#just a little snippet thing

[booksandberries]

i did Immediately bust out a sasakagi fic, but dunno if it's good enough to post

[gerardways-mcr]

dean wakes up fully clothed in the smell of both the trashy motel room, and him and his brothers’ sweat.

he tilts his head down to look at sam, who is sleeping in the crook of his neck, and gives him a quick peck on the forehead, combing his fingers through his unwashed hair.

“Mornin, Sammy.”

[alchemistc]

like pulling teeth

"I need you to push," he says, like it's the worst thing he's ever said, like he's sloughed off his skin to expose muscle and nerve. His eyes are wet, and he looks like Buck's taken him through the ringer.

Five seconds ago they were talking about what to get for dinner. Tommy had been joking about how he hated Whataburger because the last time he'd had it -

He looks pained. More upset than Buck's seen him in a while. He looks ready to bolt, and that terrifies Buck. He's aware, by now, that they dig this hole themselves - Tommy with his half measures at honesty, Buck scared to push too hard and rock the boat, send someone - Tommy - running away from his issues.

But Tommy is trying, here. Tommy looks like he's tied himself to his chair so he doesn't run, tense and glued in this position. Buck's a little afraid to touch him.

There'd been a horse, up in Montana, desperate for attention but terrified of people. Buck hadn't ridden the horses, but he mucked the stalls enough to know them, and this one had been skittish as hell. An hour of talking to the guy had given him enough confidence to clop close enough for Buck to touch, but every damn time, every time, when Buck held out a hand for him to lean into, he'd snorted, head kicking around halfway to panic, and backed himself up into a corner too far away from Buck to touch.

Buck never actually managed to pet that horse.

He reaches out. Presses a hand to Tommy's knee, feels the muscles of his thigh jump under his fingers.

Tommy blows out a breath, and Buck resolves to never tell him about Gary the Quarter Horse.

"Tommy, who did you lose?"

He's bad at this part. Terrified of asking the wrong question, always pays more attention to the unspoken cue to leave it alone. But Tommy is asking him to ask.

The story comes out in fits and starts - Tommy throws in a joke that makes him scowl at himself like he's supposed to just unlearn all the ways he deals with grief overnight - Buck interrupts one too many times and nearly derails the whole conversation - Tommy tries to follow the thread of Buck's interruption and is pissed when Buck steers it back to the original point.

It's the most painfully awkward talk they've ever shared. Tommy looks like he wants to throw up for most of it. Buck wants to scream at him to stop circling the point. Tommy stands, at one point, Buck's hand on his knee coming loose in a way that feels a bit like being dumped again. When Tommy can finally meet his eyes again, it's clear he stood to hide his tears.

A training accident, a rookie so green around his gills Tommy is still convinced, years later, that it was his fault for not triple checking his certs, like that was even his job.

The Patty Melts they'd shared, on a curb outside a strip mall, two hours earlier.

When Tommy slumps back in his chair however many minutes later, he looks raw, exhausted, flayed open, but when he rolls his jaw and shoots a lopsided smile Buck's way it feels like a win.

Buck shuffles closer. Tips his head in, going for a hug, maybe a soft kiss.

Tommy tips his forehead against Buck's, blows out a breath through his lips that burrs a little on the way out, and Buck shouldn't. He really, absolutely Should Not.

He rolls his forehead against Tommy's. Bites his cheek. Gets an arm up and desperately hopes Tommy isn't as skittish in this moment as he feels.

Tommy's hand curls around Buck's, and he drags Buck's palm up his neck to cradle his jaw.

"Did I ever tell you about when I worked in Montana?"

[andarateiacantori]

am i crazy or has very little of what bioware has revealed so far been actual "spoilers" and not just very typical game marketing to get people interested in the story... like i get wanting to go in blind of course but then you shouldnt be watching this marketing stuff to start with lol

[wildstar25]

WolShtola Week 2025 - Day Two - Fell first/Fell harder

A gradual acceptance of ones own yearning heart.

A sudden clarity to long harboured, deep affections.

The moment shared across two points of time.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hi! Love your writing a lot! Humble request:

"Hero, please. Just... Not today." with a villain that's already struggling for whatever reason?

“What are you doing?” the hero hissed. And then again, louder this time. “What are you doing?”

