#should i start posting my fic snippets on here

[momentomori24]

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s started this, blankly gazing at the ceiling with a murky mind and heavy heart. Dead silence reigns as he lays there, still and despondent, hands folded at his throbbing chest while his finger anxiously tap, tap, taps away at his knuckle in tandem to the every tick of the clock.  8:15 AM. A shiver crawls up his spine, leaving him feeling chilled all over even beneath the blanket. He wishes he could dismiss it as just the cold.  8:15 AM  The note. His blackmail. No matter how hard he tries, these unwanted thoughts keep returning, a mosquito penchant to his ears that he’s unable to dissipate with a swat of a hand. The pharmacy. The boiler room. It was manageable around a crowd, loud and vibrant chatter serving as a muffle to the static buzzing in his head. But it’s been hours since then, and now he’s here, alone with his thoughts, a cacophony of distress that is all but amplified in the silence of night. 8:15 AM. Boiler room. At times like this, the suspicion dredges itself up so much easier than he feels comfortable to admit. The note resides in his blazer pocket, slung over the couch, burning holes where it would meet his heart as he engaged with his unsuspecting peers throughout the day. But he can still recount the words, penned in handwriting even worse than his own, coaxing him into compliance through unsaid threats beneath a veil of faux concern. When he looks at them— all of them— getting along, doing their best, he wants to believe that it will all be alright. No malintent ever tainted Ingrid’s protectiveness, Diana’s kindness, Jean's compassion, Cassidy’s bubbliness— but his chest still throbs at every shaky line, like a stab inflicted on his flesh with each fatal word. 8:15 AM, boiler room, alone-- What does he do with that? What in the world does he do? "Wolfgang...?"

Snippet from the Golfgang fic I've been working on for months. Don't be fooled, Wolfgang's pov will only be like 5% of the fic rip XD

[heyimkana]

guys guys i'm afraid i don't have much time to write but i wanna try and post something new next week 🥰

Also, have a little snippet for both 😁

“You only want me, don’t you, my love?” With one hand still plastered against your throat, he slid his other one down your body. “You wouldn’t want any other man to touch you this way, would you?” Jinwoo let his calloused palm paint the pictures for you, traveling from one sensitive part to another. “These sweet lips…” His hand traversed your neck before it settled on your mouth, two digits caressing over the seam of your lips as he bestowed a kiss equally as gentle on your cheek. “This beautiful hand…” He took your trembling hand in his, lacing your fingers together before he brushed his lips against your knuckles. “This curve of your waist…” He roamed over your side, his fingers gripping possessively, clawing against the fabric of your blouse. “And here…” He lifts your skirt to your hips, raking his nails over the supple flesh of your thigh before his hand slithers right between your legs. He cups your heat, his voice a low growl in your ear. “This pretty cunt of yours… All of these are mine.” 

You flinch, a soft cry spilling out of you as he slipped two fingers inside your panties, rubbing them against your clit. He was so gentle with you before; every touch felt featherlight on your skin, but that one…  He was rough with it, demanding, controlling, as if that part of your body was never yours to begin with. 

“Every part of you was made for me.” He licked a stripe up your neck, his fingers sliding back and forth between your folds, slick with your essence. “Only for me to touch. To ruin.”

He pushes in without a second to waste, his tongue moving past your ring at once, tasting the sweetness of your core. Your hand finds home in his hair as a startled gasp escapes you. This time, you don't want him to stop. He can fuck you later; that can wait. Right now, all you need is to find your release, to come on his tongue the way he craves for it. 

“Mmph,” Jinwoo breathes out heavily through his nose, his eyes drooping in rapture the moment you start grinding on his face. He can sense your impatience, your need to take over control, to just use him as you please until you reach your ecstasy. And he knows exactly what to do for you to obtain it.

He breaks away from you, almost robbing a whine out of your lips from the short separation. To your surprise, your husband settles himself on the bed, rolling over to his back and taking your body with him. You land on his chest with a huff, his grip around your waist so possessively tight, his movements rushed as if he was on the brink of his sanity. “Get up here,” he nearly growls, his own patience running thin. “On my face, Angel.”

“J-Jin—”

“Now.”

UPDATE: Yandere!Jinwoo fic is out! Read it here.

[marvelstoriesepic]

❤︎ Hi loves, a little update ❤︎

I just wanted to pop in and say I’m so sorry for being MIA this past week. Life is a bit busy right now, and will be for at least the next two weeks, and it’s made it really hard to get into writing lately. I know I’ve been quiet (and I have so many messages, comments, and reblogs to react to), but I truly appreciate you all for sticking around and being patient with me.

