#my fic

[bougiebutchbinch]

They start off with Wade dirty-talking Logan, obviously. Oh, he's wicked with it. Fucking ferocious with his words; calling him good boy, good kitten; oh, he's tongue-fucking wade so good; and fuck the whole fucking universe because he's the bestest wolverine ever, actually, and wade's dripping pussy can prove it -

Gripping the spikes of logan's hair, crushing his mouth against his crotch, grinding on his tongue -

Yapping the whole while ('oh yeah, there we go, make me squirt, that's the moneyshot, big boy - so fucking wet for you - it's a slip'n'slide down there - wanna feel you stretch me out till I'm yours...')

But then

over the course of the next half-hour

as Logan steadily, calmly works

pushing his tongue into Wade, swirling it around his sensitive hole, laving it slow and soft over his pulsing, twitching little cock

Wade

stops

talking.

Or rather, he doesn't stop making noise. That infuriating mouth is still moving, only the sounds coming out have lost all coherence. Just low moans, vowels shaped clumsily around consonants - "Lo" and "an", on repeat; 'ah, ah, ah' as Logan pushes him up to another weak, gushing peak then eases him gently over.

He liquefies that batty, barmy mind. Smoothes Wade out, until all that's left is need and desperate eyes and a warm, slick cunt, clenching on Logan's tongue.

'F-fuuuuck,' Wade manages, eyes rolling back, as Logan coaxes another trembling orgasm from his wrung-out body. He's decimated, surely as if Logan plunged his claws into his throat - every muscle trembling and pliant, body floppy beneath Logan, like a fresh kill.

'You got that right,' Logan tells him. Grin stained with Wade's slick and just a touch feral. Then he ducks his head and gets back to work.

[diminuel]

I said I'd try to write a little companion piece/ continuation to my Luffy time traveling into the past to meet a young Crocodile comic!

As a warning: I know nothing about ships and since this is just a little no pressure project to try to get out of writer's block I didn’t do a lot of research. There is also a plot discrepancy because Luffy mentions Bonney and her abilities which he shouldn’t know based on the frame story I’ve given this fic *lol* Also: I don't know how to write these characters yet.

No beta, sorry for mistakes.

This is a Crocodad AU fic of course! ♥

--

Maybe This Time Part 1 (3.5k)

“Better get down from there, Luffy!” Nami called from the upper deck. “I don’t quite trust these clouds.” Luffy turned to look over his shoulder, feet dangling over the railing. Nami stood with a hand over her brow, looking up at the sky. Luffy turned back to look out at the sea and tilted his head up. The sky had a pretty green hue, nearly blending seamlessly into a dark mist rising above them. A huge dark cloud had formed ahead, casting a shadow over the sea in the distance.

“Just-“

He titled forward, lost his grip on the railing. A swooping feeling of falling tickled his stomach but before he could make a surprised sound he hit the surface of the water. It felt like he was crashing through glass.

And then it was dark.

This wasn’t the first time Luffy woke up after having been tossed into the water, but for some reason he was bone dry. And oddly thirsty.

“Thirsty,” he wheezed, sticking out his tongue to escape the uncomfortable dryness of his mouth.

A small barrel with a straw was held out to him with a curt “here.” Luffy’s attention zeroed in on the offering and he grabbed it without second-thought. A couple of deep gulps of the water later he felt a lot better already. He heaved a sigh in relief. He took the straw into his mouth again, starting a thank you as he turned towards his savior.

Startled, he sucked in water and spit it out again before he could choke on it, right into the face of someone who looked shockingly familiar.

“BABA?!” Luffy yelled. The person in front of stared at him blanky, the water dripping off his face.

Luffy stared right back. Could it be? This wasn’t Baba as he knew him, but much younger. Sure, they hadn’t seen each other in a couple of months, but he couldn’t change that much, right? But who else could it be? The same hair, the same eyes, the same scar, the same unimpressed expression.

A thousand questions rampaged through Luffy’s minds. How was Baba here? Last they had talked he had been still on Buggy’s homebase. Had he saved him? Where was his crew? What kind of island was this? But one question seemed most important.

“Why are you so young?!” Luffy asked, staring at Baba who couldn’t be much older than Luffy was now.

“Huh?”

“Was it Bonney?” The confusion on Baba’s face only grew.

“Who?” he asked. Luffy stared back at him taking in the complete lack of recognition on Baba’s face.

What?

“Don’t you recognize me, Baba?!” Luffy shouted in horror. The corners of Baba’s mouth twitched and his brows drew down. At least that was a marginally more familiar expression on his face.

“My name isn’t Baba,” he insisted. “And no. Should I?” That hit Luffy like Grandpa’s fist of love.

“Yes!!” Luffy argued, feeling overwhelmed and his crew wasn’t even here to help figure this out. Robin or Jinbei would know what to do! Luffy looked at the sea. It was overcast, the sun faint, the air cool. It was most likely early morning. There wasn’t a single ship visible in the bay or beyond. No other people on this beach. He could feel tears form in his eyes.

“What is going on?” he yelled.

--

There were rules for unexpected situations that had been drilled into his head at an early age. Get yourself out of any immediate danger. Figure out where your people are and regroup. Figure out where you are. Eat. Everything else can wait until after you’ve eaten.

Maybe the importance placed on food was just the Monkey family’s way of dealing with problems, but Luffy wasn’t about to complain. The perfectly grilled meat and the little stick that was loaded with huge mushrooms helped to dampen the anxious pit in his stomach. But the moment he looked up and caught a glimpse of the person sitting across from him, tearing the meat straight off the bone in an unsettling lack of finesse, he felt like he was being dunked into sea water again.

Just what was going on here? Luffy had been travelling with his crew, enjoying that exhilarating part of adventuring where you were simply sailing, facing the challenges the sea of the New World threw at you, not yet knowing where the path would take you. And then the next thing he knew he was plunged into water, sank, blacked out.

