#I'll share more snippets

[basiatlu]

Road to Hell

So I've been having fun with a Harringrove rp and thought to share some of my turns. Is it any good? Ehhhhhh. Here's a writing WIP for your Monday:

Current rating: M (for language/canon-typical violence)

Other relevant tags: assumed MCD (sorry, I gotta spoil that bc I'm a baby), grief & mourning, injury, anxiety, slow burn, Post Season 3

-☆-

Steve pressed in on the swollen pulp of flesh beneath his socket with a wince. A hissing breath escaped him as the pads of his fingertips prodded down into the hinge of his jaw. It had been clicking whenever he chewed for the past week. His face looked so fucked. Robin and Joyce both had already pestered him on multiple occasions to quit messing with the bruises that painted his skin but he just couldn’t. Likened it to wiggling a loose tooth—a popcorn kernel at the back of his throat. The purple and red aches reminded him that the fever dream from the 4th of July had happened.

Starcourt Mall was gone. The Russians were gone. Hargrove. Hopper. His sleep cycle. A chunk of Hawkins snatched up by the things that went bump in the woods. Not a shadow—the Mind Flayer, Dustin had reminded him with little patience. To be honest, it all felt like a sick joke. The Scoops Ahoy uniform was still in a heap in the narrow space between his dusty desk and bed. The fabric clung to the smell of gunpowder and blood that made Steve’s mind swirl with panic when he’d catch a whiff in the dead of night.

It’d be better to forget this had ever happened. And yet there Steve stood in front of his mirror as the steam of his shower fogged up the view. He continued to stare in a trance into his own face in a sick fascination of his own wounds. How long until the bruises faded away? How long until all of this shit would finally leave him alone?

Steve Harrington—the backup, Mr. Reliable, the getaway driver—he’d never felt more pathetic after getting the living snot beat out of him yet again all while strapped to a cold metal chair. He could still hear Robin’s hysterical pleas vibrating in his ears when he let his mind drift enough. Now the mirror only reflected back a ghostly silhouette of his hunched shoulders as he stood dripping with a towel wrapped at his hips.

Not even the lush comforts of his parent’s house could provide a reliable cocoon from the outside. After being released from the military clinic with a fresh set of stitches and another contractual ultimatum demanding his silence, Steve had been jumping at every creak that echoed in the hallways. The noises were chilling but the silence made his brain ring with flashes of last week.

But it was fine. He was fine. He lived right? Still breathing as easy as his sore ribs allowed. Could be worse. Steve cringed in memory of Max sobbing over the still corpse of her brother. Her screaming protests as they all were corralled from the shattered hull of the mall.

Yeah, could be worse.

“Goddamnit.”

Steve ripped open the medicine cabinet hidden in the mirror panel to track down another token he’d hoarded. A necklace. The necklace.

The faux gold chain felt so fragile in his palm as Steve let the pendant trail into his water-soft hand. He cupped it with care, surprised still by how dainty it felt when removed from the devil-may-care guy who had bombarded into his life with such a reckless force and left it just as explosively. The embellished design of the figure wasn’t one he was familiar with. He rubbed at the smudging over the lone man wielding a walking stick with a thoughtful frown. Steve had meant to give this to Max—she would want it probably? He’d return it. Soon.

Steve draped his stolen trinket back behind his cache of hair products and snatched up his razor. If he didn’t get his shit together soon, Dustin would start sounding in over the walkie and when that didn’t get through, the phone would start ringing. He had promised to swing by to pick up the little mooch around 1 o’clock to play taxi.

How the brats wanted to do anything at all was perplexing to Steve. Fuck did he know about coping mechanisms?

With a sharp snap of his wrist, Steve shut the cabinet. An attempt to shave some of the hairs growing around the sensitive welts on his face had to be made or he’d feel completely useless.

It was as Steve leaned over the sink to ready the first swipe at his cheek that a flicker of movement in the clouded mirror caught his eye.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Frozen over the sink basin and shaving cream smeared on his chin in wait, the running water fell away into white noise as he tried to process what exactly was the slow movement through the mirror in front of him. What had passed—behind him?

