#like teeny tiny snippet

[sintoxic]

Shotgunning — W.I.P

The old mattress creaked in protest when Frank grabbed Danny’s wrist and lowered them onto it. The teen bent awkwardly to pick up the glass bong and cheap lighter settled on the floor at the foot of his bed. He wasted no time flicking the lighter to life, bringing the mouthpiece to his scarred lips, and inhaling for a few solid seconds.

Danny counted them in his head.

One, two, three, four.

Frank sharply inhaled after setting the fragile object aside; his gaze sought out his uninvited guest. Before Danny could speak or simply ask what Frank was planning, his mask was carelessly pushed up, and the bandaged hands he’d become well acquainted with over the last few months cradled either side of his unshaven, prickly face. His own hands faltered, leather-clad fingers flexing uselessly in the air as Frank leaned in and connected their lips, nudging the tip of his pierced tongue between Danny’s to pry them open.

Thick, hot smoke was blown into his mouth.

Danny, someone who hadn’t smoked anything other than cigarettes in literal ages, immediately tried to swallow it down only to drive himself into a coughing fit.

“Fucking–” Danny rasped as he fought for his life.

Frank reared back in laughter, smoke floating in small puffs from the corners of his mouth. Danny could already feel his head start to spin as he listened to the boy cackle on and on.

“Don’t tell me big, bad Danny has never smoked weed.”

[catalinaflores]

alright im tired and my body hurts this is all i got yall

[justarandomllamacorn]

"Oh"

"Yeah"

"Guess I'm fine then"

"Yeahh no you're not", said the doctor. "This alien is the manifestation of your inner struggle with burberry milkshake that makes you unable to draw equilateral triangles in red markers."

"It is?", you ask, bewildered. "Wait so all I have to do is drink a milkshake and the alien will leave?"

"Of course not! It would totally offset your balance", replies the doctor. "I'll prescribe you 2 ibuprofen per day for a month, 10 kiwi fruits for breakfast and a squeeze of lemon." He squeezed it in your eyes and reached under his desk. "Here, take this rabbit."

You gingerly took it in your arms when it opened it's mouth and

"What brings you in today?" the doctor asks. "Well, I've been hallucinating this damn alien has been stalking me," you reply. "That alien?" the doctor asks, pointing to the alien standing next to you.

[straw-eri-chan]

Another snippet of my last post because people liked it :]

"Wowza." Kon giggled, actually giggled, which was wack because first he was cooing and now he was giggling. There had to be like, kryptonite in this baby or something. "Hi kiddo."

Kon looked around the lab to find, well, not much. It was clean, mostly, with the occasional food or energy drink trash stuffed into a corner and a few papers scattered around. In fact, if it weren't for the baby in Kon's arms, he would be convinced there was nothing out of the ordinary in the lab. Well, and the the test tube that clearly said 'KON-EL' in big bold letters above it.

"You're so small." Kon whispered. He wasn't an expert on kids or babies or anything, but were they supposed to be this small? Were they supposed to be the cutest thing Kon had ever laid eyes on? He didn't think anything could be cuter than Krypto, but here he was. "How old are you, anyway?"

No response from tube-baby, yet again. Which made sense, seeing as he was, well, a baby. But tube-baby did open his eyes to look at Kon and oh. Oh, oh, oh, he was doomed.

Tube-baby had the bluest eyes in the whole universe, identical to his and Clark's. They were big and reminded Kon of an own, curious and maybe a hint judgmental. Adorable.

"You're a cutie pie, you know that?" Kon cooed, tapping tube-baby on his teeny tiny nose, then pinching it just barely because he couldn't help it. It caused the baby to sneeze, and he was getting close to a heart attack probably.

He shrugged his jacket off and managed to create a kind of swaddle with it to keep tube-baby warm in the freezing cold Gotham air. They weren't even outside and Kon could feel it, even with his high tolerance to temperature.

"When Tim gets back, he is going to love you."

[monbons]

Stitches and Sentences

I've had a very productive week as far as fandom is concerned. I sewed. I wrote a bit. I read some fic. Goodness it's great to be on summer break!

STITCHES I'm not sure if you've noticed, but it's pride month! In honor of this special time of year, I am working on the most rainbow-tastic version of Simon and Baz possible. I finished the dolls this past week and am starting attire soon. Hopefully I will be ready to reveal the finished set by next Sunday. In the meantime, here's a sneak peek!

Is that a teeny tiny rainbow friendship bracelet? Yes. For scale, see below.

SENTENCES I am happy to report that after a significant dry spell in the writing department, I have finally produced words. I wrapped up the Boy Next Door Verse shorts early last week and then sat down to re-outline my Cheer AU after having abandoned it for months.