Nothing after made any sense. Because the person that had saved him…

“You’re staring.” Luffy startled at the unsettlingly unfamiliar voice. He watched the person opposite him pick his teeth. “Do I really look like that Baba person?” Maybe a smart man would keep his mouth shut and Luffy had been raised to have at least a pinch of common sense between his ears but…

Just what was he supposed to do when a young version of his father was sitting opposite him?!

“You do,” he settled on saying, wary. Baba didn’t look particularly upset by his lack of an explanation, not even a hint of annoyance pinching his brow. And that was unusual too.

What was this? A hallucination? Someone’s devil fruit power? Actual time travel?

(And why not into the future so Luffy could at least see cool robots shooting lasers?)

“What did you say your name was?” Baba asked, genuinely curious, then he pointed at the food in Luffy’s hands. “More where that came from,” he promised. “Eat.” And wasn’t that just another strange thing? Why was he so nice to him if he didn’t even know who Luffy was? Luffy stuffed the food in his mouth, chewing morosely.

“Monkey D. Luffy. I’m going to be the pirate king,” he announced, though far more subdued than he usually was when introducing himself. Baba’s eyebrow lifted.

“There’s no such thing as a king of pirates,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Isn’t that the whole point? The freedom?” Luffy swallowed his food, tilting his head in confusion. Baba put his elbow on his knee, and propped his chin in his palm. He grinned at Luffy, the expression open and joyful, almost mischievous. “That’s why I set sail. I want to do things for myself, see what I can achieve on the Grandline!” His grin softened to an expression a lot more familiar to Luffy though he couldn’t exactly place it. “A big adventure before…,” he trailed off and sat up straight, still grinning but not sharing his thoughts.

It was strange to hear Baba talk of freedom and piracy like that. While Baba had given Ace, Sabo and him a lot of practical information on what to expect out of piracy, he almost never talked about how it used to be for him when he just starting out. Luffy didn’t know when he became a pirate, what motivated him or why he gave up that freedom for a warlord position.

He just knew that nowadays everything, even freedom, was shackled by conditions upon conditions. A thousand locks for Baba and Dad to pick before it could be achieved. Luffy had never quite understood it. Freedom was so easy to achieve if you just pushed your boat off the shore.

Maybe this Baba still trusted that freedom was always within reach.

“How old are you?” Luffy blurted out, putting aside the unease about the situation to admit a little bit of curiosity. Even if it was a hallucination or the work of a very capable impostor, he wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know everything about him.

“19,” Baba answered. “And you?”

“Uh, me too,” Luffy said, then lifted his fingers. “46 minus 19.”

“27,” Baba answered right away, chewing on a mushroom. It seems Baba hadn’t yet discovered the “don’t talk with your mouth full” rule.

“27 years?” Luffy repeated in dawning horror, touching his palms to his cheeks. “I’m 27 years in the past?!” He whined and let himself drop onto his back. He stared up at the overcast sky, partially visible through the sparse trees here so close to the shore. How was that possible?! Did they sail into some sort of mystical area of the Grandline and were now all scattered across time? Was that even possible?

Baba’s face appeared in his field of vision, blocking out the sky.

“What are you talking about?” he wanted to know, his hands in his hips as he bent down to study Luffy. “You can’t seriously believe that you’re from the future.”

“But I am!” Luffy insisted and jumped to his feet. Luckily Baba straightened quickly enough to not be hit by Luffy’s head. He grimaced, momentarily distracted by the fact that even now his father was nearly a head taller than him. He shrugged it off. “I know that there is no known devil fruit that will grant the user the ability to go back in time. But there has got to be an explanation for this!”

“Other than you being insane?” Baba offered but judged by his tone and the grin stretching his lips he was teasing, not mocking. Luffy groaned, then crossed his arms over his chest. “You do realize that what you’re saying is improbable.”

“But it’s still true!” Baba didn’t react to his outburst. “I’ve seen a lot of so-called improbable things before! Islands with dinosaurs! Islands that fly in the sky! Islands where people turned into living toys!” Baba lifted his eyebrows at that. Luffy waved him off. “It was just Mingo, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worrying about it,” Baba answered, amusement evident. “But it seems like you’ve already travelled a bit. I thought you were new to the Grandline. You look like a rookie.”

“I’m not!” Luffy protested then pointed his thumb at his chest. “I’ve been on the Grandline for 2 years! I’ve got an amazing ship and the best crew in the world!” At the mention of his crew his spirits sunk like an anchor. He hoped they were okay…!

“Where were you when you got separated from your crew? You can’t have been washed ashore from that far away,” Baba asked. Luffy hummed, trying to remember. He scratched his head.

“We’d been on sea for about three weeks after Wano,” he said. “But we hadn’t come into stable climate yet, so I don’t think we were close to an island.”

“Wano,” Baba repeated. “You were in the New World?” He seemed surprised now. Was he doubting him again?

“You’re in the New World too,” Luffy shot back.

“No! We’re on Agaricus,” Baba insisted. Luffy squinted at him. Where had he heard that name before? He was sure he had heard Baba mention it. “The next big island you might have heard of is Alabasta.” Luffy hit his balled fist into his palm in recognition.

“The autumn island where you like to go mushroom hunting!” he said then the words registered. “What?! We’re in the first half of the Grandline?!” Baba looked about as shocked as Luffy felt.

“How do you know that?” he asked and it took a moment for Luffy to realize that he looked wary all of a sudden, his stance a lot less relaxed. Luffy knew that he should be able to defend himself against a 19-year-old version of his father, but he still didn’t want to test that hypothesis if Baba actually started to believe that Luffy was a threat.

“I told you! I’m from the future! I know you!” Luffy defended himself. Baba frowned at him, but his stance shifted just a bit. A soft sound at Luffy’s feet made him look down just to see tendrils of sand slip back down on the floor. He hadn’t even realized that Baba must have manipulated the sand to grab him if needed. When Luffy looked up Baba’s expression was serious, a crease between his eyebrows.