The villain turned away from them quickly. Their hand was shaking, the hero noticed. Usually, they would take a step towards them, take their hand…

But the hero could barely see through the tears.

“Are you angry at me, is that it?” The hero’s voice was shaking.

“…please, not today, let’s just…” The villain stared at the ground and the hero got undeniably frustrated. They were at war with themselves. They wanted to hug the villain, they wanted to embrace them.

But they couldn’t.

They just couldn’t. Anger overwhelmed them and disappointment followed right after.

“You’re killing people now, is that it? You’re killing people?!” the hero asked and they were sure if they had argued during the daytime, someone would have called the police.

But the parking lot was empty and the sky was dark. There was just the two of them and the thick, horrible conflict between them.

They’d grown up together, they were best friends. Hell, they had trained together to help people, not to kill them.

And now the villain was standing here in front of them after confessing to multiple murders.

The hero’s heartbeat was fast enough to make their chest hurt. The tears were dropping uncontrollably and they couldn’t, although they tried so desperately, keep it together.

“What is wrong with you?”

“It…I had my reasons.”

“Your reasons?” The hero took a step forward, grabbed the villain’s collar. “Your reasons? Are you insane!? Us being more powerful than others is threatening the existence of every single normal person on this planet. And instead of getting rid of us, people trust us with their lives and you go ahead and betray them? You betray me?”

“Not everyone deserves your protection,” the villain said. “Not everyone deserves to be on this planet. No matter if they have powers or not.”

“What are you talking about? What are you doing? This isn’t you.” The hero let go of them, nearly pushed them away. The villain was a quiet person, a very sweet person.

God, what had they done?

The heartbreak was reaching deep into the hero’s soul. They had wanted the villain to be in their life for a long time, for forever to be precise. They’d had a crush on them since childhood after all.

But this…

“I’m sorry,” the villain whispered. “We both know I’m not like you.”

“No, but this isn’t you either,” the hero argued. Subconsciously, they dug their nails into their palms. As so often when stressed.

They hadn’t done that in months. Digging deep enough to draw blood. Opening old scars.

“I don’t expect you to understand what I did, I…there was no other way, I’m sorry.”

“No, I don’t.” the hero said. “And I don’t need an explanation. What you did was wrong. You betrayed what we stand for. You betrayed…you betrayed us.”

They stared at each other, a few steps away. This was the last time, the hero realised. This was the last time they were seeing each other.

“Leave,” the hero said. “I don’t want to see you ever again.”

The villain waited, as if they were weighing words on their tongue. Then they nodded. And ultimately, they disappeared.

Months later, the hero figured out that the villain had killed those people to protect the hero.

It didn’t change anything, though.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[awriternamedart]

"How do you do it, gambler?"

Aventurine glanced up from the drink in his hand, an identical one clutched tightly in Dr. Ratio's.

"Do what?"

"Maintain a relationship."

Aventurine blinked, before his head shot up again to look at the doctor. Veritas didn't even spare him a glance, eyes glued to the scene in front of them— a grand IPC ball, held for investors and connections to be made. It was always a busy and grand event, one the Intellegensia Guild had to attend to maintain the IPC's investment.

It really wasn't Dr. Ratio's scene, but he had been chosen as their representative anyway.

"I'm not particularly adept at that, my dear doctor." Aventurine chuckled, watching the alcohol swirl in his glass.

"You are far more able then I am. Even upon falsities and fake promises, you managed to chat and converse with people in a sort of ease," Ratio slowly tore his eyes away from the crowd, glancing back to Aventurine before his eyes dropped to the floor in front of him. "..Its admirable."

Aventurine could just barely process what Dr. Ratio was exactly saying— direct praise?? From the good doctor himself???— before Veritas set down his now-empty drink on a bypassing waiters tray.

"Do you ever feel.. second-rate?"

Aventurine paused, taking another languid drink as he contemplated. It wasn't often the dear doctor opened up— he should tread carefully.

"I can't say for sure. Why?" He kept his tone even, trying not to distract from Veritas' thoughts. It was hard enough to get to know him in the first place, to squander his trust like this would be a waste.

The Doctor took a deep breath, practically hiding himself in the shadows of one of the many grand pillars decorating the room.