Part of my struggle was that this fic is, by far, the hardest story I have ever tried to tell. Not logistically--it's a high school AU with no magic or dramatic plot reveals or anything like that. Instead, it's difficult because Simon has been through some shit that is very much like my own real life shit and facing your childhood traumas is hard.

In any case, have a snippet-- Baz POV. For context, Baz and Simon were childhood best friends who've become estranged.

I’m still lost in the memory when the wind shifts and Simon stills beside me.  “I’m not that kid anymore, Baz,” he says quietly, staring at his feet. “I’m not either.” “No, I mean–” Simon sighs. “I can’t do this.” “Do what?”  “Any of this.”  “What is this?” “I don’t know. You. Me. All of it.” Simon tugs at his curls. “I can’t, okay?” I watch Simon toe at the ground in front of him. He still won’t look at me, and I try not to let it hurt. He used to get like this sometimes when we were small. Sad and distant. Even back then there were things we didn’t talk about. Things he couldn’t talk about. He didn’t have the words. Maybe he still doesn’t.

Hellos and high-fives and happy pride 🌈.

@alexalexinii, @argumentativeantitheticalg, @aristocratic-otter, @arthurkko, @artsyunderstudy, @bachusekart, @best--dress, @blackberrysummerblog, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @bookish-bogwitch, @confused-bi-queer, @cutestkilla, @drowninginships, @emeryhall, @facewithoutheart, @harrie-leithillustration, @hushed-chorus, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ic3que3n, @ileadacharmedlife, @katatsumuli, @larkral, @letraspal, @mooncello, @nausikaaa, @noblecorgi, @orange-peony, @prettygoododds, @raenestee, @rbkzz, @roomwithanopenfire, @run-for-chamo-miles, @rimeswithpurple, @shrekgogurt, @skeedelvee, @stitchyqueer, @supercutedinosaurs, @talentpiper11, @the-beard-of-edward-teach, @twinkle-twinkle-up-above, @theimpossibledemon, @thewholelemon, @whatevertheweather, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold, @jyae23, @j-trow-95

[daenerysmacfarlane]

Rituals - Rupert Campbell-Black

Rupert Campbell-Black x fem Reader 18+

Authors Note: Another smutty RCB fic from meeee. Also this is incredibly long and FILTHY, much like our dearest Rupert. The man has a death grip on me I swear. Smut warning, you are responsible for the media you consume. Spoilers for Jilly Cooper's Riders and a teeny tiny Rivals spoiler (I think?). I don't own any character from Riders, all belonging to Dame Jilly. Snippets from The Hobbit and Lord of The Rings belong to J.R.R Tolkien. Ayrton Senna was a brilliant F1 champion in real life who was taken from us far too soon.

If you ask an athlete if they have a ritual before they compete, most often they’ll say they do. Those that say they don’t most likely do, but don’t know it. Athletes are also naturally superstitious. Those that say they aren’t superstitious are usually fucking liars. 

You could say the most superstitious of all are show-jumpers and all the greats had a ritual they completed before they rode into the ring. Most of them, like Billy Lloyd-Foxe, turn to booze before their number is called. Fenella Maxwell, who is now Fenella Ferranti, studied the other riders before her, the faults they made and the strides they took to make the most impossible jumps. Jake Lovell puked everything in his stomach until he dry-heaved. And my hero, multi-Olympic medalist Rupert Campbell-Black, would mount the nearest, most attractive girl and then crash all the jumps in the practice ring so that his horse will jump extra high to clear the obstacle by feet. 

I, however, read to my beloved horse. 

Senna picks up the sound of my feet before I step around the corner and begins to whinny and stamp his hooves. 

“Alright, I’m almost there.” I call. 

The very last stall at the end of the corridor is where my thoroughbred Arabian waits for me for our latest adventure. Named after my favourite Formula One driver, Senna is very much the horse equivalent of his namesake, brilliant and determined, having won absolutely everything this season. I grab an empty bucket and undo the latch of the stall. Senna backs up and trots on the spot, he knows what’s about to happen. His coat shines and his mane and tail are impeccably braided. I can tell he’s raring to go and dominate the ring and show his competition who the true champion is but he has an hour and a half to wait. I turn the bucket upside down and plonk myself on it. Senna rests his head happily against my shoulder and I open the book. 

“The Hobbit or There and Back Again by J.R.R Tolkien. Chapter 1, An Unexpected Party. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…” I trail off, giving Senna a scratch on the neck. 