“27 years into the future,” Baba affirmed. “When you and your crew sailed the New World. As apparently I do too.” He rubbed his arms, his face uncertain for the first time. “I’m still alive in 27 years?”

“Obviously!” Luffy insisted, angry at the suggestion that Baba would not make it on the Grandline. “You’re strong!” A small grin appeared on Baba’s face.

“Yeah? So how do we know each other? Am I your captain or something?” Luffy wrinkled his nose but at the same time Baba did too. “Do I insist on everybody calling me Baba like fucking Whitebeard wants everyone to call him Pops?” Baba made a disgusted expression at that. Luffy of course knew that Baba and Whitebeard had history, but as most things of his father’s past, this was something he kept close to his chest. Sometimes his secrecy was quite annoying and it was hard to pretend not to care about what had happened, especially since the old man had meant so much to Ace.

“How can you already have a grudge against Whitebeard at 19?”

“Oh, so you don’t know everything, Monkey D. Luffy,” Baba said, his grim look dropping quickly at the supposed upper hand he fancied himself to have. Luffy wasn’t used to these quick mood changes. Still, instead of answering he grimaced. “What?”

“I don’t like when you call me by my full name. You only do that when you’re scolding me. Call me Luffy or Strawhat.”

“Strawhat?” Baba asked, laughing. Luffy pulled his hat from his back and put it onto his head demonstratively. “And you let me scold you? What am I? Your mom?” Luffy pressed his lips together, the question feeling like someone had upended a bucket of cold water onto his head. But Baba laughed in amusement as if the thought was absurd. “Am I your captain?”

For the first time a different kind of worry made a home in Luffy’s mind. He had arguably no experience in time traveling but he wondered if it was a good idea to let his father know too much. Could Luffy change the past just by being here? Could he change his own present if he messed up here?

Luffy knew that he was a “happy accident.” What if he told Baba who he was and Baba decided to be a bit more careful so that no happy accidents happened accidentally? That’d be horrible! Would Luffy just disappear?! Maybe this was the true danger of this situation!

“You’re not my captain! I’m the captain of my ship!” Luffy insisted, pride in his position winning out over the moment of panic.

“Then what’s our connection?” Crocodile asked and took a step closer to Luffy, a glint in his eyes that Luffy didn’t quite like. He didn’t have a sharp hook to hold under his nose but he had a sharp and menacing grin. “Spit it out, Strawhat.”

“I… I don’t know anything!” Luffy said through pursed lips, looking away. But other than grab him and shake him or worse (as Luffy had seen Baba do to people who annoyed him or lied to him) Baba just blinked at him. Then he threw his head back and laughed.

“I know someone who’s just as horrible as you are at lying!” he said. Luffy wrinkled his nose. Not everyone could lie professionally. “But why don’t you want to tell me?”

“Because I am from the future!” Luffy insisted. “What if I say something that changes something big?! I don’t want that! I like my life! Maybe if someone sent me into this past, this is their objective?! What if they’re trying to kill me by letting me make a mistake here in the past that leads to me not being born?!”

“That seems far too much effort,” Baba said, looking Luffy up and down. “You don’t look particularly strong, Strawhat,” he said his tone annoyingly patronizing. “A stray bullet could kill you.”

“What?! I am strong! And my bounty is higher than yours!” he protested. Luffy would never have said that to his Baba’s face but this young version of him was different. “And I’m not going to tell you what it is!” Baba rolled his eyes.

“At least tell me I didn’t choose something as stupid as Baba as my name,” he said, then he moved his hand and a wave of sand spread over the fire they had roasted their food on, dousing it at once.

“I’ve always done my best to fly under the marine’s radar and it’s hard to break the habit. I haven’t really gotten my name out there yet,” Baba continued. He pointed at Luffy. “But I will! The world will soon hear of the exploits of Crocodile!” Luffy stared at him, taking in his wide, confident grin.

Baba looked impossibly young.

“Yes,” Luffy agreed, not sure why there was a lump in his throat. Baba smiled at him, then he reached out to pat Luffy’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” Baba turned around and started packing up the rest of the cooked meat and mushrooms. He tossed Luffy a bag, then shouldered his own. When he walked away from the camp, Luffy trailed after him.

“Where are we going?” he asked. They stepped out of the outskirts of the forest and back onto the beach. There was a small ship docking on a pier that Luffy hadn’t noticed back when he had first woken up. It wasn’t much bigger than the one Luffy had initially set out on. Far too small for a crew of more than two. Not a vessel that looked suited for the Grandline.

“You’re looking for your crew, right? And a way to get back home, wherever and whenever that might be,” Baba said and then thrust his thumb behind him, towards the ship. “So what do you say, Strawhat Luffy? Want to join me?” Luffy looked at him in surprise. Baba wasn’t exactly the kind of person to make such generous offers to strangers, at least he wasn’t today.

“Fine. But I’m captain!” Luffy said and extended his arm to grab onto the ship’s mast. He pulled himself onto the ship, Baba staring after him. Luffy sat himself down at the helm of the ship. Baba cursed to himself, then undid the rope and gave his ship a powerful shove with his foot. He turned into sand and landed on the ship next to Luffy.

“No way! This is my ship!” Luffy looked up the mast, noticing the lack of a pirate flag.

“Baba-“

“Don’t call me that.”

“Crocodile, you don’t even have a pirate flag!” he said disapprovingly and for the first time Baba actually seemed embarrassed. “Does your ship have name at least?”

“Yeah, it’s the Mind Your Own Business Strawhat!” Crocodile went down into the cabin and then came back with an eternal pose. Luffy couldn’t read the name written on it. Crocodile walked to the steering wheel and then looked up at the sail. Luffy watched as sand spread from Crocodile’s body until the sails were lifted and caught the wind.

