says, rolling his eyes. in this light, they’re a forest, green and deep and irresistibly inviting to you. “do you trust me, princess?”

you nod, and he feels it against him, your skin rasping together. “of course. take me to wonderland.”

“that’s corny, too,” hajime grumbles. “don’t criticize my romantic gestures then reference the wrong movie.”

“whatever,” you brush him off. “how much do we need to pack?”

that’s how the sun sets on your last night in miyagi.

hayakawa tomoka’s job at the ticket counter is so boring. she sits there all night—during the day, she studies fine art—, a magazine propped up in front of her, arching high brows at anyone who hadn’t had the forethought to buy tickets online.

she does so now at the young couple skidding to a stop in front of her, suitcases bulging even if there’s only one each, panting for breath and knocking shoulders as though even their bodies are on a gravitational course to each other. they can’t be more than twenty.

“when’s your next flight to california?” one asks, his straight hair sticking up like a hedgehog.

“…where in california?” hayakawa asks, pointing her mouth at them. “it’s a big state.”

“anywhere,” the other says. “we’ll find our way to where we need to be.”

hayakawa blinks slowly at them. these new romantics are too exhausting to deal with at this hour. she types, click-click-click, wrinkling her forehead at the blue glow of her computer.

you stare anxiously at her as she does, desperately hoping for anything in the next day.

hajime tugs you into him as you wait, and you relax, turning a closed-eye smile up at him while he looks down on you with a mirrored expression.

“too impulsive for you yet?” he says, mouth twisting wryly. you shake your head.

“there’s one to santa ana,” hayakawa says. “the south. in five hours.”

“perfect,” you say eagerly.

“thank you,” hajime says.

there are two seats free next to each other, serendipitously. ticket prices are exorbitant, but not bank-breaking—both of you had worked all of high school at the café next door, earning good tips and waiting for something worth spending it on.

“okay,” hayakawa says finally. “your flight’s set, mr. and mrs. iwaizumi. safe travels.”

“thank you,” you say effusively, “so much.”

“you too,” says hajime, and then turns very red.

hayakawa watches you go, a rare and soft smile gracing her features as your suitcases crash into each other even as both of you refuse to let go of the other’s hand to control their direction. the night shift is boring. something like this shakes things up.

after a race—more like a marathon—through customs, hajime finds himself shifting in a plastic seat, peering through the blackness of the night for a glimpse of airplanes landing. falling stars, sort of, magic to be wished on. you breathe evenly, deeply asleep with your head on his shoulder, his denim jacket wrapped around you, leaving him with just his hoodie and the new band of cheap jewelry around his fourth finger.

his mother would flip if she knew how rushed his wedding was. next time, he promises himself, he’ll do it again with you if you’ll keep having him and the ceremony will be beyond your wildest dreams.

it’s colder than he thought it would be in the airport. the earth is moving under his feet.

you’re all he needs; he’s gonna give you the world.

[plusultraetc]

do you see what I mean 😭

[flownwrong]

over/ for (due south fic)

Fraser/Kowalski (I mean, not technically but in spirit), rated G; tags: episode: s04e05 The Ladies' Man; 139 words

A/N: For @ds-c6d-snippets-blog challenge 32 "grief" and the RCW139 challenge. My title brain was offline today. Big thanks to @hwaetnot for various and sundry things.

read on ao3

Retribution is not a pretty word. It chews you up, puts blinders on your eyes, dulls the senses. Benton has seen men who broke themselves over it and men who broke others, has almost broken over it too, an eager wave of helpless fury.

Clearly, maddeningly, the retribution Ray seeks across the threshold of Beth's home, shoulders curled around his guilt like he wants to protect it from fading, is for his own crimes. Benton knows he can find it, hopes against hope he leaves it be.

Wither and wane. As he watches Ray, all defeat and no glory, splayed over the bed dull and heavy and still dressed, watches the uneasy rise and fall of his chest, the deep shadows under his eyes, he reminds himself—it's all that's left for Ray's grief now. To wither and wane.

