#fic snippet

[greeniegaes]

Shen Qingqiu, you oblivious fool

[moontearpensfic]

Anytime, Anywhere, Always Snippet

Snippet for the upcoming chapter of AAA, a Harry corrupts Tom AU! Something I like in Tomarry fics is when Tom forces Harry to eat. And, as this is a role reversal fic, I flipped it. 😌💕

Without looking up from the paper, Harry puts cuts of bacon on Tom's plate, along with an apple. "Eat," he says. "I had eggs," Tom replies. "And toast." "You're too thin." Tom scoffs. "Hardly." "You're thinner than you were a month ago. Eat." He picks up the apple, as it's far healthier than the bacon, and shoots Harry an annoyed look. For his troubles, tanned fingers scritch over his scalp, sending pleasant shivers down the length of his spine. How quickly his frustration melts away. "I'm just looking out for you," Harry murmurs. Were it anyone else, Tom would tell him to look out for himself, that Tom is perfectly fine on his own. He doesn't need mothering. But a quick glance up reveals a sort of familiar heat in Harry's gaze—possessive, almost—as if it's his prerogative to take care of Tom. The sight of it makes Tom shiver. "I know. It's all right," he assures him. "I like it when you do."

[thesymphonytrue]

Get ready for some flufffffffff!!!!! Will post the entire fic when it’s finished but wanted to share this fluffy intro for fun!!

For the flufftober prompt “hoodie weather”—-which…is coming later in the fic 😂 thanks to @ascreamintothevoid-blog for the prompt ❤️❤️❤️ here’s a preview!! 🥰

*white collar season 6 spoilers*

Neal eyed the room and decided now was the perfect time to make his escape. His subjects were distracted by his generous gifts, eyes glittering with greed as they devoured their loot. If Neal wanted to escape certain capture and torture, he needed to leave and it needed to be now.

Silent as falling snow, Neal slipped into the shadows of the room and practically slid to the door, not forgetting his fedora that had fallen to the floor in all the mayhem. He reached out his hand to twist the doorknob, heart pounding, hoping that he’d chosen the right moment to escape.

Yes!

The doorknob turned and Neal vanished into the night.

Well, he almost vanished into the night when a deep voice cried out:

“Hands up, Caffrey!”

Neal froze.

“Yeah! Hands up!” a much higher and younger voice called.

Neal couldn’t help but let a smile break across his face. He put his hands up and spun around slowly.

Peter Burke and his son, Neal Burke, stood on the townhome stoop, both with their hands on their hips looking much like the father and son pair that they were. The only difference between the two (aside from their age) was that little Neal had brilliant blue eyes and a mop of jet-black hair—resembling his mother in every way except his body language and mannerisms, all of which were pure Peter Burke.

“You caught me,” Neal chuckled, striding back to the front steps, admitting defeat.

He’d tried anyway.

“And that’s five!” Peter said triumphantly, kneeling next to his son, “You see, I’ve caught your Uncle Neal—”

“Oh come on, Peter, that doesn’t count, I wasn’t running from the law,” Neal scoffed.

The younger Neal narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. He was seven years old and way too smart for his own good.

“So my dad isn’t law enforcement?” He questioned.

Neal rolled his eyes.

“And you weren’t running from him?” The kids pressed on and Neal felt very much like he was being interrogated.

“I was simply leaving dinner. I’m tired and—”

“You aren’t tired!” Neal Burke argued. “I saw you drink a cup of coffee after dessert!”

Neal opened his mouth and then closed it. Peter raised his eyebrows, a smirk forming on his lips.

Damn Burkes and their observational skills.

More to come!!! 😁😁😁😁 we’ll find out what Neal is running from lol 😂

[lizardlicks]

a scene that presented itself to me with very little context:

Sokka is trying and failing to light a fire inside this chaos. At first it was a little funny, but the longer Sokka goes without successfully producing a spark with his stupid little rocks, the more frustrated Zuko becomes watching him. He could do this in his sleep. A baby could have sneezed and lit the fire by now.

Click

“Make the Avatar stop playing with his stupid monkey and light it.”

Click “First of all, Momo is a Lemur. Second: Aang can’t firebend, and third: fuck you.”

Click, click

“Oh for Agni’s sake, then untie me and I’ll do it!” “No. See again: fuck you.”