We both soon get enthralled in Middle Earth and Tolkien. Senna nudges me when we get up to the part where Bilbo meets Gandalf as if to remind me to change my voice for the different characters. I drop my voice for Gandalf,

“‘What do you mean?’ He said. ‘Do you wish me a good morning or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it’s a morning to be good on?’”

Senna lifts his head and gives a sniff. I lift my head to see what’s caught his attention and my jaw drops. 

No. Fucking. Way. 

“Do keep going please, Angel.”

There stood Rupert Campbell-Black with a shit-eating grin on his face. He runs his hand along the length of Senna’s nose. He’s exquisite, curly dark locks, golden tan and eyes as blue as the ocean. 

“Wanted to see our soon to be champion and they told me you’d be here reading to this lovely chap. Been breaking my records I hear, naughty girl?”

I couldn’t speak. Fuck. 

“Cat got your tongue, darling?” He purrs. 

My stomach does flips when he calls me darling and starts to ache in a way I’ve rarely felt before at naughty girl. I pull myself together to answer him, after all he’s most likely here as Minister for Sport. 

“Sorry Sir, this is Senna. Named after Ayrton Senna. He’s the one who’s been breaking your records, he’s a dream.” I smile and rest my hand against my dear companion. 

Senna licks Rupert’s hand and nickers, a dazzling smile breaks out on Rupert’s face.  I can see in his eyes how much he misses show-jumping. 

“How are you finding Crittledon, Minister?” I ask. 

He snorts, “Boring, quite looking forward to you though. Tell me, how does this help you and Senna win?” 

“I’m not divulging my winning secrets to you, sir.” I smile. 

“I quite like you calling me Sir.”

Well… shit. I shift on the bucket. I can feel my face getting hotter, suddenly feeling like I was on fire. A burning need between my thighs makes itself known. Rupert reads me like a book and undoes the latch of the stall. I get up and stumble back as he enters, The Hobbit falling into the hay. Rupert backs me into the wall with his arms trapping me on each side. His pupils are blown, training on me like a predator with its prey. 

“You know what I always found when I competed? That a good fuck goes a long way to surely getting a rosette.” He presses body into mine and I can feel an impressively large, hard bulge pressing into my stomach. 

I gasp. “We can’t, not in front of-“ 

He cuts me off with a deep chuckle. A look of deja vu comes across his face. 

“Oh yes we fucking can.” Rupert drawls and kisses me like there’s no tomorrow. 

I try my best to keep up with the kiss but I get distracted by his hands as they slowly unbutton my blouse. 

However before he can get further than the top two buttons, my chef d’equipe and his former teammate, Ivor Braine calls out for him. He groans as I rush to straighten myself up. Ivor pops his head into Senna’s box and gives him a loving scratch. 

“Hello sweet boy, ah Rupert there you are! I see you’ve met our champion. I dare say she could’ve given you a run for a money.”

“I think she would’ve ended up in my bed instead. Still time for that.” Rupert chuckles. 

Ivor narrows his eyes. “Please leave her alone until after she jumps?”

I must look like a tomato with how much I’m blushing and Rupert exists the stall with his hands up in mock surrender. He turns around and winks at me before following Ivor out to the seating area. I take a deep breath and look at my watch. Half an hour before I’m called. Senna looks at me and snorts, totally judging me. 

“Oh shush. Now where were we?” I sigh. 

I pick up The Hobbit again and make myself comfy on the bucket. 

“‘All of them at once,’ said Bilbo. ‘And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There’s no hurry, we have all the day before us.’”

Senna jumps clear that day and breaks another one of Rupert’s records. I can still see Rupert’s grin from the stands as I take Senna for a victory lap around the ring. I didn’t see him afterwards though and my heart sank a little. 

“He got called away, hooligans are causing mayhem at the Man United game.” Ivor says, “But I have incredible news, you’ve been chosen to represent us at the World Championship in France!”

As I look back on that day fondly while brushing Senna down after a ride, the sound of Silverstone brings me out of my reverie. Ayrton Senna has had gear box failure and is out of the Grand Prix. The cameras pan to the audience for a reaction and they stop on a very familiar and dashingly handsome face. Fucking Rupert Campbell-Black, standing there in his capacity as Minister for Sport. He has a grimace on his face.

My groom, Elsie who’s a literal godsend, sighs. “Even with a face like a cat’s arse he’s ravishing. Makes you take ‘Fuck the Tories’ quite literally.” 

I nod in agreement. The tv is in the stall across from Senna in my home stables. Elsie and I both like to watch F1 and keep up to date with the latest equestrian news. Elsie and Senna also like to watch Dynasty and pretend I have no idea about it. She hands me a parcel. 