[headsplit2008]

i would honestly rather die than post my writing publicly because its lame and i dont know if itll hold up in the long run of the comic but i must admit i do like some of it 💯 can i get a yahoo for people with violent intrusive tjoughts and impulses 👈 😀

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday🎄

tagged by @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

i wasn't gonna post anything but i wrote quite a lot today and need validation lmao (I think I might be about halfway done but who knows, it always gets away from me haha) today some buckley siblings feels, and hopefully soon ill get to the fluffy christmas part haha

prev snippet

___

"(...) I used to make stuff for Maddie, and then when I was older I would save money to buy her something small and mostly symbolic.” he glances at Eddie. There’s a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and sadness on his face. “She made all my Christmases bearable, and after she left-” he stops abruptly and quietly clears his throat. When he speaks again, he doesn’t finish the sentence. Eddie wants to ask, but he figures Buck will share what he’s comfortable sharing, he doesn’t want to push. “But that was the one thing I wanted so badly, more than anything, more than any cool toys or- or anything,” he chuckles again, “and Maddie tried to give it to me, and she got in trouble for it. So after that, I just never asked again.”

“Buck.” Eddie says softly, wishing he could do anything to make it better, to fucking go back in time and give Buck all the Christmases he ever dreamt about.

“But I always wished-” Buck continues, then glances at Eddie nervously. 

“Wished what?” Eddie’s thumb softly swipes along Buck’s neck and jawline, as far as he can reach. He just wants to comfort him somehow, and at the moment this is the only way he knows how, just a comforting touch, being there, listening.

“That one day, when I grew up,” Buck looks down at his lap again, his voice getting even quieter, “I’d have my own family and I’m gonna do matching Christmas sweaters every single year, and take tons of pictures of us all together, and-” he pauses again, and, with a teary laugh, raises his hand to wipe at his eyes. Eddie wants to wrap him in his arms and hold him. (...) “But it doesn’t matter, I don’t-” Buck shakes his head, and leans away from Eddie’s touch. Eddie aches to keep touching him, to reach out and follow, but he respects that clearly that’s not what Buck wants anymore, that’s fine. “I don’t have my own family yet, so it doesn't matter. Let’s just drop it.” he says, tone decisive, face red, eyes glued to the screen again. 

Eddie frowns. What the hell is Buck talking about? He has a family, right here.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus @king-buckley @callmenewbie @jeeyuns @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990

[darethshirl]

Miscommunication, Emmrich&Taash

"So," Taash said, slumping on the couch next to Emmrich—the bulk of their falling body so impactful it made the knucklebones on Emmrich's lap rattle in their box, chattering like teeth. "I gotta ask." Taash's gaze was focused, unreadable, and forceful as a blunt instrument. "The skeleton thing."

"That's not a question," Emmrich pointed out, delicately realigning his specimens with his pick tool. "Is there something you need, Taash?"

"Yeah. Answers." They squirmed in their seat, redirecting their gaze from Emmrich to the floor—with an added frown to enhance its potency. Quite the impressive glare, all things considered. "Isabela said something, and I never know when she's joking or not, so. Thought I'd ask directly."

"I see. Something pertaining to the Mortalitasi, I presume?"

"Yep."

"And what was it?"

"She said—ugh. Okay. She said, 'those death mages love skeletons so much they polish their main bone every single night, if you know what I mean, wink wink' and yeah she said 'wink wink' out loud."

Emmrich paused and blinked, taking in the information. “Well, I wouldn’t characterize any part of the structure as more important that the other, but I suppose that is accurate, yes.”

Taash's expression, usually as stoic and implacable as the depths of the dark sea, underwent a considerable transformation: their brow rose in amusement, their mouth dipped with disgust. “Seriously?”

“Handling bones is the main function of my profession, Taash,” Emmrich sniffed primly. “I’ll thank you not to denigrate it.”

“Handling bones. Uh huh. You know that’s disgusting, right?”

Emmrich went red with well-earned indignation. “I know no such thing! For the love of—must you always antagonize me?”

“Hey, you don’t get to climb on any high horses here,” Taash said, leaning back with their arms crossed over their chest. “You’re the one fucking skeletons.”

“I beg your pardon," Emmrich spluttered, his icy tone undercut by his flaming cheeks. “You have no right to insult me in this way!”