Click, click, click

Zuko has had enough. He scoots forward and leans over Sokka’s bundle of (he notes slightly damp-- no wonder the boy is struggling) kindling and fills his chest, forcing the air deep into his lungs. He’s only seen Uncle do this once, but Zuko had already learned the basics of the technique. Standard firebending involved stoking his inner fire with the correct breathing, then letting it flow with the movement of his limbs, down his chi paths, and out as visible bursts. Uncle had shown him how to hold that energy, feeding it through the pathways in a looping circuit that warmed him through. But where breath came in it also flowed out, and where chi could flow-- “What are you--” Sokka starts to ask, leaning back away from the prince crowding into his space. With no other warning, Zuko opens his mouth. And fire pours out. Sokka throws himself away from the flames with a yelp, but they don’t go any further than the sad pile of wood he had been failing to light. “Aaaah! How-- What-- You can breathe that!?”

Zuko sits back with a satisfied huff, tries unsuccessfully to shake off the sweat that’s beaded on his forehead. “Apparently.”

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

another snippet of the barbecue fic (aka another snippet of buck being horny for his boyfriend lmao I swear this is a wholesome fluffy family fic haha), this is my priority now, I wanna finish it soon so send all the motivation haha <3

prev snippet

___

“Behave.” He scolds with no heat behind it.

“Mhm, yessir.” Buck purrs, his lips moving across Tommy’s bare shoulder. 

“Fuck.” Tommy breathes out and completely stills, and Buck can’t really see his face but he knows his boyfriend closed his eyes and is trying to calm down – which can’t be easy with Buck still plastered against his back. “This food is gonna burn if you keep this up. And we have guests to feed.” He adds, and as if to make a point, he flips a slightly overdone burger, Buck hindering his movements just a little bit.

Before he can respond, he hears another voice get through the chatter and music and reach his ears.

“Buck!” Chimney calls, and Buck looks over his shoulder to find everyone’s eyes on him, amused expressions on their faces. “Don’t distract our cook, we’re starving!”

“I’m just scolding him for taking his shirt off.” Buck says easily, then adds a little louder, to Tommy but making sure everyone hears, “Babe, you’re gonna burn yourself, you’re a firefighter, you should know better.” He shakes his head, and Tommy looks back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re gonna pretend like you don’t approve?”

“Oh, I so don’t, Tommy, at all.” Buck tries to keep a straight face, but a chuckle bubbles out of him anyway. “You’re such a distraction, this is dangerous for everyone here.”

“I think you’re the only one with that problem, Buckaroo.” Hen laughs, and only then Buck remembers everyone’s still paying attention to them. It’s so easy to get lost in Tommy, to feel like it’s just them, even in a crowd of people. So distracting. It’s a hazard, really. He should keep Tommy away from everyone, preferably locked in the bedroom with him, for everyone’s safety.

___

no pressure tags (lmk if you wanna be added or removed):

@dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @rainbow-nerdss @pirrusstuff @bucks-daddy-issues @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazheartsbuckley @giddyupbuck @thewolvesof1998 @underwaterninja13 @your-catfish-friend @kinard-buckley @evansboyfriend @beyourownanchor6 @weewootruck @kirkaut @jewishbuckley @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @lonelychicago @bibuckkinard @spotsandsocks @bucked-it-up @theotherbuckley @drcloyd @bidisasterevankinard @hippolotamus @girlwonder-writes @perfectlysunny02 @dadbodbuck @kinkleydiaz @diazsdimples @aringofsalt

[dragonpyre]

More fic snippits I'll never finish

“How you feeling?” The man asked. Jason opened his mouth to respond in the negative, but stopped at the last second. He actually felt… fine? What the fuck? His brain had literally just been getting stabbed by a rail spike not even thirty minutes ago. And how the fuck had he fallen asleep when in that much pain? He’d NEVER managed that before! “What the fuck did you give me?” He asked, bewildered. The concern smoothed away from Dick’s face. “So I take it you’re feeling better?” Jason pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Yeah, what the fuck?” Six months of this bullshit with no cure and one visit from his brother fixes it? Was Dick dabbling in witchcraft now? “What was that stuff?” A faint smile flitted across Dick’s lips. “Excedrin.” “The fuck is Excedrin?” “Acetaminophen and caffeine,” his brother answered easily. “Migraine meds.”

[transingthoseformers]

NOOOO BECAUSE YES

Even Pharma, who's ass has been stuck freezing his tits off on Messatine, knows about the homoerotic megop

Win

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry and Tom had been pushed together by circumstance ever since they’d both sorted Slytherin.