“Where are we going?” Luffy asked, inspecting the stemhead but it didn’t seem particularly comfortable to sit on. Crocodile’s ship didn’t even have a figurehead! Maybe he had a banana in his galley so Luffy could put it on the stemhead. The "Mind your Own Business Strawhat" needed least some decoration. Momentarily caught up in his musings, it took him a moment to turn back around to look up at Crocodile behind the wheel. It was strange seeing him there. He had only sailed with Crocodile on the same ship once, leaving Impel Down. He didn’t know why it seemed so strange to see him man a ship himself. He knew that his father was a pirate and yet it seemed odd to realize what that actually meant. That he hadn’t always been a warlord who tended to stay in one place or travel on marine vessels, that he hadn’t always had 2000 people under his command, that he hadn’t always been an emperor’s commander. But he looked comfortable behind the wheel, like he had never done anything else.

“Do you want to go all the way to Wano?” Luffy eventually asked and jumped up to where Crocodile was. “What about your own adventure? Don’t you want to follow the log poses and do your route around the Grandline?”

“I don’t mind making a detour,” he easily said as if it wasn’t difficult at all for him to give up his plans. “And absolutely not, I’m not going to sail into the blue like that just based on your last location in allegedly 27 years from now” Crocodile said with a scoff. “We need information.” He smiled down at the log pose. “And I might have an idea where we could get it.”

To be continued? If you find it too hard to read on here I can post it on AO3.

[21st-century-ninja]

Read my fic where Lloyd explains the fnaf lore boy

[screamlet]

new fic: what are your intentions?

aka the bucktommy wip that ate my life! it is a Long Fic

pairings: buck/tommy, tommy/omc's, canon background pairings rating: E, word count: 22k (out of ~130k total) status: complete (see below for posting schedule) tags: tommy pov, canon compliant, character study, queer themes/culture, angst, hurt/comfort, internalized homophobia, found family- THE WORKS. with a happy ending because i wouldn't do that to you.

Summary:

It's Tommy and Buck��the family they find and the family they make.

Excerpt:

"Alright, you creeps, it's Evan Buckley," Tommy calls out to the hangar. Donato chokes on her coffee and gets it all over her flight suit. "Him?" Katelynne, one of their medics, walks over excitedly. "Donato, that's him, right? Worst drunk kiss in the LAFD Buckley?" "Wait, that Buckley?" Harris, another medic, calls out. "Crushed by a truck Buckley? At the 118?" Tommy points at them. "Just Buck." He looks at Donato in particular and adds, "You get one sloppy seconds joke for the entirety of your human life and that's it." Donato laughs. "Are you kidding? That was sloppy firsts. I was worried he'd never find someone with game like that." Tommy, suddenly incredibly defensive of Evan's honor, crosses his arms over his chest. "He's got game." There's a long, expectant pause. "Which I don't have to describe to you because it's private," Tommy finishes.

Posting schedule:

Story's done but I'm posting a chunk every few days so I have time to proofread/edit between drops. Dates/word counts might change.

Chapters 1-4 (22k): 9/21 (today!) 5-8 (22k): 9/25 9-12 (24k): 9/29 13-15 (20k): 10/3 16-19 (26k): 10/7 20-23 (16k): 10/11

[userautumn]

on the matter of the heart

Evan Buckley / Tommy Kinard | 4k | Rated T

Summary:

Tommy does not shake. He's too old for that, and has seen far too much to let fear overtake his body like an unwanted animal. He was in the Army well before he became a firefighter, and he was a punk-ass kid watching his friends overdose and die on the streets of Los Angeles well before that. So when he hovers over the wreckage of the car accident and sees the mangled remnants of a familiar Jeep, he does not shake. He is steady as Lucy descends onto the highway and secures Evan to a backboard. Steady when she gets him into the helicopter and the smells of blood and gasoline immediately hit his nose like a foul thing. Steady even when they're en route to the hospital and all he can hear is the urgent sound of her voice as the team in the back desperately tries to keep Evan alive. On the outside, he is calm and collected, the stalwart firefighter and soldier he was trained to be. But on the inside, his heart is another matter entirely.

keep reading on ao3

tagging some friends! @kirkaut @kinardbuckleys @kinkdaddykinard @tenisperfection @buckera @dadbodbuck @agenttommykinard @apassingbird

[imagine-darksiders]

Reader mistakes Knockout for a drug dealer wasn’t in my plans for this ‘one shot’ but heyho.

Angel of Highway 49 chapter 3 out this evening lol.

[stiltonbasket]

emperor!lwj au - I feel so bad for the staff, seeing this random young woman come into the emperor's quarters, call him by a pet name a bunch of times, and be very familiar with him. Also she's happily cuddling the prince and giving him a bath? the staff are (•ิ_•ิ)?

This ask made me laugh for a very long time, and since the fic is entirely from Wei Wuxian's POV, here's a short snippet from the staff's point of view!

--

"Steward Ling," a nervous young manservant from the Emperor's palace says one afternoon. "This one requests entry to the storeroom where Zeming zhang-gongzhu keeps the late Empress's belongings."

Ling Jun—the second chief steward of the present dynasty, and the son of the head of staff who served Emperor Qingheng upon his accession to the throne—glances up from his account-book to find two boys in their middle teens wringing their hands at the door to his office.

He sighs. His Majesty's servants are difficult to bear with—not because of any of them are overbearing, but rather because any extended span of time spent in the young Emperor's company seems to rob the boys of their wits.

"What for?" Ling Jun asks. "Huangshang and her Highness are both busy with the selection today, and Her Majesty's things are not due to be aired out until next month."

The elder of the two serving-boys shakes his head.

"Huangshang did not go to the selection," he whispers. "He is still in his room, with the little highness—and a woman. He asked us to fetch the cloak the late Emperor gifted to Her Majesty, so that he could give it to the lady."

Ling Jun nearly faints away on the spot.