Then a gentle clunk of ceramic came from the toilet in the back corner of the bathroom and Steve’s stomach filled with dread.

He pressed his tongue into the raw inside of his cheek. Someone was in the bathroom? Something? No, God, please no. He prayed for the nail bat waiting in the next room over. Elbow raised, Steve whipped around on his heel, a yell ready behind bared teeth.

He was alone. Just silly Steve and the dripping condensation along the walls of the shower stall. It was probably the pipes draining. Right.

Running a free hand down Steve’s battered face, he turned back to the sink and slammed the faucet off. The sharp pain centered him back to now. He refused to look into the mirror again and began splashing his face clean. Whatever—he’d shave another day.

Steve pictured the kids teasing him at attempting to grow out a shitty beard. Now that he didn’t have to worry about locker room jabs and swim team standards, his body hair was sort of running wild as the Harrington genes go. He bet he could rock a mustache. He huffed a wheezy laugh until he is reminded yet again of fucking Billy Hargrove. How Steve could have sworn he saw a phantom take shape in the foggy bathroom mirror. Had heard a curse grunted into his ear. Made him think of jeers and heavy breathing from behind as an accompaniment to the sharp pounding of a basketball.

“Fucking chill out, man,” he said into the sink.

Steve tossed in the plastic razor and stepped out into the hall towards his bedroom. And then the lights began to flicker.

Usually the house was lit up at every available fixture and sconce that Steve could get his hands on. At that moment, he watched with a growing unease as the lights in the ceiling above buzzed on, then off, then on again—one by one down the path—towards his own bedroom. The spotlights dappled across the hardwood floors in a pattern that was hard to ignore.

Despite every inch of Steve screaming to turn back into the warm pocket of the bathroom and hide, he followed the repeating cycle of the hall lights that were beckoning him onwards. He’d left the door to his room open and with a steady pace he pressed in without pause. The bat was in there. He was in a towel. Worse ways to be robbed. Or eaten.

But as he looked about, Steve realized once again that he was alone. He let go of a shaky breath he’d been holding in and started to get dressed. Deep breath in. Underpants, left sock, right, breathed out. Shirt, hopped into his jeans. Breathed in again. Steve glanced over at his bed just as the coils in his box spring groaned. His lungs squeezed up and he fought off the urge to run.

His eyes clenched tightly closed as he felt around the desk chair for his jacket and then the bat. Didn’t look down at the crumbled Scoops vest he knew was there. Didn’t want to see the rusty stains for once. The slick of his palm made the wood of the handle slide as he blindly made towards the door. The path was familiar enough to Steve from years of stumbling his way through the house in the middle of the night. He barreled out into the hall yet again. The lights had stopped flickering now but had remained kept unlit as his paced picked up into an anxious trot towards the stairwell.

No, he’s just tired. Didn’t hear a thing. Breathed in. Out. In. Out.

Still breathing, still alive. He was ok.

The dark nipped at Steve’s heels until he was down in the skylight of the entry. He shoved his feet into a pair of Nikes, snagged his keys and wallet out of his mother’s crystal catch-all bowl, and rushed through the double doors. He was halfway towards the burgundy Bimmer when he realized he didn’t hear the front bang close. He pivoted back on skittering feet and made sure he closed, locked, rankled the handles, and jogged back to his escape.

Plant your feet.

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when the car’s radio blared Blondie at him. He slapped a hand at the console to shut it off before peeling from the driveway.

Breathed in. Then out. At least he was alive.

-☆-

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

part 1 of a little comic / art sequence that i've been working on! :D it's part tribute, part experimenting with brushes n colors and trying new thingz :]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | ... |

and thus continues my endless quest of spreading the carrot fics like a plague! if you've seen my art floating around you probs already figured that this au holds a very special place in my heart, forever and always!!

if you haven't heard of it, it's a fic series by @crowned-ladybug called carrot soup!! it made me wish i could speak colors and i need more people to share my struggle xd

go check it out if you're into sweet voice lore and qpr level gayness and just wanna feel warm and soft and warm (hurt/comfort my beloved) <333 there are some heavier themes cos everyone's traumatized but they're working through it! be sure to check the tags and stay safe! <3

[infinitelymint]