“This came for you, along with two dozen roses. Who have you been shagging? I want roses!” 

I roll my eyes, “Have a dozen, Else. Lord knows you more than deserve it.”

“Don’t you forget it.” She smirks. 

I open up the parcel to find the most exquisite red coat with little union jacks on the lapels. A note falls out of the box. 

‘Looking forward to see you break that fucker Lovell’s record, also looking forward to seeing how ravishing and fuckable you look in that coat. All my love, darling one. RCB’

Elsie looks at me with her mouth agape. “Get… the fuck… out. You didn’t?!”

“I didn’t, no. We got interrupted.” I begin blushing like crazy and pluck the card out of her hand. Senna sniffs the card and nickers as he picks up Rupert’s sent. 

Not long later, the World Championship at Les Riveux came rushing around the corner. Elsie and I had made our way up to France early with Senna and Skywalker, my other horse. Today is the big day. The Final four. My new coat fits me like a glove and my hair is slicked back in a low bun. Elsie finishes the last touches on Senna’s tail braid. Having made our way through The Hobbit, I pick up The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Senna snorts and nudges me as I open the book. 

I walk around as I read to him; “Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone. Nine for the Mortal men doomed to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne in the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them, one Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. In the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.”

Senna whinnies and stamps his hooves in excitement. Skywalker picks up his friend’s energy and begins to do the same. I look up from the book to see what the fuss is. Coming towards me and Elsie is Rupert and Ayrton Senna. 

“Get fucked…” Elsie breathes. 

Rupert puts his hand out and my dear horse puts his head in it, sighing in contentment. 

“Red is most definitely your colour, Angel. Ayrton, meet England’s next world champion show-jumper and her horse. Senna has more power than your Lotus I fear.” Rupert drawls and gives Senna a treat from his pocket. 

Ayrton rolls his eyes at Rupert and smiles at me. “Your horse is lovely, I am very honoured to meet you both.”

Elsie elbows me in the ribs and I regain my composure, beaming at my most favourite driver. Well, apart from Niki Lauda. “Please the honour is all mine, the horse next to him is mine as well. His name is Skywalker. This is my groom and best friend, Elsie. I couldn’t do any of this without her. How are you feeling about Germany?”

“Hopeful. The team have been working constantly to repair the gearbox in time and so far so good. I’m there in two days. You should come to a race soon.” 

“Oh yes most definitely!! I want to go to Monaco!” Elsie blurts. 

I shake my head. “She’s not wrong, Monaco or Silverstone are at the top of my list.”

Ayrton gives us a massive smile. “I look forward to seeing you both there. We better let you get prepared, shall we Rupert?” 

Rupert pouts but agrees with the Brazilian driver. Rupert stops in front of me. 

“Best of luck, Duckie. Can’t wait to fuck you senseless in that coat afterwards.” He gives me a long kiss, taking my breath away. 

He saunters off with Ayrton to the stands. Elsie looks at me with her eyebrows raised, Senna snorts and judges me like he did at Crittledon. Ivor comes around the corner and sighs at the sight of me. 

“Bugger, you saw Rupert didn’t you? Well never mind about that now you’re up in 10 minutes. Several riders have disqualified themselves so you got moved up. Come along.” 

I can see how they got disqualified. The jumps are massive and complex and the ground is still slippery and muddy after the rain in the morning. This was where Senna excelled, however, just like Ayrton. Senna looks around and memorises the jumps. The announcer, former Team Great Britain show-jumper and now BBC Sports Presenter Billy Lloyd-Foxe, calls my name and my horse and I trot in. I take my helmet off and bow to the officials. Running my hand down Senna’s neck, I silently begin to pray even though I’m the least religious person on the planet. 

“Come on. Show them how it’s done.” I whisper taking the stirrups in hand. 

It’s all in a blur but he makes the course look like child’s play. His corners are tight and the jumps are cleared by feet, fully relaxed throughout the whole thing. A massive cheer goes up as he clears the final jump which was actually a triple. It becomes clear as I look up that we broke another record. I pump my fist and cheer, reaching to pat Senna on the neck. Rupert, Ayrton and Elsie are on their feet, Elsie jumps into Ayrton’s arms in joy. The presentation begins shortly after with Elsie walking beside me and Senna. On the podium, sashes and prizes are handed to me one after the other. Rupert, filling in for Prince Phillip it turns out, shakes my hand and presents me with a gold medal. He kisses my cheek as he places the medal around my neck. 

“Wear that too.” He whispers. 