The students from other houses watched them distrustfully due to their house and having no one to really vouch for them. (Harry’s name didn’t hold much weight if he wasn’t in Gryffindor, it seemed. The professors who’d known his parents certainly brought it up often enough for him to draw that conclusion.) 

And, since all of the other Slytherin first-year boys were purebloods who’d known each other since birth, they all paired off with each other, leaving the two odd ones out as roommates.

They’d both been wary of the other at first, but after a few weeks of keeping to themselves and not trying to start anything, they fell into a quiet coexistence. When their housemates were bigoted arses, Harry would stand up for Tom; when they picked on Harry for refusing to go with the flow, Tom gave them several reasons to stop. 

It wasn’t a friendship, necessarily, but they had each other’s back. Neither had to be on guard in their shared room.

Even when Tom’s status began to rise, both in Slytherin and the school more broadly, he didn’t change how he interacted with Harry. 

Until halfway through sixth year, that is.

—

Tom turns seventeen over the winter holidays and Slughorn is suddenly much more liberal in sharing his liquor collection with his favourite student at the parties he hosts. Now, more often than not, Tom returns from these parties with a bit of a stumble in his step. 

And some confusion over which bed is his.

The first time it happens, Harry snaps awake in the night, tense and alert, to a weight landing beside him on the bed. He has his wand pointed at the lump before he realises it’s his dorm mate, passed out on his stomach and snoring lightly into Harry’s duvet. He shoves the sleeping boy, who mumbles something dire at him without waking. 

“Tom,” he hisses, poking the boy in the face. Nothing. No response whatsoever.

…Eh, whatever. Harry is tired and Tom isn’t in a state to do anything, and it’s just one night.

A few hours later, Harry wakes up alone. Tom corners him after breakfast and threatens him to keep silent. Like he’d go around sharing that he and Tom had slept together.

When he says as much, Tom’s cheeks take on a pink tinge as he looks at Harry with mild incredulity. But he ultimately accepts this and they ignore each other for a couple days before falling into their former manner of living together without really interacting.

And that’s how it remains until the second time Tom returns to their dorm intoxicated and slips into Harry’s bed. Harry, already occupying the bed and half-awake from the disruption, rolls over to see who’s trying to spoon him. Seeing Tom and not caring enough to make a fuss about it, he curls back up and drifts off immediately.

He wakes up first and has the unique joy of witnessing a hung-over, grouchy Tom Riddle curse the light, this morning, Slughorn, alcohol, and mornings in general, before opening his eyes to see Harry staring at him in amusement. 

Tom groans and buries his head under a pillow. “This doesn’t leave this room,” comes the muffled command.

“Obviously.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“I will spell all of your clothing to the appropriate size and make you wildly uncomfortable if you breathe one word.”

“Jesus, Riddle, I said I wouldn’t say anything,” Harry mutters. “Save the thumbscrews for your ‘social club.’”

“I simply want you to understand the seriousness of the situation.”

And that’s the end of that.

(Harry wonders if there should be more weirdness. Surely two teenage boys repeatedly sleeping together in the same bed would be weird to most people. Harry just finds it funny.

…And maybe he enjoys Tom’s warmth. But that’s it!)

By the third time, Harry’s ready. He knows Tom is attending one of Slughorn’s get-togethers tonight, and will likely imbibe and return tipsy. He’s prepared.

When Tom swans into their dorm room a little after midnight, Harry’s finishing up a twenty-four inch essay on the principles of re-materialisation due next week. (Hey, if he's staying up and can’t wander the castle, he has to do something.)

Tom stops short. “Why are you not in bed?” he asks, brow furrowed. “You should be in bed.”

Harry huffs a laugh. “I should be, shouldn’t I?” He stretches his hands above his head and turns in his chair to face Tom. “How was your night?”

“It was dull,” Tom says with a roll of his eyes. Drunk Tom is so much more expressive, Harry thinks gleefully. “No one new to meet, and Professor Slughorn kept trying to parade me around, like I’m some kind of show pony. Dreadful.”

And then he flops back onto Harry’s bed, staring with unfocused eyes at the ceiling. “...Horses should have fangs.”

...What?

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not a pony – I’m at least a stallion, if I have to be a horse,” Tom explains like this should be obvious. “But horses aren’t menacing enough; they don’t have sharp teeth or claws, either. I would only be a horse if I could have fangs.”

And, well, when he puts it like that, Harry finds himself agreeing. Madness is communicable, it seems.

“Oookay, let’s get you to bed,” he says, putting out the light on his desk.

“I am in bed.”

“Not quite.” He grabs the drinking glass he’d set aside earlier.