Hi, may we be graced with a snippet, please? 🥺

I've had this in my inbox for a few weeks because the truth is that I didn't have a snippet ready - but now I do!! It's totally unedited and I think it's pretty clunky, but it's a little something. Something happens before it that makes Violet very happy and something happens following it that makes Violet very, very, very happy 😇

He’s reading a book that he immediately closes and puts on the bedside table. She recognises the cover as the one she’d brought him from the library before his trip and the butterflies that seem to have taken up permanent residence within her flutter. She shuts the door quietly behind her and makes her way towards the bed. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get the chance to get the words out before she’s climbed onto the bed and laid herself down halfway on top of him. No words escape him then. It seems that her actions have surprised him enough to stop him from saying whatever he’d wanted to and instead he remains quiet, though his arms come to hold her against him. He seems just as content to hold her as she is to be held. Her head rests on his chest, right above his heart. She can hear the steady thud-thud beneath his skin and she thinks it might be her favourite sound in the whole world. She has her arm thrown across his stomach in a half-hug and for a moment she just lies there, enjoying the feeling of his skin against hers and the weight of his arms around her, holding her close to him. When a few seconds have passed, she turns her head slightly to press her lips against the peck that has served dutifully as her pillow, right on top of the scar that rests there. There must be a story behind it, she thinks, and someday she hopes he’ll tell her.

[greenleaf4stuff]

Alike (Impressions From The Lindon Shatterdome #1)

(my other TROP fanfics) (Pacific Rim AU tag on my blog)

Silverscars (hinted), Pacific Rim!AU. A short scene/snippet based on the Pacific Rim AU ideas me, @illegalcerebral, @thephoenixandthecrocodile and others discussed, which can be found here or via the tag on my blog.

The premise for this snippet is: Adar is a human who got turned into a human-kaiju hybrid by Morgoth and Sauron, and in this scene is held in the Eregion Labs of the Lindon Shatterdome after having been caught by the Jaeger pilots. He is trying to both warn Celebrimbor and demonstrate/show an approximation of Sauron’s abilities in manipulation, in order to convey to Celebrimbor why – in Adar’s opinion – the humans are going to loose against the Maia.

Slight warning for Adar deliberately trying to incite Celebrimbor’s negative emotions, as well as canon-typical hints to Adar's past under Morgoth/Sauron!

For those who want to read the fic on AO3, here is the link!

"Of course one such as you, studied and well-read," the other said, eyes roaming over Celebrimbor’s form with a knowing, judging look, "would insist that you can deal with this situation by yourselves. Have you ever even seen those you fight up close before?"

There was a pause, with the inventor finally glancing over towards Adar after all; he just couldn’t help himself. Fury was unfurling in his belly at the other’s words, old hurts and doubts yanked to the surface, so expertly as if the other had cast a lure and Celebrimbor had bitten it without even being aware of doing so in the first place.

It was eerie, the way Adar was watching him, but the inventor still held his gaze. The other stepped even closer to the glass before he continued, in a low voice, "This place will fall, sooner rather than later, if you and the others try and fight this war on two fronts. Only if you let me and my children have your technology, your resources, do we still have a chance."

"I am not some pampered academic," Celebrimbor insisted, voice tight even though he tried to keep his emotions in check. "I was there, when the Nargothrond Shatterdome fell. I witnessed the rampant destruction when you and your kind found and attacked Gondolin. It is you who has no idea what you are talking about, or who you are even talking to."

"Oh, I know exactly who you are," the Moriondo said. His gaze was still fixed on the inventor, eyes unblinking, like a predator assessing whether the one before him was a worthy opponent – or prey. "Celebrimbor Curufinion, grandson of Feanor."

The aforementioned Celebrimbor stilled despite himself, eyes widening just the slightest bit. While Adar’s face didn’t change much as a result, the small quirk to his lips was enough to show that he’d achieved what he set out to do.

"I...did not expect you to be so knowledgeable about my family history," the inventor admitted. Adar already knew that he’d managed to surprise him; it made no sense trying to hide that now. "That still doesn’t mean you know me."