The cloak that Xiao Yun is speaking of—a splendid garment made of thick wool, weighted down with pearls and shining silver beads sewn along the borders—was made for Empress Haoxian shortly after the young emperor was born. It delighted the late Emperor to see her in it, especially when the little taizi dianxia was with her; and after she passed away, the staff assumed that the cloak would be given to Grand Princess Zeming. But Zeming zhang-gongzhu laid the cloak away with the rest of her mother's things, insisting that it should be held in storage for his Majesty.

Since she would not wear it, Ling Jun expected that Empress Haoxian's cloak would never be worn again—and then, when it was made known to him that her Highness had given it to the young emperor, that it might be worn by the future Empress.

And if he was asking for it today, that meant—

"Who—who is the lady?" Ling Jun asks, bewildered. "The last I heard, the bridal candidates were waiting to be presented in an antechamber in the outer palace. Huangshang ought to have seen them by now, and if he is still in his quarters—is he with one of the maids?"

That would mean trouble in court, to be sure, but the nobles who sent their daughters to the selection would simply have to bear it. After all, Lan Wangji is only the second emperor of his line; and before Emperor Qingheng took the throne, his forefathers were known for disregarding all matters concerning rank when they wed. The late Emperor's own mother had been brought into the Lan estate as a nursemaid to one of his older cousins, and his father had stumbled upon her playing with the child in the Cloud Recesses' famed magnolia garden and fallen in love at first sight.

Perhaps it is one of Zeming zhang-gongzhu's maidservants, Ling Jun thinks hopefully. The Grand Princess's maids are sensible girls, and most of them have known his Majesty since they were children themselves: and though it might cause some difficulty if her Highness were to be suddenly outranked by one of her servants, such a girl ought to do well as Lan Wangji's Empress if she were properly educated for the role before her wedding.

"N-No, Lord Steward," mumbles the younger of his Majesty's serving-boys. "From what Xiao Tong overheard, the maiden is one of the xiunu from the selection. But she ran away and met Huangshang in his quarters instead of waiting to see him in the reception hall."

Ling Jun's vision blurs. "What?"

Xiao Tong nods furiously. "He called her Wei-guniang, so she must be a lady of rank. And—and Huangshang has her calling him by his birth name, just like Huanghou-niangniang used to! No one else has called him so since she died—even her Highness calls him by his courtesy name! He told me to fetch luncheon for her, and he wants to give her the mantle that the late Emperor gave her Majesty: so that must mean that she is the bride he has chosen."

"Wei?" There are no families of note called Wei living in the capital. "Whose daughter is she?"

At this juncture, one of the maids materializes on the threshold with a wild grin on her face. "Have you heard already?" she whispers, delighted. "About the girl in Huangshang's private quarters?"

"Gossip is forbidden, Xia Ye," Ling Jun snaps. "Do you have any proper business here?"

Xia Ye rolls her eyes at him. "He ordered her a fish clay-pot and braised zhusun with bamboo shoots," she says conspiratorially, before turning to Xiao Tong. "Guess what she's doing now, Tong'er! She's giving his little highness a bath!"

At this, Ling Jun nearly swallows his own tongue. His little highness—that is, his Majesty's ward, and a cousin of his on the late Empress's side—is a good child, with only one fault: a terrible fear of water, whether warm or cold. He suffers no one but his imperial father to bathe him, much to his nurse's distress—and if he had permitted a stranger to give him a bath less than an hour after meeting her, Huangshang might as well put the palace staff out of their misery and marry the girl tomorrow.

"And what's more, I know who she is," Xia Ye declares, before making a smug face at Ling Jun. "She's Jiang Fengmian's yang daughter. The older daughter is already married to Lord Jin's di son, so she couldn't attend the selection—but I heard that the yang daughter fits every one of the requirements Huangshang insisted on when he gave up trying to delay his marriage. She's older than Huangshang, I think—twenty-four or twenty-five, at the least—but Xie Li's mother is a cook at the girls' academy in the city, and she says that Wei Wuxian is the most brilliant scholar that the Grandmaster has ever taught."

All this means little to Ling Jun. The only noblewoman he has more than passing knowledge of is the Grand Princess, Lan Xichen; and his late Majesty thought it meet to educate her in everything from the six classical arts to swordsmanship and military history. Certainly the court found it absurd that Huangshang wanted a wife who was at least as well-learned as the scholars beginning their last years of study for the imperial examinations, but Ling Jun merely found it rather sensible.

"Then do you think he truly means to marry Young Mistress Wei?" he asks warily. "I suppose he must, or the lady would object to spending time with him without a chaperone."

"I don't know about that," Xia Ye says, shrugging. "He hasn't asked for Wei-guniang's hand, so who can say how matters will go?"

Ling Jun frowns. "What do you mean? She was invited here as a bridal candidate, and Huangshang clearly likes her better than all the rest, so—"

"Huangshang is currently pretending to be one of his little highness's attendants," Xia Ye informs him. "Wei-guniang doesn't know that he's the Emperor, and we're not supposed to tell her so."

"His—his attendant? Wei-guniang thinks that his Majesty is a servant?"

"Yes. And until he sees fit, nobody is to tell Wei-guniang otherwise."

With that, Xia Ye tosses her braids back over her shoulder and flounces out of Ling Jun's office, looking more gleeful than ever.

Ling Jun reaches into his desk with trembling hands and pulls out the key to the storehouse devoted to the late Empress's belongings.

"Here," he says hoarsely, handing the key to Xiao Tong. "Fetch the cloak and bring it to Huangshang. And mind how you speak to Young Mistress Wei; with any luck, she will be the new Empress before the year is out, and the first thing she will do after her wedding is choose which of the servants attending the inner palace are permitted to remain there."

"I wouldn't mind being dismissed, to be honest," Xiao Tong mumbles. "Huangshang looks just as much in love with her as the late emperor was with Empress Haoxian, and they've only just met. I don't fancy getting caught mistaking any of Wei-guniang's orders after she's married."