“Harry, come here,” Tom demands petulantly, swaying as he sits up on the edge of the bed.

Harry shakes his head and holds out a glass filled with water. “Nope, you have to drink this first.” 

He can hardly believe his eyes. Tom Riddle – perfect, untouchable, inscrutable Tom – is pouting at him like a child denied a sweet. He wishes he had a camera.

“C’mon, you’ll thank me in the morning,” he cajoles.

“If I drink the water, you’ll come to bed?” Tom asks, somehow achieving wary puppy dog eyes.

Harry bites his cheek to keep from smiling. This is adorable. “I will – it’s my bed, after all.”

“Very well,” Tom says with gravitas and a slight slur to his words. He accepts the glass and drains it in four gulps, then meets Harry’s eyes and raises his eyebrows.

“Congratulations, you did it,” Harry deadpans. Riddle scowls at him and pats the bed meaningfully, so he laughs and gets in on the other side.

(He left a couple paracetamol and another glass of water on the nightstand closest to Tom earlier, anyway. He is prepared.)

By the time he’s put out the lights and gotten situated under the covers, Tom has shucked most of his clothes, down to his undershirt and boxer shorts. When he reaches for the hem of his shirt, Harry scrambles to grab his hands and says, “Whoa, let’s just keep that on.”

Tom frowns at him but doesn’t argue. He does lay down and tug Harry closer, cuddling him like a stuffed animal.

“Tom…?” Harry says faintly.

Tom hums into the juncture between Harry’s neck and shoulder. “Good night, Harry.”

Harry stares ahead into the darkness. “...G’night.”

He expects it will take him a while to fall asleep like this, but the warmth of another body and the susurration of Tom’s breathing so close to his ear lulls him to sleep before he knows it.

—

When he wakes up the next morning, cosy and well-rested, Harry comes to a decision.

This is silly.

He feels Tom slowly returning to the waking world, laying half on top of Harry and looking much less green about the gills than he had last time. One of Tom’s eyes cracks open and he grumbles into Harry’s chest, curling closer and dropping more dead weight onto Harry.

(He knew Tom wasn’t a morning person, but he’d never before understood just how much.)

Harry says, “Before you start with the hostilities, I feel you should know that, for one, I wouldn’t tell anyone about your sleeping habits anyway. It’s none of their business.”

Tom grunts; Harry takes it as a request to continue.

“And secondly: You can sleep in my bed even if you aren’t drunk, you know. I don’t mind.”

Tom tenses.

“We don’t even have to talk about it, if it’s just sleeping.”

Tom doesn’t relax.

“If this is something more than that, then...”

Tom rolls so his face is completely hidden in Harry’s shoulder. “...Later,” he says, muffled and low.

Harry blinks. 

Huh.

“Yeah, later,” he says.

At this, Tom lets out a breath he’d been holding, slowly draping an arm over Harry’s waist. Harry pats at it with his hand and relaxes deeper into the mattress.

“Later’s just fine.”

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Erin/Julius; cosmic vertigo

For the prompt: More Erin and Julius understanding each other on a deep level

“Have you ever thought about the universe?” Julius says.

“I get a headache whenever I do, so I mostly try to avoid it,” Erin says, then, feeling Julius’ eyes on her, “Yeah, I guess. You’ve got to narrow it down a little from ‘literally everything in existence’ for me to figure out what you're getting at, though.”

“How things — change, I guess,” Julius says. “How if something went just a little differently, your life could be completely different too.”

“So like alternate universes,” Erin says, relieved. That’s much less likely to give her a headache. Not unlikely, but thinking about what, exactly, exists past forever? What a constantly expanding universe is expanding into? The last time Erin let herself think about it too long she ended up with a migraine. Possibly a coincidence, but she’s not risking it. That thing lasted two days.

“Yes,” Julius says. “If I was drafted one pick higher, or lower, I would never have come to Edmonton.”

“And you wouldn’t have met Jared, and therefore me, and neither of us would be lying in this bed right now talking about the universe,” Erin says. “Something like that?”

“Something like that,” Julius echoes, then gazes at her for a long moment, not speaking.

“Stop measuring how good a consolation prize I am,” Erin says. Doesn’t matter how great he thinks she is: nobody’s great enough to make up for the pain and suffering of playing for the Edmonton Oilers.

Julius’ mouth quirks, like she’s said it out loud.

“You’re alright,” he says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “I do my best.”

“Worth coming here,” Julius says.

“Let’s not get too crazy here,” Erin says.