"I know that the two of us are far more alike than you or the others would be comfortable admitting, at least in the eyes of your peers," the Moriondo replied, he finally turned his gaze away. It felt as a heavy blanket had been pulled off of Celebrimbor. The hybrid’s eyes were unusually intense; maybe it was the fact that they seemed to glow, with how blue they were.

Adar began to slowly walk along the large glass pane of his cell again, taking deliberate steps as he continued to speak, seemingly unbothered by his own captivity. "Didn’t your grandfather and his sons play their part in the fall of those Shatterdomes and cities as well, by withholding their Jaeger technology and pursing mindless vengeance instead of protecting others?"

"That’s different," Celebrimbor replied, far too quickly for his own liking. It made something ugly curl in his gut. He could see where this was going, the direction the other was steering them in, and though his mind screamed at him that the other was wrong – had to be wrong – a small, deeply buried part of himself questioned whether he truly was. "My family fought with the humans. They were never on the side of Morgoth."

"Is it though?" Adar asked. "Me and my children were forced into servitude, yet are held accountable for atrocities they are either too young to have committed themselves, or that we were made to commit by Sauron. Neither did you, personally, withhold the Silmarillion class Jaegers from your people. But the public sentiment is that you have to atone for it anyways, isn’t it?"

Celebrimbor swallowed and discreetly gripped his grandfather’s hammer tighter in his fist, until he was sure his knuckles must have turned white and his hand began to both shake and ache from the strain. Thankfully, his face remained blank, at least. He tried to take a calming breath, and willed his voice not to shake as he made to answer, but Adar was faster than him.

"You must know, how preciously little it would take for you to end up in my place. For your people to desert you, turn on you, and insist that you are just like Feanor. Maybe it will be a failure to create a new design. Or maybe it will be the defeat of one of your Jaegers. Maybe you will take too long to come up with a solution for the newest breach. But eventually, they will turn on you, the same they have deserted and turned on me."

It was, at this point, that Celebrimbor found his own courage again. Face pulling into an angry grimace, hammer still in hand, he moved forward and stepped right up to the large glass window. To his frustration, and another feeling he couldn’t name, Adar immediately turned and focused his full attention onto him once more as he did. Their eyes met; where Celebrimbor was sure his own sparked hotly with how incensed he was, Adar’s had gone strangely...gentle, almost.

"My friends," Celebrimbor started, and got so close to the glass his breath fogged it. His greater height over Adar should have been an advantage – and yet, he felt strangely small instead, "would never do that to me. They know me, they know my character. I renounced my family and their actions years ago, and have faithfully served humankind and the Jaeger program for even longer than that. Public sentiment might be as it may, but those closest to me do not judge me this way."

At least, he hoped as much, he didn’t say aloud. It was quite remarkable, from a more removed perspective, just how apt the Moriondo was at finding the spots of him that were still tender, and at prodding them with his words until they ached.

He continued. "My family committed horrible deeds during the war, even against their own people, I will not deny that. But unlike you, they were always, and firmly, on the side of the humans. As am I."

His breath came out elevated, as he stood and stared down at Adar, who remained quiet for long seconds, his eyes slowly moving back and forth between Celebrimbor’s own. The understanding, almost pitying expression on his face further made the inventor’s heckles rise.

"See how easy this was? I did not even try, nor know much of you. And yet I managed to bring forth your anger – the same anger your grandfather carried. Whose destructive rage I was privy to, back then," the Moriondo revealed, voice calm to the point it came out soft.

Celebrimbor blinked, stunned at the implications of Adar’s words, of the fact that he might be so old as to have been alive back when his grandfather was still around, but the other continued before the inventor could gather his thoughts, "If I can do this without even trying, imagine how easy it will be for Sauron to come here and do the same. Or call forth other parts of yourself; your ambition, your kindness, your pride...or worse."

Celebrimbor blinked, and experienced whiplash as Adar spoke – the other’s voice had gone back to being almost completely placid, and while his eyes were still intense, he did not look at Celebrimbor in the same, vaguely threatening way he’d done just moments before.