The poll from two weeks ago wrapped up, and I wanted to thank you for voting! The wip with the most votes was my Pirate!Bucky x Fairy!Reader series, which makes me so happy to see you’re excited for. I definitely plan to focus on it, but I also want to be honest - it’s a series, and that means it takes time, and I really need to get back into the world and headspace for it. I started it a while ago, and lately, I just haven’t found the right spark of inspiration or motivation to dive back in fully. Also, I plan to complete the series first and then start posting it. It’s just less stressful for me that way.

I have also been slowly finishing a new little fic for my A Window Open to the Moon series, but I’ve been dragging myself through the editing process, the banner-making, and the whole post-reading part of things and I am yet to finish. I don’t even know where this lack of energy to write came from, but I am truly sorry y’all. I do want to share these stories with you, but my brain and energy just haven’t been cooperating lately.

For the same reasons, I haven’t been able to continue working on part two of Your Ghost Knows Me (which I have named Where the Soldier Sleeps) even though I truly want to, and I will get back to it when I can. It means so much to me that you’re excited for these stories, and I am trying my best to get everything out in time, even if it’s slow.

Thank you, from the deepest depths of my heart, for being here, for your excitement, your kindness, and your understanding while I move through this season of low energy and slow progress. You truly make this space feel safe and soft, and I am endlessly grateful for you ❤︎❤︎

To hopefully make up for the silence, I’ll be dropping a snippet for each of these three wips as a little treat, to thank you for your patience and to share a piece of what’s coming when I’m ready to post them fully.

Where the Soldier Sleeps:

When the turbulence bumps the jet slightly, your shoulder jerks and his hand is there instantly. Firm. Sure. His fingers grip your wrist, then your waist, then your arm again. Just checking. Making sure you’re in one piece.

He doesn’t say anything.

But his eyes are dark and he only lets go when he’s satisfied you’re unharmed.

A Window Open to the Moon fic:

He then watches Alpine - sweet, nosy, manipulative Alpine - as she rubs up against his ankle and then immediately looses interest, padding off to lie dramatically in the sunbeam on the floor as though she is done with both of you. Probably is. Probably thinks you’re idiots.

“She’s gonna get fat if you keep feeding her like this,” you state plainly.

“She’s emotionally complex,” he mutters, but his voice sounds far away.

There is something hanging in the air now. Something heavy and slow, like a fog rolling in off the coast of a conversation you weren’t ready to sail into.

Pirate!Bucky x Fairy!Reader series:

A deep breath is sighed into the air. Weariness weighs it down, makes it sound heavy. With an unpleased coil of his shoulders, Bucky lowers you back into the cage and sets you down onto the cushion of his glove with a gentleness completely at odds with this world he is living in.

The latch clicks back into place. Steve makes sure it sits the way it should.

“Y'know,” Sam starts, a smirk tugging at his lips, though his voice is rather light. He leans in slightly, lowering his back to be level with you where you’re sitting in the cage that Steve is holding. “For what it’s worth, we ain’t the bad guys, little twinkles. I mean, sure, we’ve done some things - some questionable things - but our high and mighty Captain here-” he jerks a thumb toward Bucky, keeping his eyes on your trembling form, “-he doesn’t go soft for just anyone. For nobody, really. Never happens.” His grin is easy and earnest. Even amused.

[freneticfloetry]

I am actively writing in three different fandoms, and it's making me slightly schizophrenic. But this is a piece of the Tevan fic I started in the first place (before the fluff stormed the castle), and since I spent a not insignificant amount of time being in my Buck feelings today, it seemed like a fitting piece to post.

Thanks to @whatsintheboxmh @alrightbuckaroo @carlossreaders @lemonlyman-dotcom @heartstringsduet and @strandnreyes for the tags today. 😘

"Maddie says I should learn how to be alone." The scoff leaves his lungs before Tommy can stop it. "Sounds like they're trying to teach you whether you want the lesson or not," he mutters, and mashes the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Sorry, I… Jesus. Evan." "She didn't mean it like that," Evan rushes out, shaking his head, and Tommy’s heart aches a bit at the fierce baby brother in Evan riding to his big sister's defense. “I just think she worries, and she still feels sort of guilty, and after what she went through with Doug… I think she just wants to make sure that I’m a whole person. You know? That, that I know who I am on my own.” Tommy swallows and nods and tries not to twitch. He’s sure Maddie means well. But really, what does she think her brother had been doing all that time — plotting his way across the country in a hand-me-down Jeep, jumping from odd job to odd job. Sending souvenir postcards from every waypoint to tell her all about the person he'd tried to be there, knowing he'd never receive a word in return. Alone is the only thing Evan had been the whole way. He'd spent literal years being nothing but alone. And he'd stopped running here, laid down roots and let himself grow with the promise that he wouldn't have to be again. “And you think that she’s right.” Evan pulls his eyebrows together, genuinely contemplating what was barely a question. And the part of him that’s a little lost still looks so young, but the part of him that’s lived too much looks weary beyond his years. “She’s not usually wrong,” he finally says. “But I don’t know. I was alone a long time. Since I came to LA, even. Since I became a firefighter. Alone I can deal with. I just…” He smears both palms down the length of his thighs and looks to Tommy like he needs him to understand. “Alone and lonely are two different things, right? I haven’t been lonely, really, since I joined the 118. But I am, now. Lonely. I think I have been for a while. And I don’t know how to do that, with everything. With them. I can’t keep… I don’t think I can do that there.”