The celebrations go on for hours into the night back at the hotel. Ayrton joins Elsie and I and we all become fast friends. The medal and the red coat have stayed on but I exchange my jodpurs, blouse and boots for a sleek black dress and heels. I feel Rupert behind me and his hand expertly traces my spine to my lower back while the other holds a flute of champagne. 

“Christ what a ride! I think Ivor was right, you would’ve bested me.” He grins. 

My eyes widen at the compliment. “You got a team gold with a damaged shoulder. But I will say I think we might be on par.”

He hums and his eyes take in my dress. They stop at my very revealing cleavage, emphasised by the gold medal. 

“I wonder what other skills we’re on par with.” His hand drops to my behind. 

“Get a fucking room!” Elsie shouts, Ayrton laughing beside her. 

“Shall we?” I smirk. 

Rupert takes my hand and leads me back to his suite. He wastes no time in pushing me against the door and kissing me. I feel his cock press against my stomach through his pants and I moan, finally able to fully savour the moment. His hand slides my dress up, pushing my panties to the side and he finds the opening at the apex of my thighs. His talented fingers ease in and out, in and out. My hips buck as he finds that sweet bundle of nerves and plays with it. Rupert drops to his knees and takes my underwear off with his teeth, never breaking eye contact. I whimper. His mouth joins his fingers, my fingers burying themselves in his hair, legs shaking. I begin to lose control when his tongue starts moving against that nerve, I cry out as he pushes me over into that blissful release. We both look at each other. His eyes totally dark except for a faint blue ring around the pupil. 

“Fuck me please.” I beg. 

“As you wish, Angel.” 

Rupert picks me up and takes me to his bed. The jacket comes off briefly but only to get rid of the dress. 

“I meant it when I said I wanted to fuck you in this jacket and I most definitely will.” 

I moan at his words as I claw at his belt buckle. He unbuttons his shirt and reveals the most incredible chest I’ve ever seen. I run my hands down it, memorising every inch of him for my dreams. My fingers find the loops of his trousers and I pull him to me, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. He pushes his tongue in as I moan and quickly sets a punishing pace. I can taste myself on his tongue. His trousers come down along with his boxer briefs and my eyes widen at the sight of his length. 

“Fucking hell that won’t fit!” I slap my hand over my mouth, my brain filter completely failing me in that moment. 

Rupert laughs. “I don’t know Angel, I thought you like a challenge. I know I do.” 

“Well when you put it that way.” I smirk. 

He grabs a condom from the bedside table and puts it on. “Absolutely no unwanted pregnancies, you need to represent us at the Olympics. I’m speaking to the Olympic committee tomorrow. You ride like that, I want a fucking medal.” 

I’m shocked, grabbing his face and kissing him again. He pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. Lining himself up, I slowly sink down on him. Stretched and full to the brim, we both moan at the feeling. Already he’s the best fuck I’ve ever had and he hasn’t even started moving. I start to raise myself up and down with his hips meeting mine. The gold medal bounces as I ride him and the sound of skin on skin reverberates around the room. Rupert’s hands alternate between my breasts and my behind. The pace gets faster and faster in a savage fuck. It doesn’t take me long to find that lovely release several times over. He changes position, my legs over his shoulders as he drives me into the bed with each thrust of his hips. Feeling every inch of him, my hands twist the bedsheets. He grabs my face and kisses me. He places my legs around his hips and resting his forehead against mine, thrusts harder. I look into his eyes and see he’s coming undone. I start to buck my hips as I once again feel him bring my pleasure to a boiling point. The release hits me first, Rupert following closely behind as his hips stutter and he groans. He gives me a long slow kiss and then eases out of me. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.” I sigh, getting my breath back. 

Rupert pulls me into his chest. “I think you mean today.” 

I look at the clock. 3:30 in the morning. I snuggle into his chest. His soft snores hit my ears and I feel my eyes closing. I wake up a bit later with Rupert wrapped around me and the need to use the bathroom. I look at him, completely out cold with a wisp of black hair curling on his forehead and still snoring. I can’t help but think how angelic he looks. I untangle myself from him and enter the bathroom, my body creaks with a sweet ache from last night. My hair was somehow still in the bun but messy. I pull my hair tie out and it falls down my shoulders. I silently walk out of the bathroom and start to pick up my clothes from the floor. 

“Just where do you think you’re going, Angel?” 

I let out a shriek and turn around. There Rupert lies with his head propped up, eyes sleepy yet already full of mischief. I hold my clothes close to my naked body. 

“Thought you might-“

“Not want you here when I woke up?” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “I was looking forward to a bite of your crumpet for breakfast. Now come back to bed. Seriously darling, you would have been back in your room already if I was done with you.”