Under the covers, Julius finds where she’s laced her hands on her stomach and prises the nearest away so he can lace his own fingers through it, that hand thief. She likes to sleep like she’s in a coffin and he knows that. Still, she supposes she can lend it to him for a little while.

“Feeling philosophical tonight, are we?” Erin asks.

She doesn’t have to ask why: he’s going back to Finland in two days. Only for a month, before he flies back to Alberta to train with Jared and his buds in Calgary. She doesn’t have to ask why for that either. Dude isn’t going to train in a city he’s never even lived in, a city that hates his guts, just because he misses her brother, though she’s sure Jared would argue otherwise. She won’t make him say it.

“I can come,” Erin says. “If you want me to. I can come.”

Julius blows out a breath. “Next time,” he says.

“Sure,” Erin says. “It’s not — it doesn’t expire or anything. Standing offer. I mean, unless I have something else going on. Then you’re shit out of luck.”

“I will make sure your schedule is clear,” Julius says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “Thoughtful of you.”

“Would you like your hand back?” Julius says. Erin doesn’t think she’s imagining the reluctance. A month’s not really a long time if the universe is your scale, but if it isn’t, well. It’s long enough.

“That’s okay,” Erin says. “You can have it a bit longer.”

*

So the thing is, when Erin told Julius she’d go to Finland with him, well — it isn’t that she didn’t mean it, because she did, it’s just that she sort of figured that at some point between her saying that and him taking her up on it, she might just spontaneously get past her fear of flying.

Except, fear is such a strong word, isn’t it? She’s fine. She’s been on planes without dying. She even hopped on a plane to see the Canucks host the Oilers — would someone with a lifelong fear of planes do that?

And yeah, sure, it was only ninety minutes, and by the time she quit telling herself that they probably weren't all going to die — but if they did, they better not fuck up and identify her as Bryce’s girlfriend in all the death announcements — they’d pretty much already begun the descent.

Then, once she was done a new recital of how they probably weren't to die — at least they’d better not, because Bryce would feel so guilty about inviting her — they were taxiing to the gate.

And while, like, statistically, that was one of the most dangerous times, like how parking lots and the kilometre around your house are the places you’re most likely to get into an accident, it’s hard to work up the same panic when you’re like, twenty feet in the air instead of twenty thousand.

The flight back wasn’t too bad either, and by the end of the trip, she thought she might have even gotten over that whole fear of flying thing.

She was incorrect.

The thing is, she actually did okay on the flight to Toronto. It helped that it was first thing in the morning, and apparently sleepiness beats out panic, a fact she’s going to be taking advantage of in the future. She genuinely thought she'd reached the other side of it, but the flight to Amsterdam has quickly proven her wrong.

Planes aren’t supposed to shake. And dip! She swears they started to drop out of the sky at one point. Julius said that it was a normal amount of turbulence, but frankly, no turbulence is normal, is it? Sure, it can be a typical amount of turbulence, but normal? They’re in a metal tube in the sky, being thrown around by wind. Erin does not consider any of that to be normal.

“You didn’t tell me you don’t like flying,” Julius says, so quietly Erin can hardly hear him over the almost deafening plane sound nobody else seems to be bothered by. Erin thinks that’s pretty big of him, considering she’s had his hand in a death grip since the turbulence began, and she hasn’t relinquished it even now that it’s finally stopped. In his shoes, she’d probably be going with ‘you know these hands make millions, right?’.

Money that means she’s flying in comfort, if not…comfort. For some reason, Erin thought it’d be easier to deal with things in business class. She doesn’t know why — in a plane crash, the front of the plane is the least likely to survive. But hey, at least Erin got free champagne.

The champagne didn’t help. She hadn’t really thought it would, but she’d been hoping.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say I don’t like it,” Erin says. It comes out in a voice she's never heard in her entire life, so perky it’s almost shrill.

“Something stronger?” Julius asks, looking about as disturbed by Stepford Erin as she is. She doesn’t know if he’s talking about the word she’d use or the next drink she should have, but either way the answer's probably yes.

“Do you want your hand back?” Erin asks. It’s not so much an offer as a genuine question, because she’s not sure her hand will unclench for long enough to release it, and she’d probably grab it again the next time the plane started rocking, though maybe she can figure something else out. Grab his thigh or something. It also makes him millions, but it can probably hold up to the abuse a little better.

“You can have it the entire flight if you need,” Julius says. “And for the others.”

Erin’s really, really been trying not to think about the fact there are more flights after this one. Plural.