For all intents and purposes, it seemed like the Moriondo had indeed only tried to rile Celebrimbor up to make his point, though the words he had chosen to do so rang far more true than the inventor was comfortable with. Whether Adar had meant them or not, he’d managed to get across what he’d intended to, and in doing so, left the inventor strangely raw, and visibly shaken.

Some part of him could admit that perhaps, the other had a point. He felt embarassed that he had likely proven the other to be correct in his assessments; that he was unable to control his temper, that his family was still such a difficult topic for him, that all this made him an easy target for manipulation.

To his surprise, he felt something else as well, however:

Sympathy.

Because Adar had revealed things about himself as well, though inadvertently. Had been right about one thing for certain, at the very least; they were alike, in some ways. He could see that now. He could see the same sadness in Adar as he had seen in himself, see the way both of them felt like the odd one out. The outsider. The interloper.

The one others would not listen to, because they considered his insights to come from a flawed perspective, simply for who – or what – he was.

'...the same they have deserted and turned on me...'

"Is that what he did to you? How he got to you?" Celebrimbor asked, and could not feel any satisfaction when he saw Adar still on the other side of the glass, this time. "What did he tap into, when he did?"

It only lasted for a moment, one so brief it almost slipped by unnoticed, but Adar’s face changed into an expression so pained as if Celebrimbor had managed to drive something jagged and sharp through his heart.

It was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, and left behind a Moriondo who looked decidedly...wistful.

"Children," he said, words heavy and reverberating in the silence around them. "He promised me children."

And yet, beneath the immense sadness and regret of his words, there was something else, in the way he beheld Celebrimbor when he turned his eyes towards him again.

Something almost proud.

And intrigued.

To his own surprise, Celebrimbor felt himself straighten at that look. A surge of pride ran through him, one that made him want to preen. He barely managed to push that instinct down again, but it remained, just beneath the surface. He’d have to examine that more closely, later on, when he was alone and far away from those intense, clever eyes.

Or maybe that would be a bad idea. He wasn’t quite sure yet.

[yujeong]

Vegas rarely looks at himself in the mirror. While at the hospital he never took a glimpse of his reflection. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it, the rotten shell of the nothing he had become. There was no need, anyway. Pete was taking care of him, helping him dress and shave, even helped him brush his teeth once when the pain was so intense Vegas almost passed out. Now, their house doesn't have any mirrors. The bathroom has one hidden behind cupboards - no surprises for Vegas to stumble upon at night in his attempt at taking a piss, making a fool of himself as he crawls there, short of breath, his head pounding. Pete knows. Vegas doesn't know when he figured it out, but he sees it on Pete's gaze, on how he looks at him when he puts on clothes like an embarrassed teenager. Because he is embarrassed, of course he is. His skin pale, cold and ruined, nothing like what he saw after what happened at the auction: fire and smoke and a predator ready to pounce.

Snippet based on the prompt "Every time you look in the mirror, you see a different reflection."

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @tizniz @diazsdimples @buddieswhvre @disasterbuckdiaz @dangerpronebuddie 💖💖💖

more of the cheating fic bc I said this is my main focus rn and it is haha (I might have something different for friday tho 🙈) I hope I'll finish this scene before I post all of it in snippets lol the convo just keeps going and going istg haha

prev snippet

___

 “What are you doing here so early? After last night, I thought you two would be dead to the world the whole day.” she teases, then goes to get a cup of coffee.

“Hey, Karen.” Buck responds quietly, not answering the question. Hen does it for him.

“Buck’s having a crisis. He slept with Eddie.” Hen says, and Karen turns towards them, eyes wide, but then the surprise turns into a smile.

“Well, finally.” she chuckles, reaching into the cupboard for a mug. “I thought it’d take them decades to figure it out.” she pauses, then frowns, turning towards Buck again. And he chooses to ignore that comment, because what the hell did she even mean? “Wait, what happened with you and Taylor? When did you guys break up? Did I miss some 118 gossip?” she asks, shooting her wife a questioning look.

“No, you didn’t, they’re still together..” Hen responds, scrutinizing gaze not leaving Buck. “He cheated on her.”

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @fortheloveofbuddie @911-on-abc @daffi-990 @jesuisici33

[creaturefeaster]

Any tropical islands on theia??