“But what about the Olympic committee?” I shift my gaze to the floor. 

“You are the best rider Great Britain has ever seen, you’re a fucking shoe-in. They can bugger off so I can bugger you until Olympia.”

I smile. “This isn’t a one time thing?”

He returns the smile, an honest expression on his most beautiful face. “Consider me besotted, Angel. So, are you coming back to bed?”

I drop my clothes back to the floor and saunter back to the bed. Rupert grins, throwing the sheets off his magnificent body. His lips quickly find my neck. I hold him against me and his arms quickly embrace me too. 

Perhaps this means my ritual will include Rupert now. 

[bigalockwood]

Simon was starting to believe that maybe Wille had fallen asleep after all, when he quietly, shyly, asked, “Can you hold me?”

Chapter 6 out tomorrow!!!

should've said no (and you might still have me) - chapter 5

They were standing close to each other, separated by their bikes. With sudden clarity, Simon could see exactly what would happen next; Wille would lean over, and he’d kiss Simon. Over the course of the last few weeks, he’d learnt to read Wille, like he’d been studying for an exam, and Simon was sure he would ace it if put to the test. There was no doubt about Wille’s intentions.

Wille and Simon go on their first date. Simon keeps unearthing truths that surprise him.

Coming to you from a dead-tired and insanely busy author this week, chapter 5 is here! Don't know how, but it's here.

If you want to read from the start, go here.

[gardenladysworld]

pleeeeeease. i can't wait for the next chap gurl!!! show us a teeny tiny bit!!

Hi! Yeah, of course! Here is a snippet from the Starbound Hearts!

The title will be 'To breath'

I will post the full chapter on this week.

@bkell2929

But then your eyes landed on one in particular. A portrait.

Drawn in pencil. Detailed. Clean lines and shading so careful it looked like it might lift off the paper.

You stepped closer.

And your heart nearly stopped.

His face.

Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Eyes you remembered more vividly than your own reflection. Braids falling just over the shoulder. The necklace. The scar near his collarbone.

Neteyam.

It was him.

You drew him.

But you didn’t remember doing it.

You lifted a shaking hand toward the paper. “No,” you breathed. “No, no, no—this is him.”

The thought was so loud it nearly drowned everything else.

You didn’t imagine him.

You couldn’t have.

He was real. You saw him. You held him. You kissed him. You bled for him. You dreamed of him before sleep and whispered to him in the dark. He couldn’t be a figment of your imagination. He couldn’t.

You reached for the thumbtack holding the drawing in place—but then—

Click.

The door creaked open behind you.

“Sweetie,” your mother’s voice drifted in, soft and careful, like you were something fragile. “Can we talk?”

You froze.

Your body half-turned toward her. Your eyes flicked to hers—warm, gentle, loving.

Then back to the drawing.

And your heart cracked.

Because the portrait no longer looked like Neteyam.

The face had softened. The details blurred. The scar was gone. The necklace was wrong. The braids shorter.

It was just… a generic Na’vi.

Someone you couldn’t name.

A stranger.

Your lips parted. No sound came out. Your chest squeezed tight.

The heat behind your eyes returned like a rising tide.

Because the drawing was gone.

Because he was gone.

And now all that stared back at you was someone you didn’t know. A drawing without meaning. A face without memory.

Your mother stepped softly across the carpet, the floor barely creaking under her familiar tread. She came to stand behind you, close but not crowding, like she somehow sensed how fragile you were. Her hand rested gently on your upper arm—warm and grounding, a weight that should have brought comfort.

It only made you feel more lost.

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze following yours to the corkboard, to the drawing.

“Oh,” she breathed, smiling faintly. “I always loved how good you are at these. Your drawings. They’re beautiful.” Her voice was so proud, so full of gentle nostalgia it made your knees wobble. “They look so real.”

They were real, you wanted to say. He was real.

[stygiansauce]

heya sauce!!!! someone just liked my art for the unnamed super hero au Jimmy and I was wondering if you had any more crumbs/head cannons cooking up in the kitchen, if not that’s oki but if you do I will politely eat it and give compliments to the chef <3

and if not still compliments to the chef

Hello my love! It's so funny I got two asks at the same time for superhero au. I posted what little I have for them earlier today, you can take a scroll down and find that if you'd like.

For you though, I can drop a teeny tiny itty bitty snippet of a half written oneshot I'll post one day (sorry no MoE, I want to keep as much of chapter five a secret as I can because I've started over (mostly) with it and I gotta re-create the magic)

Enjoy the snippet! We're expecting a pretty big tornado in about 30 min here so everyone cross your fingers for me!