"I am not adept at conversation."

Aventurine could agree with that. Something about the doctor made it difficult to respond in kind— he was dry, a vague bit brutish, and if Aventurine dared, a little bullheaded. He seemed so sure of himself, founded confidence that was backed up by his many achievements. It was a little intimidating for the average person, he supposed. But as he looked on, that sort of Dr. Ratio seemed to fade ever so slightly, leaving behind someone who was still sure in his knowledge and discoveries— but struggled nonetheless.

"I find people.. grating, sometimes. But connection is one of the few necessities of livelihood, and so I try to converse with my peers as often as possible. It is.. difficult. It often feels as if they have no interest in what I am saying, neither asking questions nor inquiring further, and when I try to do so to show interest in their research, they often retreat back, saying it is not finished or the such. Offering to help only ever seems to drive them further away." Taking out the laurel clip in his hair, Veritas' thumb drifted over the gilded leaves, the polish in the finish reflecting his face back at him. "Despite my best efforts, I rarely ever follow up because I fear I intimidate them. I have seen them recoil at the mere sight of me."

Aventurine could just watch on in surprise— Veritas had never shown an inkling of this before. When he had first gotten to know the doctor, he had assumed Veritas simply didn't work with his peers due to a difference in dedication, or perhaps view. He was among the brightest and best in the Intellegensia Guild, always praised behind his back for being one of their stars.

Perhaps that wasn't the front Veritas had put up at all. Perhaps it was what Veritas was forced to wear in the face of his peers, forced to be seen as the cold unobtainable, the pinnacle of what they should be.

Being on a pedestal like that, it must be lonely.

"Do you not go drinking with your coworkers or something?" Aventurine leaned against the wall, cold of the stone seeping through his suit. Veritas glanced up at him, before looking back down.

"..I was never invited. It is against social convention to come along if you aren't invited, isn't it? I'd rather not strain and worry them more. It could impact them negatively if I were to come along and invite stress to what is supposed to be a time they unwind." He turned the laurel over in his hand. "..perhaps I missed my opportunity."

The light of the pedestal Dr. Ratio sat on seemed to blind all those who looked at it from underneath. They couldn't see his face, only his back— but as Aventurine leaned against the wall, gazing at the doctor in front of him, he got that different perspective.

There was.. resignation, in his eyes.

"Perhaps I am just doomed to be a looming figure above many. And yet, I'll still never be enough." His voice tapered off slightly, head dropping even just that hint bit more. "I am fully aware how much others are compared to me, and I hear them speak of my achievements behind my back. I wish they would stop, if I am being honest. Or at least tell me of my praise directly."

That surprised Aventurine.

"What, do people not give you a compliment or two? For someone so easy on the eyes and as esteemed as you, doctor, I find that hard to believe!" He chuckled— but it quickly faded out as Veritas looked to the side.

"Not often do I get comments directly on my achievements, no. Nor on my appearance, before you came along." He sighed. "You are.. the only person who does so."

The only one who's tried.

-

The Only One Whos Tried - awriternamedart

[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

[northern-passage]

[b0nelessdoodles]

i keep thinking im gonna like actually finish these but that ain't happening so have some gay people

[varpusvaras]

There's someone with Fox.

Rex squints his eyes. There's a small, dark-haired woman standing next to Fox. She is looking up to him and saying something, and from the downwards tilt of Fox's head, even with his helmet on, Rex knows that Fox is saying something back.

She looks awfully familiar, but at the same time Rex knows that he has not met her before. It's a somewhat paradoxical feeling, but she's so familiar that he would know if he had ever seen her before this.

He watches them for a while, but mainly her. She is tiny, in both height and overall stature, and she is wearing comfortable, yet high-end clothes. Rex has spent enough time with Padmé by now to recognise when something has been made with enough care and money. Her hair is braided, rather intricately, into two crossing bands at the back of her head. She looks a lot like all the women in the Alderaanian delegation, with the hair and the clothes, he decides.

Perhaps she is. Rex knows that Fox is rather close with Senator Organa these days, as the Senator has been a good ally to the Guard. It makes the most sense. Perhaps she is a relative of someone in the delegation, and Rex has seen those said relatives before.