Yes!! There's many across Theia, and maybe one day I'll have a full world map to elaborate on, but for now I can tell you about the ones localized around Stolla.

Also I hope you're ready for lore beyond their climates heehee.

There's a lot of islands littered around Stolla but the ones with tropical-like climates hang out on the south-eastern half of Stolla, which harbors the warmest and most humid climate out of the 5 vertices of the continent.

This cluster of eyots by the mouth of the Splitriver are the truest of tropical islands within Stolla. A couple are accessible via a local port, which mainly host small, low-denisty villages. Many of these eyots however are nautically inaccessible due to sheer cliff faces, or are too thick with growth & inhospitable to most humanoids of the region.

During cooler times of the year these islands are nearly always shrouded in a dense and humid fog kept in place by the cooler ocean waters below.

The sands surrounding the lower and more accessible islands are a glittery cyan color, a noteable feature almost exclusively seen along the coasts of the Irrandiant Gulf, so they're quite the spectacle for western & mid Stolla inhabitants!

Speaking of the Irradiant Gulf, all other tropical like islands sit in this gulf's surrounding waters. These very large islands are more sub-tropic, a little further away from the equator. They are still just as humid, and despite how I lazily colored in the vegetation on this map, much of the jungle within these islands actually glow and glitter vibrantly in a range of cool colors from sea-green to indigo.

The two largest islands are populated heavily along their coasts, but very few people live far inland. The largest of the islands exports many unique and unusual magical goods and ingredients to the rest of Stolla.

And finally these two small islands in the outer center of the gulf have a somewhat sub-tropical climate, but are notably less rainy and have colder winters. Any island more northern than these in this area begins to reach more temperate climates.

These islands are home to chiefdoms of Payans and Garbeators that reject trade and much contact with the rest of Stolla. Though nobody knows how they exist, these islands happen to be right on top of an ancient meteor impact site, the same one that created the gulf, and caused the great flooding of it's surrounding provinces. Also the one that brought all that glittery magic to the world in the first place ^_^.

The islands sport several sheer rock formations of varying heights laced with colorful crystals that influence the growth and behaviors of all life within their surrounding area. Many living things from these islands beyond Payans and Garbeators have more than two eyes, for reasons yet to be understood.

~☆~☆~☆~

As I mentioned previously, there are many more tropical and sub-tropical islands in the world of Theia, these are just the more relevant ones to the story-focused part of the world.

[anistarrose]

okay serious inquiries now, i wanna hear about the adopted ango fic and freak4freak4freak4freak 👀

(WIP meme here, still taking asks!)

thank you once again, fex! I feel like I've mentioned the Lucretia adopts Angus fic to you before, it's the one where she raises him on the Bureau and he even gets to have an ambiguously evil Red Robe uncle (who is allowed to give him piano lessons, because Lucretia is a total softie).

more relevant to the only writing I've completed, though, is the way THB meet Angus on the Bureau, and Angus actually sneaks off to get on the Rockport Limited with them once he hears there's a murder mystery in play. Lucretia obviously panics about this, because she does not want her son getting anywhere near a Relic — and this Angus & Taako scene is dealing with the fallout. the writing's old and there's stuff I'd change but the skeleton of it holds up, IMO. bit of outsider-looking-in on Ango and Lucretia's relationship:

Taako raps on the door to Angus’s room, trying not to sound neither too threatening nor too invested. “Hey, it’s, uh — it’s cha boy. Taako. Can I… come in?” “Whatever,” Angus sniffs, which is…  Well, Taako hasn’t known Angus for long, but that doesn’t sound at all like the polite, oddly mature little pipsqueak Taako’s gotten so used to seeing around the Bureau. He really is upset. Shit.  Taako wishes he could just send in the big armored teddy bear instead, ‘cause Magnus might comfort the kid with some actual success — but of course, Taako had to be the only one loitering to hear two distinct voices being raised in the Director’s office. To see Angus bolting out of a debriefing with his actual mom, covering his face with his hat and making a mad dash for his bedroom across the quad. Angus clearly loves his mom, and the Director clearly loves her kid. Taako never got any bad vibes from either — just vibes of a weird kid, in the care a parent with a weird enough job, that things cancelled out and everyone’s weird, weird needs got met. In a way he’d never admit, it actually made Taako kind of jealous. But Angus is upset, probably shedding tears, over the debriefing-turned-argument that Taako didn’t mean to overhear �� So he opens the door, and steps into Angus’s room.