[captainrufflebanger]

Hey *scratches neck like the drug addict I am*

I was wondering if *unholy sounds*

You got anymore of them *panicks*

Alcina in a suit pics *cries*

I FORGOT TO ANSWER THIS ASK FROM WEEKS AGO

Hi sorry I don't have much that's presentable to the public but take this messy sketch dump I did after writing a teeny tiny fic snippet last year.

Lady Dietreschcu

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE (a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover) - SNEAK PEEK II

READ NOW HERE.

pairing: din djarin x f!reader. a/n: just a teeny tiny snippet because i can't just keep this to myself until i post it 🥲 i'm at 15k words, please keep me in your thoughts, i'm fighting wars over here. i'd like to have this posted next week but we'll see how fast i can type! thank y'all for the welcome (and the patience) this oneshot has gotten so far <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. suggestive talk heh. sensory deprivation. tags (if someone else wants to be tagged, please let me know): @baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick, begging mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

[frotees-corner]

Between the Lines (fic upload!)

Trouble is up! (as well as the teeny tiny prologue/ tl-dr, but I've posted that here some while ago already.)

In which Rook meets or favourite wet-cat assassin for te first time, in literal wet-cat mode.

This is the first entry in my self-indulgent series of shorts-that-want-to-be-a-fic about my canon Rook Ceres and Lucanis, because I still have things to say about those two idiots.

Yes, that is the same Rook like in my Blighted Treviso AU, she's just making the 'correct' city choice this time (and we're definitely delving into the drama of what that means for a Shadow Dragon Rook that the game denied us).

If you want to know when I put new entries up, you'll want to subscribe to the series ;)

Snippet:

Rook realized that Lucanis was trouble the first time she laid eyes on him.

There was just something undeniably attractive about a man casually dispatching several Venatori in a matter of seconds without even drawing a knife. It didn’t help that he was definitely easy on the eyes, even unkept and dressed in rags as he was. Some people simply had good bones.

Though “oh no, he’s hot” probably shouldn’t be her predominant thought when addressing the man eyeing them wearily once the bodies of his captors bled into the sand.

[slimybeth69]

wip wednesday

thaaaaank you for the tag @evolnoomym

here is a teeny tiny lil bby snippet from hungry man, obviously. it’s all i have to offer

Chapter 4- All Eyes On Me

Joel watches you take a hesitant step forward, he can feel the tension surrounding you, even out here in the open evening air. It’s like everything moves in slow motion until your foot comes down on the sidewalk. “S’my brave lil lady,” he growls, feeling pride growing in his chest. He takes his place beside you, and you mold yourself against him, your steps falling into sync with his.

Unlike last night, there are people out enjoying the clear spring evening. Some are headed home, some to the mess hall, some to night patrol. Joel counts how many there are, seven on his left and four on his right, there are two more behind him.

Even though the air is chilled and nowhere near warm enough for it– Joel’s brow begins to sweat, his chest feels tight– nothing like it used to, but he knows this feeling.

How’re you gonna keep this perfect lil puppy safe? Look’it her.

———

tagging people who i don’t talk to as much as id like- @corazondebeskar @thereaperisabitch @yourcoolauntie @oliveksmoked @godzillabutpink @baronessvonglitter

IF I DIDNT TAG YOU PLS DONT TAKE IT PERSONAL I LOVE ALL OF YOU AND DONT TALK TO ANY OF YOU ENOUGH 🤍

[georgiasbrainstuff]

i am sorta writing a landoscar fic where lando gets obsessed with watching d&d campaigns on youtube (totally not like me) and oscar finds out and offers to plan a d&d night for them and their friends (lestappen and galex maybe idk).. here is a teeny tiny snippet:

Oscar had organised everything. He’d done some research online and found out about character classes and hit points and whatever else. Lando had offered to help, but Oscar batted him away.  “You can’t help the dungeon master, Lando, then you’d know all my plans. Kinda defeats the point, doesn’t it?”  Oscar calling himself the dungeon master? Way hotter than Lando expected. He'd dragged Oscar away from his laptop and no further progress was made on campaign planning that day.

i'm only doing classes for their different characters (not races)... which i'm figuring out now... but oscar would be deciding so? max is obviously a barbarian. charles is a bard (lol). what would lando be?? galex?? i'm struggling. help? <3

[thecaryatid]

teeny tiny ceridwen/lucanis snippet i wrote while coping with airport hell

What Lucanis excels at, Ceridwen's learning, is discovering what she likes and then doing it at every opportunity.