The thought feels wrong, for some reason, but it's the best he can come up with for now, especially since they seem very comfortable with each other. Fox doesn't let himself be comfortable like that with many people.

Anakin comes to stand next to him.

"What is it?" He asks Rex.

"Nothing, was just watching them", Rex says, and nods his head towards Fox and the woman. "My brother's there, and she looks familiar, so I was trying to see if I recognised her."

Anakin looks over to Fox and the woman as well, and that is the moment Rex sees her going awfully still. Then she's whipping her head around, and locking her dark eyes with Rex and Anakin.

She looks-

Rex blinks. She looks at Rex, for a split second, and then looks at Anakin, and even from this far, Rex sees how her eyes turn hard and cold. She steps closer to Fox, partially in front of him, like she is attempting to shield him from them, even when she's almost two heads shorter than Fox, and not the one wearing full-body armor.

She takes Fox's hand into hers, and says something. Rex sees how Fox looks up at him and Anakin as well, and instead of coming to greet Rex, he lets her turn him around and walks away.

He looks up at Anakin, who has a deep scowl on his face.

"Sir?" Rex calls. Anakin blinks, too, and the scowl clears slightly.

"She looks familiar", he mumbles. "And she felt like...I don't know."

His comlink beeps, and he turns to speak to it. Rex turns to look back at Fox and the woman.

There's something hanging at her waist. Rex can see a glimpse of it when the long hem of her shirt shifts a bit as she walks.

It looks a lot like-

They go down some steps, and Rex cannot see them anymore. He glances back at Anakin, and at his lightsaber, for once securely on him.

He had seen correct. Rex is sure of it.

He is also very sure that the woman is not a Jedi.

[catzz089]

can we have a snippet?? 😔😔😔😔😔😔

Well well well... the moment we've all been waiting for. Max POV

Max groaned when he swung the fridge door open and saw the pitiful state of his fridge. All he wanted was some nice and simple cereal and he didn’t even have milk.

He knew drinking would be a bad idea last night, yet something about seeing Charles opposite him, being so gorgeous and flirty and kind, made him shoot back wine like shots, eager to calm his nerves.

It had definitely gone to his head last night. He had the vague memory of pressing up against Charles, kissing him so hard they may as well have sucked each other's soul out.

He wished he’d at least been sober enough to remember it properly.

He could also remember Charles telling him to do it whilst sober though, and while it was a thrilling enticing hope inducing offer, that meant they were actually going to have to talk about it because Max was physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut if he came face to face with that sculpted face and he was not strong enough avoid Charles for the whole day.

Hence, talking.

Which he wasn’t good at. At all.

And he figured he needed to treat himself a little just in case it didn’t work out and he had to flee the country, change his name and get plastic surgery.

So despite the alcohol-induced pounding headache and bleary eyes he grabbed Charles’ hoodie and left the apartment.

---

He dropped the bag on instinct when the first hand grabbed at his arm.

Panic flared through him, instantly calmed by waves of adrenaline kicking his mind into complete tunnel-vision focus. But before he could even lift an arm up to defend himself someone leapt onto his back, knocking him harshly down to his knees.

He thrashed up like a caged animal, desperate to throw the man off, but a sharp sting hit his neck before he was able to get rid of him.

He flew upright, he was surrounded all around. There were so many people. He couldn’t fight them all.

Why did this shit always have to happen to him?

He picked up the bag and swung it at someone's face, the milk split open almost comically, drenching the broad, angry man in it. It would’ve been funny if Max wasn’t immediately hit by another fist from behind.

It sent him careening straight to the ground, where his hands were too slow to catch his fall. He could feel warm liquid pour out of a new gash on his forehead and a pain so blinding that he thought he may actually die coursed through his veins. His vision was clouded with black dots and duplicates when he pressed two shaky arms underneath himself in some vain attempt to get up and take a chance at running, but it all felt so hazy and it just hurt so badly he barely even fought it when the foot pressed against his back, slamming him straight back down onto the cold concrete.

He wanted to fight off the harsh gripping hands, but really the most he could do were some meagre shuffles as new bruises got pressed deep into his skin and he could feel himself getting pulled up to his knees.

His entire head throbbed like it never had before, he clenched his eyes shut to try and keep out the sunlight until a harsh slap hit his face, knocking his eyes back open and wide.