"Bite your tongue!" scolds Ling Jun. "Now deliver the cloak, and be quick about it. If there is so much as a speck of dust on it by the time it reaches Young Mistress Wei, I'll send you off to the laundry bureau before the madam has the chance to say a word about it."

Xiao Tong yelps and disappears, taking his hapless friend with him; and Ling Jun leans back in his chair with his eyes tightly shut, wondering if Wei Wuxian will change at all after she becomes the Empress.

"I am too old to serve such a spirited Empress," he mutters to himself. "Perhaps it is time for Ling Yan to take my place."

But it will be many months before Ling Jun's son can succeed him as the head steward. A change as great as that must wait until after Huangshang's wedding, and then for the new Empress to grow accustomed to her role as master of the inner palace; and all told, Ling Yan cannot hope to take Ling Jun's place before this time next year.

And if Ling Yun must remain until then, well...

"I suppose I might as well stay," he grumbles. "And by then, perhaps I will decide that there is no need to leave."

(Little did Ling Jun know that he would decide nothing of the kind. By the following summer, he would be driven half out of his wits by the newly-wed Wei Wuxian. But Ling Yan would have resigned his post and retired to the countryside under the duress of serving such a mistress; and as such, Ling Jun was forced—not too unhappily, for Wei Wuxian was as kind as she was flighty—to remain in his position as chief steward.

Xia Ye, on the other hand, would be swiftly elevated to the position of Wei Wuxian's chief maidservant: but the less said about that, the better.)

[glorious-spoon]

the moon don't hang quite as high [9-1-1 | Buddie | 1/1]

12k words | explicit buck/tommy break-up | feelings realization | first kiss | first time | emotional hurt/comfort | background eddie/ocs | open ending

After Bobby and Chris leave, Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, tries not to punch his new boss, and worries about Eddie.

the moon don't hang quite as high [On AO3]

Buck and Tommy break up three and a half weeks after Chris leaves for Texas, which is a correlation that he could probably read into if he felt like it.

Correlation, not causation. He took a statistics class once upon a time during his ill-fated attempt at college. Failed it, but a few things did stick. Correlation is not causation. Winning streaks aren't real, and neither are losing streaks. It's all just a glitch of the human brain, finding patterns where there are none. Eddie, dedicated skeptic that he is, would definitely tell him that in the same fondly condescending tone he uses to explain to Buck that jinxes and hexes and the wrath of the gods aren't real, seriously, cursed bracelets and q-word shifts from hell notwithstanding.

He wonders sometimes if Eddie has changed his tune on that now, but he's definitely not going to ask him. There's a Christopher-shaped hole in their conversations these days, and the edges are still sharp. And Buck doesn't want to know if this has finally made Eddie come around to the idea that maybe he's cursed.

Three and a half weeks without Chris. Three weeks of Eddie's increasingly tight-lipped, stiff-shouldered responses to Gerrard's unsubtle jabs. Buck hates watching it. Hates it. Bad enough that Eddie is hollow-eyed and distracted when he's off-shift, glancing at empty corners and open doors like he's expecting Chris to walk in at any minute, but now even work isn't a respite. Buck does what he can to draw the heat, though he's not sure it's actually helping. And then today: Gerrard came across the two of them laughing at a stupid meme on Buck's phone and made a snide remark about fairies flocking together that made the too-rare smile on Eddie's face wither into the same icy stoicism he uses for the cracks about taco trucks and deadbeat dads.

Buck almost spun around and decked Gerrard right on the spot. Might have actually done it, had the bell not gone off when it did.

So it was a good thing that they spent the next four hours hauling hoses at a warehouse fire in East L.A. today, with Gerrard too occupied to needle any of them. No casualties, so he doesn't even have to feel bad for thinking that.

Continue reading on AO3

[sisitrip]

Galladrabble - "Mint For Each Other"

I've been home for only a couple of hours and have eaten about 5 pounds of dumplings and am carrying my cat everywhere lol. I wrote this on an Amtrak and am positive it's in league with the cavity devil. Check your teeth before reading.

Thank you @atthedugouts for the great @galladrabbles prompt "You Were Meant for Me" by Jewel. I hope you enjoy "Mint for Each Other."

__________________________

“See, Ian?” Carl whispered from his bunk-bed. “He’s sleep-smiling. Why come?” 

“How come,” he corrected, kissing a softly snoring Mickey. 

“Okay, how come?”

Mickey nuzzled into his chest, mumbling, “Shut up, shithead.” 

Tongue sticking out, Carl sank under his covers. 

He squeezed Mickey, going back to reading. Carl interrupted him five pages later.

“He’s doing it again,” Carl whispered, peeking. “How come?”

He looked. Mickey was indeed sleep-smiling. 

“He feels safe, maybe?” 

Carl lobbed an observation only the innocent can say without blushing. 

“He’s your person. He’s M-I-N-T for you.”

He melted. 

“Yeah, I hope I’m M-I-N-T for him too.”

[tanoraqui]

“why am I so deep-down convinced that my worldbuilding will only feel truly fleshed out if it’s backed by a timeline and map of key geopolitical events?” I ask as I write Tolkien fic.

[kirain]

Astarion frowned as he and Tav entered the modest boutique. It was small, but clean; organised. It had an almost rustic charm to it, featuring large windows adorned with delicate lace curtains, which were tied back just enough to let the sun shine through. That was appreciated, as Astarion had grown weary of the dark.

He said nothing as his cheery companion scanned the outfits on the walls, cupping her chin as she considered and rejected each one. Carefully curated as they were, she seemed to be looking for something specific. The soft beams accentuated racks of unique frocks, hand-knitted sweaters, and artisanal jewelry, but she passed them all by.

Why did she bring me to this rundown shack?

Astarion huffed. Has she noticed how old my clothes are? No, she's not that perceptive.

His eyes widened as her finger suddenly pointed at some lingerie behind the shopkeeper's counter. His heart sank.