Angus has trauma and it's causing him to catastrophize about the argument, worrying his Mom will send him off the Bureau to keep him safe and he'll lose the only family he has. so Taako kind of clumsily, uncomfortably, tries to reassure Angus — that because "the Director" cared enough to adopt him, she would never throw him out for nothing.

but then... Angus spills the beans. the Director has "a brother" who definitely isn't bio-related to her, but the adopted nature of their family doesn't keep them from having an extremely terse relationship that they only even keep that civil for Angus's sake. so Angus is very scared that if two people he thinks are good people could have chosen to be family once, but then turn out Like That, then who's to say the same won't happen to him?

obviously, Taako isn't even getting the "evil Red Robe" piece of information in the story — but even so, he just has no idea of how to respond to that.

*

also, freaky found family! that was the one I was actually writing most actively before work picked up, but you can expect me to finish it as soon as I'm unemployed again if not sooner lmao. it's BLT Trio plus Kravitz (or Reaper Squad plus Taako, if you prefer) hurt/comfort and cuddling, but it starts out with house hunting fluff:

Kravitz sniffs the air, in the direction of the charred crater in the wall. “Is it just me, or is there, like… a smell coming from the Hole? I mean, we agreed the house is probably on the market because of the Hole —” “Yeah, oh, completely. But the — the Hunger smell? Dav figured out a couple days back that baking soda can handle it.” Barry puts his hand on his hip, shaking his head and smiling. “Never had to figure that one out before, the way things were, but — but good ol’ sodium bicarb, turns out that does the trick —” “Oh, good,” Kravitz says. “I have lots of that on hand to deal with zombies.” “Ah, mix it into your salt circles, right?” “Obviously. I like a three-to-one ratio. Does the job, and cost-effective.” “Man, they should — uh, they should pay you to go on baking soda commercials.” “I’ll keep that in mind, Barry.”

[words-with-wren]

Snippet of a Fic I might Finish

They made their way through the trees, and even the Brigadier was now picking up on the unnatural silence, stepping lightly. 

But the silence was a little too unbearable and eventually Jamie had to break it, voicing a thought he’d been trying to figure out.

“If you’re from 1972,” he began. “And I’m from 1746. How did I end up in your time?” 

“Hell if I know,” the Brigadier answered, shaking his head. “On an ordinary day, I’d say the Doctor was messing with time. But we’ve all been a little too preoccupied lately.” 

“Aye well,” Jamie said. Again, the mention of this Doctor person. Again, the strange heartache of something lost. Something forgotten. Something just out of reach. He shook the feeling away and kept talking. “D’we know what year this is?” 

The Brigadier stopped in his tracks for a moment, staring at Jamie. 

“Well that is an unsettling thought,” he said finally.

[heartfeltletters-written]

✨share something you are working on that makes you happy or you’re proud of✨

Thank you so much for tagging me @infinitelymint <3 I debated so much on which of my wips to post here, because I have so many ongoing at the moment. Most of them I'm too scared to post tho I think yall are not strong enough to read them lmao

So here's a snippet of the last wip I worked on and have already posted something about.

Brennan was carrying a bouquet of white daffodils — their mother’s favourite. When he reached their place, he gently placed them inside the casket, making sure they fitted inside their father’s front pocket.  When he turned, his eyes were defeated and they looked soft as he gazed at their mother. Violet almost forgot that she hadn’t seen Brennan often for the past five years — it was as if barely any time had passed. He leaned in to kiss their mother’s cheek, “I’m sorry for your loss mother,”  “I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” his mother whispered, closing her eyes at the care of her oldest son.  Brennan focused on her face, “and leave you alone?” he held one of her mother’s hands between his own, “you know me better than that. I always put the family first.” Lilith Sorrengail opened her eyes, “which one?” A shadow came across Brennan’s eyes, and Violet felt she was intruding in whatever dispute was happening between her brother and mother. “You wound me mother, you know I have always loved you the most.”