“Has it not hit yet?” One of them murmured.

“It was meant to, you packed the strong stuff right?”

“Of course I did.”

“Injected it properly?”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

Max really wished they would shut up. He wasn’t sure his head could take it.

It must’ve been the pain. The thing that was slowing everything down. He wasn’t really processing much. The words were all sort of mixing together, jumbling up in his mind like-

His head hit the ground before he could finish his train of thought.

[stygiansauce]

🦃 morning / afternoon / evening!

Scarian is the classic <3 ive only written them once for a friend and it took me… months… got stuck on one scene and avoided it for ages (and then got into taurtis x grian but that’s another story)

Cub and Scar being brotherly and inseparable is soo <3333 everything to me. Have you read “closer to another shore”? Oh my god. Changed my life. And scar and Cub within that book… absolute peak. Devoured it twice over and once more on top of that. Very much recommend if you want to tear your own heart out and crush grian like a bug!

ooo! I'll have to give that one a lookie!

I have this whole scale AU for Scarian that I'll write one day. it's bound to be my hardst work yet (yeah including the historial research and mapping nightmare that is Dealing Despair), because Splinter is one of those fics you have to plan every single scene out to make it all come together in the end.

My goal with Splinter) whenever I get around to writing it, it is to have like a fraction of coolness Birrdie's as above, so below has?? It's still one of my favorite fics of all time and I strive to write an AU like that one day. Splinter isnt the same thing? it's like a past life kind of thing, but the part im trying to emulate from aasb is the "oh something is happening here...I am scared of it" vibe.

Eitherway, if you want a good Grian fic (with some Scarian) THATS the fic. This is the fic I give to all my friends new to the fandom/to fanfiction. I shove aasb and Dirges in the Dark at them because those are the two fanfics I want on my shelf YESTERDAY. Like physical copies. (I am working on that actually....)

OKAY I'VE YAPPED ENOUGH! Time to clock in for the writing shift today <3

[helloarchivist]

Shanks smells good, you've always thought so. So, so good, and its not even the salt sea air or the musk of smoke or the clinging sweetness of sake on his breath, it's just. Him.

And when you come to him, a raw mass of frayed nerves and exhausted bones, he will wrap you up in his embrace and let you sink into the comfort you find there, let you press your face into his throat or his chest and breathe and breathe and breathe, let you pull him down into yourself until your lungs ache and your heart finally relaxes.

He'll let you kiss that lingering sweetness off his tongue once you settle, again and again and again. Indefinitely, forever he will let you sink into the unfathomable depths of his love for you, into the comforting scent you've come to think of as home.

[silvery-bluish]

WIP basically Wednesday

I’m not staying up late enough for it to ACTUALLY be Wednesday for me but thank you for the tag @glitchy-npc ! I’m gonna go ahead and tag @thenightdayblogger and @autistic-sidestep and uuh @sunsetno4 ?

Here’s some telepathy connections and disconnects musings from a longer piece that might… not get posted publicly lol

“I wish—“ Ricardo says, cuts himself off, and it’s Daniel’s thought not yours that completes the sentence, even though Daniel’s mostly nodded off against your side. Wish that he could do that. Wish that he wasn’t stuck on the outside of your brain. “I’d crawl inside your head and live there too if I could,” you murmur, raising a hand to blindly trace your fingers from his temple down around his eye, the edge of cheekbone. “Tangled up so nobody could tell which was which. But I can’t, and you’re safe from me or any other telepath doing something stupid to your head, so that’s alright too.” He’s tangled your limbs together, instead, legs entwined (for now) and his arms wrapped around the both of you, best he can. His chest is warm against your cheek, and you shut your eyes, listening to his heartbeat compete with the gentle thrum of his generator. His fingers tapping a pattern on Daniel's shoulder. Daniel’s fallen asleep, and he’s threatening to take you down with him when Ricardo finally responds. “I’d take knowing you like that over being safe any day, Ars.” You can’t say much to that — not like his epilepsy is going away any time soon, not like you’re suddenly going to be able to punch through the static of his mind. At least not safely. So making more promises of being willing to climb into his head like a hermit crab finding a new shell feel pointless and maybe a little bit weird. You kind of want to anyway.