Of course ... she wants to dress me in something risqué. Expose my body. Why am I not surprised? There's nothing more "sexy" than a vampire, after all. He bit the tip of his thumb, feigning indifference. So in the end, she's just like all the others. A horny, selfish little—!

"No, no! Not that!" she laughed. "The one beside it."

Astarion flinched, trying to hide his shock as the shopkeeper passed her a plain ashmeadow outfit. It wasn't particularly bright or stylish, but the pattern was subtle, casually elegant, and paired with lightweight trousers, likely designed to ease movement.

"What do you think?" she asked, unfolding the pieces for a better view. "Doesn't it look nice and comfy?"

Astarion hesitated. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinised every inch. Overall, the outfit was dull, at least compared to his usual garb, but pleasant in all the ways that mattered. It wouldn't grab attention, but it wasn't hideous. It wouldn't make a spectacle of his body, but it would complement his figure, his hair, his eyes. For one brief moment, he felt oddly respected, but he quickly recoiled in mistrust.

Is this a trick?

He quickly waved at the suggestion, bidding the shopkeeper to take the outfit away, but Tav clung to it, staying his hand.

"Wait, what's wrong with it? You don't like it?"

"I appreciate your confidence in me, darling, but I don't think even I could make that dreary ensemble look good. That's something you'd see a pig farmer wearing." He gave her a seductive grin. "Surely you'd like to see me in something more ... exotic."

Disgusting, but I need her protection. Just fuck me, already. Get it over with. Why the song and dance? Why the charade? Am I not being forward enough? Perhaps I should should try the 'lonely bachelor' angle. That tends to work on sensitive women like this.

Tav raised a brow, her confusion genuine, but Astarion didn't believe it. He couldn't.

"No, I just think this suits you," she said.

Astarion scoffed, thrown by her sincerity. There was no hint of sarcasm or trickery in her tone. No indication that she was fulfilling some mundane kink by picking such an outfit. But it didn't make sense. He hadn't been particularly kind to her, and he was only good for one thing: sex. Surely that's what she was after.

"Did you not hear what I said?" he snapped. "That's something a pig farmer—"

"What's wrong with being a pig farmer?" she argued. "They work hard, live free, and dress for comfort."

"And I'll have you know, that outfit is not for farming," the shopkeeper added, visibly offended. "I mean, I suppose you could. It's certainly durable, but it's more for ... sophisticated roving."

"There you go," Tav giggled, harmlessly. "Don't you want to be a 'sophisticated rover', Astarion?"

He pulled back defensively, pursing his lips to hide his fangs. They live free? Dress for comfort? As if I ever had such a choice. She has no idea! His fingers curled into a fist.

"Are you ... mocking me? Is that what this is?"

Am I just a toy to you?! A doll to be dressed up to your liking?!

The air around him felt charged, a palpable tension that made it difficult to breathe. A deep red flush spread across his neck, creeping up towards his pale face. The anger was sudden, but uncontrollable, and he didn't know why.

Calm down, you fool. This is nothing. You've been through worse. He screamed internally. So then, why does it hurt more than usual? Why is it worse when it's her?! I ... I don't want her to see me this way, but I know she does! Who wouldn't?!

"Mocking you?" Tav asked, breaking the silence.

She tilted her head, the simple act pulling Astarion from is raging stupor. Her eyes were innocent, unassuming. And of course they were—he hadn't yet told her the truth about Cazador. The details. The depravity.

Hold on. Is this ... real?

"What are you saying?" she peeped. "I brought you here because of how worn out your clothes are." She pointed at the seams of his waistcoat. "Thin with crooked replacement stitches. I always see you fiddling with them."

Astarion's throat tightened. So she did notice. He tried not to blush.

"I'm sorry if that came off the wrong way. I wasn't trying to insult your clothes, I just thought you might like something new."

"I ... see."

"If you don't like the black and white..." She smiled and gestured to the shopkeeper. "We can order something with colour. Do you take commissions? Can my friend here make alterations?"

Friend?

"He can. And we do indeed sew to order, but it might take a while. I'm down a seamstress this month."

Astarion paused, their voices fading. He looked down at the sleeved tunic and accompanying vest that Tav held close to her chest. It was thick, surprisingly well crafted, and more fashionable than he initially dared to admit. For a moment, he felt his unbeating heart flutter. New clothes. A whole outfit, just for him. He'd forgotten what that felt like. What shopping for anything other than a victim for Cazador felt like.

Against his better judgement, he reached out and rubbed the material between his fingers. Twill. Handcrafted. Warm. He felt a tingle as he realised Tav didn't choose that outfit at random. She'd put a lot of thought into it.

"I want this one."

"Sorry?" Tav said, glancing up at him.

"This outfit." He tugged at the sleeve, gently. "I want this one."

She smiled. "Are you sure? You didn't seem overly thrilled about it a second ago."

"Tch! Well, I changed my mind," he hissed. "What can I say?" His eyes softened. "It's grown on me. Just like your ... annoyingly infectious positivity."

"Alright, alright," she laughed, ignoring his jibe. "Can you ring this up, sir?"

Astarion's back stiffened as she reached for her coin purse. Money, right. That hadn't crossed his mind. As horrible as Cazador was, everything was provided. When allowed to sleep on a bed, it was there. When Cazador's guests wanted wine, it was there. Anything needed to rope in victims was given. He hadn't had to buy anything in nearly two hundred years.

"Wait, I—"

"It's no problem," Tav said, sensing his conflict. "I'm happy to do this."

"But..." He frowned, crossing his arms. "Well, don't expect anything back. If that's what you're after, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

"I don't expect anything back, Astarion." She handed the shopkeeper a roll of gold coins, then turned to him with another tender smile. "I'm just glad to help out a friend."

Astarion stood in silence, his brow twitching. A thought occurred to him—two words he hadn't felt the desire to say in two centuries. Two words he'd almost forgotten. He shifted from side to side, looking anywhere but at her, desperate for an escape from the vulnerability pressing down on him.

But I think she truly means it.

"I..."