“Might make it hard to eat,” Erin says. He has the window seat — no fucking way she wants to see just how high up they are, even though she already intellectually knows it — and she’s had custody of his right hand since take off.

“I can figure it out,” Julius says, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. It isn’t quite relaxing — nothing is, right now, not with that damn plane noise — but it’s, you know, not not relaxing, which makes it better than pretty much everything in the world at the moment. It makes Erin’s eyes prickle.

“I know it’s irrational,” Erin says. “I’m well aware of all the statistics, and that it’s safer than basically every kind of transportation. I know. It’s ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous.”

“We can drive,” Julius says. “When we get to Helsinki. We can drive instead. Or take the train.”

Erin tips her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling. That still leaves Amsterdam to Helsinki, but one flight is better than two. “How long a drive is it?” Erin says.

“Does it matter?” Julius asks.

Erin shakes her head, and when they fall, she swipes at them with her free hand.

“We can drive,” Julius says, thumb tracing back and forth, and Erin focuses on it, the slow sweep of his skin against hers, until the flight attendant comes, asking if they’d like something to drink.

“Champagne,” Erin says. “Please.”

“Two,” Julius says, even though he didn’t even finish his first. “Please.”

“What are we celebrating?” the flight attendant chirps, and Erin stares up at her, unable to muster even a weak smile. Beside her, Julius must be pulling out the ‘dumb fucking question’ face he gives reporters, because the flight attendant says, bright and fake as Stepford Erin, “Two glasses of champagne,” then hurries on to the next seats.

“People,” Julius murmurs, and Erin slides down, twisting in her seat until she can put her head on his shoulder. Probably makes it harder than she needs to, since she refuses to give up Julius’ hand the entire time, but he doesn’t complain, just keeps up the slow sweep of his thumb, and when she finally makes herself comfortable — or, as comfortable as she can, considering the circumstances — he kisses her hair.

“Sorry about stealing your hand,” Erin says. She really hopes he doesn’t think it’s an offer to give it back, because he’ll be disappointed.

“That’s okay,” Julius says. “I don’t need it for my job or anything.”

Erin decides to hold on a little tighter, just for that.

[nemaliwrites]

have a lil snippet from the bodyswap fic hehe

“Sorry,” Marinette mutters, spinning back around in her chair to face him. “It’s just…”

“I get it,” says Plagg. “You’re finally in Loverboy’s room, and you want all the super secret dirt on him, right?”

“I’m in his body,” she points out. “How much more dirt can there be?”

“Hey, my lips are sealed. You’ll never break me — unless it happens to be with a particularly well aged block of camembert, of course.”

Marinette rolls her eyes, but try as she might, she can’t get back to work. So she sits back in her chair and considers Plagg.

“Is it…is it really this bad?” she asks.

Plagg loses his air of joking, lowering his tone to match hers. “Worse, sometimes,” he says, “but getting the kid to talk about it is like walking on broken glass. Man, is he determined to keep smiling.”

She blinks at him. “Isn’t…isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not always,” says Plagg. “Sometimes, the longer you keep smiling, the more you forget what your face is really supposed to look like.”

[munsonkitten]

“Can I tell you something?” Steve whispers, tugging Eddie in closer to his body.

Eddie hums in response, nuzzling his face into Steve’s neck. “Sure, baby.”

“You know how we got you out of the Upside Down and brought you back here?” Steve asks. He rubs his hands up and down Eddie’s back, and continues without waiting for an answer. “I carried you up to the bathtub in my parents’ bathroom, got your pants off, and you were covered in so much blood, and I was already fighting off an infection myself, so I wasn’t all there, and I honestly… Man, I honestly thought the bats ate your dick and that I’d have to break the news.”

Eddie snorts, a quiet laugh pressed to Steve’s skin.

“Then you said to me, and you were half-conscious and kind of delirious, you said ‘if you wanna look at my pussy, at least buy me dinner first,’” Steve whispers. “Figured maybe it was fine, then.”

“Wait,” Eddie says, pulling back. “Is that why you always brought food when you started coming over?”

Steve laughs, then shakes his head. Quietly, he answers, “Nah, man, that was because you lost like forty pounds from not eating.”

“Well, that’s not as fun,” Eddie huffs. “Can we pretend you’ve just been trying to catch a glimpse ever since?”

“Sure,” Steve whispers. “I mean, not that I wasn’t trying to catch another glimpse, I mean that much is pretty obvious at this point, but, nah. I was just worried you weren’t eating enough.”