These single em dash snippets are going to give me a complex. What in the world have I become?

Tagging in @liminalmemories21 @@rmd-writes @never-blooms @paperstorm @welcometololaland @reyesstrand @orchidscript @ladytessa74 @bonheur-cafe @herefortarlos @carlos-in-glasses @anincompletelist @emsprovisions @firenati0n @firstprince-history-huh @three-drink-amy @walkinginland @carlos-tk @afiendishthingynisba and @hoko-onchi-writes

(If you'd like to be included in the tag games tag list, drop me a line and let me know!)

[djarins-cyare]

WIP Weekend

In my last WIP post, I mentioned I was 18k words into my Secret Relationship fic for the Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge, and it had turned into something much longer than I intended. Sooo, yeah, um… it’s now reached ~40k words!

I’d planned to start posting it next weekend, but my firm got audited so I lost a couple of weeks due to working overtime, and I still have three chapters left to write. So I think it’s gonna be a Christmas release now. Sorry for the wait.

But over the last few weeks, I’ve been tagged in WIP posts by @burntheedges, @papurgaatika, @almostfoxglove, @djarinmuse, and @the-mandawhor1an (thank you, my lovelies! 💚), and with my excuses comes another snippet to tide you over until I can release it…

Please check out my last two WIP posts for additional snippets from earlier in the fic, here and here.

I’m switching it up and giving you one from Din’s POV today; the context is that she’s trying to convince him to come to a show the following night (despite Uncle Karga’s vehement disapproval of them being anywhere near each other)…

Her focus drops to her efforts on his dick as she skilfully adjusts her angle without missing a stroke, but he nudges her chin with his thumb. “Look at me, senaar’ika,” he commands through heavy breaths. When he has her attention again, he breathes, “Tion’jor neliser ni nevore gar?” Her eyes shimmer like starlight whenever he speaks Mando’a to her – like she loves to hear it, even though she doesn’t understand it. It’s why he persists in speaking to her in an almost dead language. Now, though, she answers his question with one of her own. “You gonna come, Mando? Please come….” She could be talking about right now or tomorrow night, but they’re both foregone conclusions. “Yes, fuck,” he gasps, his mouth spilling his agreement about ten seconds before his cock is due to spill his seed. The heat gathering low in his belly flares lower to engulf his balls, and the inferno of his orgasm brightens as it builds. She stokes him for all he’s worth, soft hand on silken skin, eyes still sparkling like the fuse that sizzles inside him… …and it magnifies and spreads, so fiercely thrilling that the alley falls away, and it’s just him and his senaar’ika and the silent symphony of pleasure she’s conducting… …and in an instant, a door swishes, a footstep sounds, and Din is tearing her hand from his pants, drawing his blaster, and moving his body to shield hers. The adrenaline from his impending climax converts into combat readiness, but the low growl that erupts through his vocoder is equal parts anger and anguish. “You two out here?” Yerma’s rich and golden tones dissolve his tension, leaving him with the sullen agony of an orgasm snatched away. The ache in his balls, the sting in his pride, and the regret in his heart all battle for top ranking in his pantheon of displeasure. “What’s up?” his alleyway companion calls out with enviable poise, stepping past him and around the stack of crates to stop Yerma from coming any closer. He takes the cue to hastily rearrange his underwear and zip up his pants, his erection deflating rapidly alongside his hope. This was a bad idea. As if to illustrate his thought, the Twi’lek states six concerning words. “Your uncle’s in the cafe, sweetie.”

Poor Din! 😬

Tion’jor neliser ni nevore gar? – Why can’t I say no to you?

If you don’t already know what his name for her (senaar’ika) means, I won’t spoil it because it’s vaguely plot-relevant.

If you’re interested in being tagged when I release this, please raise your hand or let me know in whatever way you prefer to communicate. You can also join my tag list if you like.

In the interests of making new friends and being sociable, I thought I should make an effort to tag more widely in WIP posts. I know that since I only write for Din and not all of you are particularly Din girlies (gn), some of you may not be interested in my fics, but I read other Pedro boy fics sometimes (Joel, mostly), and if I’ve tagged you below, it means I think you’re a fantastic writer 💚

No pressure to do a WIP post, or if you’d like to but don’t have anything to share or you’ve already posted this week, feel free to hold onto this tag for whenever’s convenient (that’s what I do 😆) or share something non-WIP related.