“You literally just said it!”

“I did not!”

“Did too.”

“Did no—oh, for goodness’ sake,” Emmrich huffed, gathering bones, box and tools in one affronted armful and standing up. “There’s no point engaging with you when you act like this.”

“Whatever,” Taash said to his retreating back. Then cupped their hands to bellow a parting shot of, “Skullfucker!”

“Really now,” Emmrich muttered under his breath, to an audience of assorted knucklebones. “Some people.” The knucklebones didn’t respond, but Emmrich liked to think their aura turned sympathetic over his plight.

[goldenprophetwrites]

val || ao3 goldenprophet she/her || ♏︎ || 24 (nsfw, mdni)

twitter || tiktok || instagram icon art credit: wolfstarzahri

my fics below ↓ (will update whenever i post more)

steddie

my four leaf clover eddie pov, post-canon, eddie lives. steve and eddie move into their own apartment and take full advantage of their newfound privacy… Rating: Explicit || Words: 5,174

wolfstar

one day, though it might as well be someday aka the one where wolfstar didn't get together until poa.

When I Loved (The Prettiest Star) remus pov, pre-slash, canon compliant, first wizarding war. Rating: Mature || Words: 4,116

So Tired (it's the sky that makes you feel tried) remus pov, poa canon divergence. Rating: Explicit || Words: 8,823

You and I (will rise up all the way) remus pov, post-poa canon divergence, hea. Rating: Explicit || Words: 12,900

You Will Be (my rest and peace) sirius pov, companion fic following the same timeline as 1-3. Rating: Mature || Words: 23,023

Kink Studies: An Introduction aka professor & baby

sirius black and the joys of being baby sirius pov, one night stand, under-negotiated kink. Rating: Explicit || Words: 10,862

remus lupin and the joys of having baby WIP remus pov, post one night stand, kink negotiation. Rating: Explicit || Words: 5,665 (currently)

goldenprophet does kinktober exactly what the title says. still posting some kinktober inspired fics to the series.

blackstar my favourite child. my pride and joy. the workskin that made me lose my sanity. kinktober prompt: sexting sirius pov, famous transmasc sirius, tumblr mutuals. Rating: Explicit || Words: 12,665

bill weasley’s guide (to wrangling stubborn old men) kinktober prompt: threesome sirius & remus pov, established sirius/bill, polyamory. Rating: Explicit || Words: 11,878

everywhere (i want to be with you) my Padfoot Fest 2024 fic for the prompt: "The summer before their final year at Hogwarts, Remus invites Sirius to come and stay with him in Wales and meet his parents." Rating: Teen And Up Audiences || Words: 9,933

suck and blow card games & virgin remus Rating: Explicit || Words: 4,827

[becausebuckley]

IS EDDIE GOING TO LOOK AT BUCKS NUDES??? I need this so badly wow when will you post it? Or could I have a snippet please🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

hehe he might look at those... the fic is for today's 911 kinktober prompt, so it should be up later today (for reference, it's 4pm for me rn and i usually post between 9-10pm)! but here's a little sneak peek - under the cut for mildly nsfw purposes:

“What if he's right, Eddie? What if my nudes really do look weird and everyone’s just been too polite to say anything? Cause, like, I used to send them a lot, you know? Before we met, when I was still Buck 1.0? What if I’ve been sharing really bad pictures with everyone? Shit, what if my dick really does look weird?”

“Buck, your dick doesn’t look weird,” Eddie immediately says, cutting off Buck’s spiral.

It really doesn’t. Eddie’s only caught the occasional glimpse in the firehouse showers, but he does his best not to, you know, look, out of decency to everyone there. Still, he’s seen enough to know that there’s nothing wrong with Buck’s dick at all. Quite the opposite, actually.

“See, but here’s the thing, I wouldn’t know,” Buck stresses. “Like, I used to sext women only, you know? I haven’t seen that many hard dicks. Maybe there’s something super wrong with mine, and I’ve gone all my life going ooh, look at me, I call myself Firehose, my dick is so cool and big and stuff, and everyone was just making fun of me behind my back!”