Eddie hums again and rolls over onto his back. “I don’t remember much. Being here, I mean. I just… I mean, I have bits and pieces, but then I remember waking up in the hospital with Wayne next to my bed. I didn’t think that was real, to be honest.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Yeah, it, uh… I tried taking care of you, and after I kinda put the pieces together, I wasn’t gonna let anyone else see you or touch you, I mean, I kind of knew what it meant, you know, to be transsexual, and I didn’t know everything, but I figured it was enough that I found out without your permission. I mean, I think about… Never mind, just… Yeah, so I tried taking care of you, but, like I said, I was sick, too. I think, um, it was Nancy… She kind of found us half-dead in my bed after not hearing from us for a couple days. She got in contact with Wayne, got us both to the hospital. You were there longer than me.”

“Does Nancy know?” Eddie whispers. “I mean, we talk a lot, and she’s never… She’s never mentioned it, but would she if she did?”

“She doesn’t know, baby. As far as I know, she doesn’t. I’m telling you, man, I didn’t let anyone else see you for days. I was…”

“My guard dog, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Steve chuckles.

“Mhm,” Eddie hums. “Should give you a treat.”

Steve smiles, presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “I’ve got it already.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie mumbles. “You can’t break out the Harrington charm right now.”

“Why not?” Steve asks.

“Because I’m gonna need to fuck you again for that and I don’t think I can move.”

Steve laughs and curls himself around Eddie. “Alright, I’ll cool it with the charm, then.”

They both sleep soundly that night, but Steve finds himself thinking about all of those complicated things before he drifts off, and again when he wakes up in the morning, as he watches Eddie fix his hair and slide on his rings over painted nails.

from chapter 5 of “you make me feel like i am whole again” on ao3

[fabbyf1]

*taps microphone* is this thing on?

oh, hello.

it's me, yah girl.

you'll never guess what grandma's been up to.

after avoiding my google docs for weeks months, i have finally dusted them off and started writing again. i'll be honest with you guys: i've gone through a lot of ups and downs with writing recently, where i loved it one day and hated it the next, which is why i took such a massive break. i don't like to post things i'm not proud of, and don't fully believe in, so i'm glad i took some time away to do other things and not let writing fanfiction ruin my mental health.

but now? WE'RE BACK BABY. i followed troy bolton's advice and got my head in the game and thought to myself, what would bring you joy to write? and there was really only one answer to that question.

lestappen.

so that's what i've done.

i set out to make this a one-shot pwp, and if that's what i decide it's going to be, then it's pretty much complete right now and just needs an edit. but i think i'm gonna try to add more onto it over the next couple days and make it a short story instead.

it won't be anything massive like long live or vapor, but maybe a little more than a one-shot.

happy charles on pole day, besties. thank you for sticking by me while i got my life together.

snippet under the cut.

context: friend-charles has a bad hook-up and asks friend-max to give him an honest blow job review

Charles stretched his neck to the left and right as if he was about to hop into his car. 

“Do you always stretch before giving someone a blow job?” Max asked, ignoring the sweat that was forming around his hairline. 

“Fuck off,” Charles said lightheartedly. He brought his hands up and hesitated for just a moment before resting them gently on Max’s knees. Don’t be weird, don’t be weird, don’t be weird. Max was proud when the muscles of his thighs didn’t twitch or anything at the contact. “Now move your hand out of the way,” Charles instructed, looking down at where Max was covering himself.

“You’re bossier than I thought you’d be,” Max said, trying to sound as normal as possible. 

“Is that right?” Charles asked, hands still gripping Max’s knees. “Do you think about me often, Max Verstappen?” 

“I—” Max squeaked, which was somehow more embarrassing than sitting with his cock out. He glared at him as he said, “Fuck you.” Charles looked delighted by his words, which only made Max narrow his eyes further. “Don’t make me regret this,” Max warned, finally letting his hand fall to his side. 

Charles looked at where Max was lying soft against his thigh. “Do you need me to flirt with you or something?” 

Max scoffed. “No, asshole, I don’t need—” 

“Ohhh, Max, you’re so handsome,” Charles cooed in a high-pitched tone anyway. Max’s jaw dropped open in shock. “You’re so big and strong and fast,” Charles continued, batting his eyes at him in an exaggerated way that would be comical if he wasn’t on his knees. “Mister three-time world champion with a big dick and a—”  

Max’s cock twitched, and they both saw it happen. 

“Oh my god,” Charles said, gasping loudly before cackling. “Oh my god, that actually did it for you?” 