His mouth opened, then closed again. He cleared his throat, trying to speak, but the silence lingered. He could tell she expected nothing, but for once he wanted to give a part of himself, by choice. Just a few words. The feeling inside him grew, a swell of gratitude he couldn't quite contain. Finally, he sighed and met her eyes with a smile.

"Thank you."

[welcomingdisaster]

When Celebrimbor first comes out of the halls, he turns heads. The people of Aman stare plainly at him, remembering his father, his grandfather. And in truth he is very like them in face, though he stands a little shorter than Fëanor, a little narrower in the shoulders than Curufin, the jewel-smith son of a war smith; though his skin is darker and warmer with the sun, and his dark hair holds in the light a reddish hue; though he speaks unaccented Sindarin and, switching into Quenya, drops the thorn.

But soon enough the looks cease. In manner he is very unlike his grandfather, that last heir: he speaks quietly and is often content to take no part in the conversation about him, but to listen. Smiles openly and easily at anyone who might look his way. Where Fëanor was ever-rushing he is slow, deliberate and meticulous to at fault, each movement carefully choreographed, each arrangement just so. He positions himself carefully to escape notice, and fades easily into the background of a room. Like his grandfather he is ever-sketching, but his loops of interweaving designs are inscrutable, his notes jotted down in a sharp, squared language none can read. It seems he is doodling, random, meaningless things. And beyond that his interests are often grotesque and odd; there he is, reading academic studies of Necromancy with Felagund, or inquiring about the twisting of Power. His art is beautiful, and it is better not to ask about its inspiration.

Soon enough Valinor takes no notice of him. He is easy to forget.

[thetimemoves]

Sunday Six(ish)

Okay, so a few more than six, but whatever. This is an excerpt for a post-Reichenbach reunion fic for @educatedinyellow that is 100% inspired by her gorgeous vid Underwater. I've been poking at this for ages, but I do plan to finish, pinky swear!

Pull Me Up Again

“No…” John’s hand flies out to brace himself against the door frame. It can’t be. It can’t. But it is. Sherlock Holmes, his hair bleached and cut close to his scalp, is soaking wet and dripping rainwater on the worn mat left behind by the previous tenant. He runs his hand over his head, as if looking for his nonexistent curls. He looks as if a whisper will blow him away, but he is entirely corporeal. Alive. “John,” Sherlock says, his voice low and rough. “John Watson.” Oh, that voice. His name in that voice. Any doubts John has about who stands before him vanish like smoke in the wind. He knows that voice too well. And that face, that infuriating, beloved face. Both have haunted him mercilessly for the past two years. John’s brain shorts out and his vision goes fuzzy. He blinks again and yep, that’s Sherlock Holmes. Not actually dead. Christ. “John,” Sherlock says again, louder. His eyes are red-rimmed, but his focus is razor sharp. He coughs twice, then clears his throat. “I could use a towel. I’m rather wet.” “You’ve got to be fucking joking.” John’s trick leg finally gives up and buckles, and he drops to the floor.  Sherlock follows him down.

What are you all working on? Just to get started, I'm tagging @discordantwords @totallysilvergirl @arwamachine @lisbeth-kk @kettykika78 but would love to see what you all have.

[chriscalledmesweetie]

Secrets Revealed to Sherlock Holmes

The Murder of Major Sayer by ChrisCalledMeSweetie

Do you want to know what really happened during the fateful week when John Watson first met Sherlock Holmes? John’s sister Harry is here to set the record straight—or not, as the case may be.

Chapter 13: Secrets Revealed to Sherlock Holmes

I suppose we each have our own priorities when it comes to the secrets we choose to keep. Some people conceal the truth to avoid heartbreak, others to avoid scandal, and still others to avoid prosecution. There may also be times when the fear of one of those evils—for ourselves or our loved ones—may drive us to reveal something we would otherwise have kept hidden.

Many thanks to @bluebellofbakerstreet for the amazing cover art!

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

I had dreamed of London day and night, and now I had returned, but I was not home yet. It would not be until Moran was caught and I could finally reveal myself to my old friend Watson that I would be able to find a modicum of peace.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson

Additional Tags: POV Sherlock Holmes, Story: The Adventure of the Empty House, Sherlock Holmes is a Mess, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, John Watson is a Saint, Mild Hurt/Comfort, actually stay tuned for more comfort in the next parts of this series, Forgiveness

A conversation I had with @amypihcs almost a year ago gave me this idea, and this post by @fruitviking inspired me enough to finally pull myself together and write it down. Now I just have to finish the other two parts aaaaahhh ...

@tyrannosaurusnacks@friday411@keirgreeneyes@crowleyholmes@sirensongster@rainbow-person@yamy-brett@itsnotlupus@its-notlupus@angryducktimemachine@anmaje@emmahasadhd@sarahthecoat@geeoharee@theantichris@hell-and-pepsi@neverquiteeden@rudbeckiasunflower@weast-of-eden@ohgodwhatwasthat@the-doggo-of-baskervilles@benrybenrybenry-chr@fuckyeahfreeimmortal@loki-lock@holmes-ness@louieclamlent@bestnoncannonship@forever-1895@loreleilee @jabbage @somethingintheforest @wohnjatson @crowleyholmes @zouex @wemightliveinasociety @sammalinensiirtolohkare @zouex @wohnjatson @tremendousdetectivetheorist @tremendously-crazy @darkhorse-javert @marta-bee @calculated-waywardness @sirensongster @imlostatau @noisykingdomreview @emmahasadhd @yamy-brett @anmaje @skyriderwednesday @transholmes @53rdcenturyhero @randomwholocker @plaidadder @huamirly

Okay, Idk why only half of the tags work grrrrrr, but I'm tired of troubleshooting :D

[andhumanslovedstories]

I posted a new chapter of my fic where Shen Qingqiu isn’t allowed to act OOC. Here’s a link to it. Here’s a picture of Weevil actively impeding the creative process.