I'll tag @softodettes and @widebrimmedhatsblog although I know you posted snippets not that long ago so you might not want to post another so soon. But I'll tag u guys in case you do want an excuse to share more lmao <3 no pressure as always besties

[rapono-writes-stuff]

Jaws wide and still dripping fresh with blood, it rears back, before it lunges.

“NO NO NO NO! PLEASE! DON'T—”

His begging spills out of his mouth involuntary, not that the monster could possibly understand him, but he can’t help it. He can barely manage to scramble away, leg searing with too much pain to find his footing, only making a few feeble inches away.

He can feel its breath before its teeth catch him, like a bear snatching up salmon, flailing in its jaws just as uselessly as the fish, gasping like one too. His armour creaks as it bends against the teeth pressing into it, tightening, as with shuddering, gasping breaths, he braces for them to break him.

But they don’t. They stop, holding him tightly in place, but don’t crush, don’t pierce.

What?

Despite not breaking his body, the rest of him still cracks, unable to hear anything but his pounding heart and frantic wheezing breaths. His limbs tremble and twitch, overloaded and leaking adrenaline, mind incapable of processing that he’s neither dying nor dead.

A mouse trapped in a bucket, dying of shock.

He doesn't even process that it’s moving, that he’s moving with it, still trapped in the moment it’s jaws caught him. Eyes rolling back into his head, his vision goes black, and he falls limp.

A tongue prods his unresponsive body, until it find his heartbeat, a warm breath of relief rushing past him. Alive, but overwhelmed.

Perhaps, if it was lucky, he’ll be too stressed to remember it when he woke up.

[sleepvines]

I think we might actually reach 100k ! -🌾

[the-pigeon]

for my most beloved's birthday @caruliaa i love you so much <3

///

archery by neptune holub // you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars by e.e. cummings // post by @/jugn00 // humans are creatures of habit by @/isolatedphenomenon // prescription for lilies by serena crane // please dont by mxmtoon // reassurance by @/heartlessqueen // cupio, definition by neptune holub // while you're alive by jeff rosenstock // tiktok by emilymcsings // post by @/magneatio // what the poets call love by neptune holub // wolf & bunny, a love story by rusted-pipe-of-wisdom // i will by mitski // red, white, and royal blue by casey mcquiston // writing prompts for the broken-hearted by eden robinson // share your adress by ben platt // post by @/coffeepeople // poem by ruhlare // your best american girl by mitski // i love you by britchida // songs of love and war translated by marjolijn de jager // post by @/plumslices // meteor shower by cavetown // a self portrait in letters by anne sexton // how do i say i love you by neptune holub // seven by taylor swift

[yujeong]

Vegas is mostly interested in stories about Pete's father, so these are the ones he mostly tells. They're similar in nature, repetitive: Pete did something wrong. He got beaten up. Pete did something well. He got beaten up. Pete did nothing at all. He got beaten up. The same old story, too far away from his current reality to affect him. It still affects him. Maybe because Vegas asks for details about the beatings, as well; how long they lasted, how much it hurt, the places Pete's father targeted, if he threw insults at Pete or if he remained silent. If Pete fought back or if he simply took it. Pete tries to avoid answering, but that leads to Vegas getting upset, and a Vegas that's upset is unpredictable and dangerous, so he tries to avoid that, too. He offers half-answers, some of them lies that he knows will satisfy Vegas to hear. Vegas eats them up like freshly-prepared noodles, but sometimes he spits them out of his mouth in fear of looking like a fool for eating them.

(A little snippet that will probably turn into a proper fic one day. Inspired by this post I made a few days ago ❤️)

[aleatoryw]

the only thing getting me through this 50+ hour work week is my silly little au where ventress stands protectively over a wounded obi-wan, teeth bared and sabers drawn, and fucking dares anakin/vader to try her - and then the ensuing fight when he does. mmm I am so tired.

[the-down-upside-finch]

Maybe I'll start working on Secrets of a Gon again. I really miss those characters and at some point I would like to finish the sequel, but I should probably focus on overhauling the climax and stuff first because I never really liked how the action played out.