“No!” Max snapped, covering himself again with his hands. “Fuck you! It was a coincidence!” But he wasn’t even sure if Charles could hear him over his roaring laughter.

This might be the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to him.

He always knew that Charles Leclerc would be his downfall, but he never expected it to be over a blow job.

[moontearpensfic]

7 Snippet

Here's a snippet for the next chapter of 7, my Harry raises Tom AU! We open on the "present" again, where Harry tries to work out why, exactly, Voldemort Present!Tom went to sleep and let Past!Tom's consciousness come forward in the last part.

Harry sighs. "In this case, I think it's better that you explained to me what happened. Whatever it is, it can't be—" Good, he doesn't finish. A frown wrinkles Tom's brow. He seems as if he might debate—decides not to, straightening his shoulders and resting his curled knuckles on his knees. "Very well," he agrees. "I will tell you my theory." Theory? Harry wants to press. Tom only has a theory? But he's learned enough about Tom over the years to know not to interrupt, or receiving answers grows slimmer. Tom rises from what Harry considers Tom's chair. Scarlet and gold, well-worn in appearance—a style Tom has confessed to loathe, even though he was Sorted Gryffindor—it is nevertheless the spot that Tom chooses to sit in when he frequents Harry's sitting room. Though he paces, his fingertips steepled together, Tom's movements are elegant, much like the boy Harry remembers from the Chamber, all those years ago. Yet there are subtle differences, too. His hair, for one, isn't quite so perfectly coiffed. Tom leaves it almost unkempt. Instead of the careful combing he once gave it in the morning, followed by touch-ups throughout the day until he learned how to use product, he brushes it first thing and then lets its curls tangle throughout the day. Often—such as now—they're crumpled from where his fingers distractedly ran through it. It's a change from the past few months (almost six, Harry realizes with a start, not for the first time in his life. Time flies so quickly…). Ever since Harry returned to this timeline, Tom has appeared most like his diary form. Seeing him like—like Harry's Tom… It leaves Harry's heart in his throat.

That's right, I mostly wanted to share his precious hair!🥺

[naffeclipse]

he he ho ho

hehehehehe

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus knows he made a mistake calling out for Athena. He knew the second her name left her lips. /she/ doesn't like it when he calls out any name but hers. When he mentions home or telemachus or gods forbid his penelope. It's not allowed. He's not allowed to think about anything but herherher. He knew it was a mistake. But

He had /felt/ Athena. For the first time in years that old connection sparked to life. A muscle long stiff with use but /there/he felt her. And if she heard him. If she chose to help well.

It would have been worth calypso wrath.

In the days that follow, it's all silence. All signs of Athena having disappeared. And as odysseus hangs from his wrists, numbly allowing his master to do as she pleases, he can't help but regret.

He knows the rules. He knows how to survive (dying is pointless /hes tried/) he can't help swallow the bitter pointless helpless rage. Why had athena even checked on him if she was just going to /leave/ him like this. And even still, as soft fingers drag their way down his skin, he can't help but silent pray (his tears long since dried up. It only ever made things worse) please goddess, please Athena don't leave me here. Kill me punish me in any other way just please please let it end.

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

thanks for all the tags for sunday and tuesday! <3

started yet another wip 🙈 I was watching oth and heard one line and got inspired lol so here's some bucktommy morning cuddles, and istg this one will be short and fluffy and hopefully done soon 🤞 haha

___

“Where are you going?” Tommy mumbles sleepily, eyes still closed, a small frown creasing his forehead. Buck chuckles quietly and can’t resist leaving another kiss on Tommy’s lips. It’s honestly adorable how his big, strong, hot firefighter boyfriend, who’s always so cool and collected, can get so grumpy in the morning without cuddles. He’s sure no one would believe him if he told them, but he likes that – he’s the only person who gets Tommy like this, who knows him like this. The thought makes his heart race and stomach flip, feeling as excited as at the very beginning of their relationship.

“Well, I was gonna go make you breakfast and then wake you up.” Buck says, fingers running through Tommy’s tangled curls. “You can go back to sleep, baby, and I’ll be right back.” he whispers, one of his hands starts drawing mindless shapes on Tommy’s back.

“Mm, no.” Tommy just responds, burying his face in Buck’s neck.

“You don’t want breakfast in bed?”

“I want you in bed.” Tommy says stubbornly, punctuated by a soft kiss to Buck’s neck and his arm around Buck’s waist tightening.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @tizniz @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie @loveyouanyway @neverevan