For example, when she mentioned her excitement for peach season and the kitchen mysteriously filled with peaches. Peaches on her breakfast, peach cobbler after dinner, sliced peaches in between. Not that she minded, but it felt a little mystifying, being offered the little delights she'd used to have once in a very long while in a never-ending torrent. She hasn't gotten tired of peaches, to be fair. And the season will be over soon; she might as well indulge while she has them.

Or her love of fine fabrics. She's hauled enough of them from port to port, running envious fingers over the finest silks and cashmere before sealing the crates back up and putting it out of her mind. Lucanis catches her doing the same to his lovely shirts a time or two and all of a sudden it's oh, Ceridwen, let me introduce you to my tailor, let me drape my jacket over your shoulders, wouldn't you like to wear my dressing gown? And, damn him, she would. She does like all of that, from her refreshed wardrobe worth pounds upon pounds of solid gold to Lucanis gently tucking his own clothes around her shoulders. They always smell like him, a bit like coffee, a bit like cinnamon, a bit like his usual blade oil.

Or right now, now that Lucanis has realized how she loves to be pinned down just hard enough to have something to strain against, and how she arches into him when he nibbles at her ears. And, now that they needn't worry so much about getting walked in on by Caterina or any unannounced visitors to house Dellamorte, how much she enjoys being taken on furniture other than the bed.

Lucanis's technique could use refinement, but the enthusiasm—maker, he's unequaled. He's perfect.

That's the last coherent thought she'll manage for a while, since Lucanis has her wrists gently, firmly pressed to the small of her back with one hand, and her shoulders held down against the dining room table with the other, and his mouth on one of her ears, dragging his tongue over the studs adorning her cartilage and then scraping teeth over the delicate points.

[stellamarielu]

it’s wip wednesday!!! and i have a lot going on in my word docs these days. i feel like i’ve been writing a fuck ton for joel miller so i’m gonna post a little snippet for my bb declan o’hara. here’s just a teeny tiny bit of talk too much part 2. when will she be done and posted? the world may never know but for now i hope you enjoy some flirty declan on this wednesday evening

“Yeah I get that.” 

Of course he got it, he was married. You had to keep reminding yourself of that all night as you watched the man beside you with his sparkling eyes and charming smile. This whole going out for drinks thing was making your little crush on him multiply tenfold. 

“Sometimes you just need that one person who gets you. It’s about the comfortability and ease of being in a dedicated relationship.” He was looking down at his glass as he spoke, swirling the contents with a slight movement of his wrist. 

“You don’t have to worry about getting to know them or impressing them. Don’t have to be nervous about being in bed with someone new. Learning another person’s preferences— what makes them tick.” As the last word left his lips his eyes flickered up to yours, his drink still in hand. 

His stare was heavy and different from the way he usual looked as he spoke to you, it had your mouth going dry. 

“Although I imagine that could be fun.” His gaze felt as if it was burning your skin as it slowly trailed down your torso and back up. There was no denying the predatory glimmer in his eyes. 

“Getting to know someone new in that way.” The emphasis on the last two words almost had you choking on your drink. 

That way— sexually. 

Your boss was sat beside you, his big brown eyes swimming with undisclosed desire as he told you he thought it would be fun to have sex with someone new; someone who wasn’t his wife.

This little confession came from him after he’d asked you to join him for drinks and spent the entire evening laughing at your jokes and gently touching you. His hand had ghosted over your arm a number of times as you talked and he let his knee gently bump yours under the table once or twice— up until this moment you figured it was on accident but now you were questioning the intent of his careful touches. 

“Maybe that’s why everyone in this town is a dreadful cheater.” With that his intensity simmered and he was looking out at the crowd of people filling the bar. Watching as they mingled and thinking about how they made such a deceitful act look so effortless.

Declan knew what he was doing when he looked at you the way he did. He knew what he was doing when he pulled you to the quiet corner of the bar and flashed you one sweet smile after another.

He didn’t hold back his efforts to get to know you, to win you over.

He had been psyching himself up all week, eager to get you alone and see if there was any semblance of hope in his daydreams about the two of you being together.

He wanted to lay it all on the table. To tell you that he liked you— that he wanted to get to know you in a less professional way. He didn’t even know where to begin, but you made it feel so simple.

The two of you riffed off one another all evening and it made it insanely easy for him to slip in the occasional longing glance or gentle brush of his hand against your arm. Small gestures, but he could tell each one made you more flustered than the last.

He shouldn’t like it so much— the effect he has on you. But he does. He likes it so much that he couldn’t stop himself from alluding to the fact that he wanted to have an affair with you. Sure he didn’t say it outright, but his words mixed with the way his eyes raked over your body spoke volumes. Or at least he hoped they had.