@ace-turned-confused @ak-vintage @alltheirdamn @alltheotps @almostempty

@alwaysmicado @ameerawrites @arcanefox207 @aurorawritestoescape @avastrasposts

@baronessvonglitter @beardedjoel @beefrobeefcal @bitchesuntitled @bluestar22x

@cas-readsandwrites @chiriwritesstuff @chronically-ghosted @clawdee @covetyou

@din-cognito @draculasfavoritewife @firstofficerwiggles @guiltyasdave @hapan-in-exile

@itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvest @jeewrites @jennaispunk @joelstummy

@justagalwhowrites @luxurychristmaspudding @mermaidgirl30 @milla-frenchy @moeswriting

@mothandpidgeon @mrsmando @murder-wife @novemberrain-writes @orcasoul

@ozarkthedog @pedgito @pedrospatch @perotovar @quinnnfabrgay-writes

@sawymredfox @schnarfer @soft-persephone @sweetpascal @thischarmingmandalorian

I’m also tagging my regular tag list since this is a snippet of an upcoming fic and a posting schedule update. Thank you all for your support 💚

@chiyo13 @harriedandharassed @leithatnight @lilac-boo @lucienofthelakes

@pigeonmama @punkygreeny @syd-djarin @wrathkitty

[artiststarme]

Imagine if after their latest experience with the Upside Down, Eddie and Robin become close. Not dating close, not even best friend close, but on a somewhat brother-sisterly level. It doesn’t surprise anyone since the two are outcasts in their own ways and they have more in common than they originally expected. 

What does surprise them is that Robin starts pulling away from Steve. They’d still talk at work and Steve would still give her rides to and from school. All the other times though, she would hang out with Eddie doing who-knows-what. 

It goes on for weeks until Eddie asks Steve on a date and instead of the charming reaction he’s expecting, Steve starts yelling at him. 

“Now you’re mocking me?! First you steal Robin and now you’re going to steal my dignity? Fuck you, Munson.” With that, he slams his front door in Eddie’s face while he blinks confusedly. 

After a long and confusing talk with Robin, some comforting from her to Steve, and placating promises that no Robin-stealing is occurring, Steve agrees to go on the date. With Robin there as backup.

~*~*~*~

I didn't realize it had been so long since I posted on here... 😰 My apologies! I hope you guys like this little snippet and let me know if I should make it into a full fic!

[laura1633]

Oh God your bottom boxer max/pretty soft Dom Charles post just changed my brain chemistry forever

Maybe...write it?? Please???

Well I am writing a boxer Max fic and it will be bottom Max and there is definitely an element of him being submissive. I hope it will be posted in the next couple months but I haven't decided whether to do it multi chapter or one long one shot yet.

In the meantime, here is a random snippet of Charles taking care of boxer Max. Sorry for the quality, it's rushed but hopefully gets the vibe across.

It’s the day after a fight when Max seems to suffer the most. The adrenaline from the previous night all but gone and replaced with the reality of what he has put his body through.

Its tough for Charles too, in a completely different way of course. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to waking up and seeing Max laying next to him battered and bruised. He’s not even sure that he wants to get used to it. 

It gets a little easier with time though. The sight of purple abrasions against pale white skin doesn’t make him recoil quite like it used to. 

Max is still his Max. Still beautiful in a way that makes Charles’ heart burst. His soft blue eyes swollen and darkened but framed with long thick lashes that flutter when he looks at Charles and smiles. 

“Hey,” Charles coos quietly, “Do you feel okay?”

Max nods delicately. His cheeks are puffy, lips fatter than they usually are, a red nick right above his left eyebrow looks particularly sore. 

“How do I look?” Max gives Charles a lopsided smile, even the curl of his lips looks pained. 

“Beautiful,” Charles hums, “Always beautiful.” 

Max snorts out a half laugh. Tired. Uncertain. 

“You don’t believe me?” Charles leans in, presses his lips careful against Max’s jaw, “You think a few cuts and bruises would stop you looking pretty?”

Max lets out a soft exhale, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as Charles continues to let his lips brush gently over his skin. 

“Do you want me to get you something to eat? Drink?” Charles strokes a hand through Max’s hair, smiling to himself as Max nuzzles against the touch. 

“Just want you,” Max makes a happy sound as Charles scratches lightly against his scalp. It’s a far cry from the Max that was on display last night. The Max that the public knows. Aggressive. Determined. A brawler always looking for his next knock out victory. 

The public see the muscled strength. The blood and sweat. The killer instinct. Charles knows a different Max. A softer Max. Gentle. The Max who appreciates a delicate touch. 

“You look in pain,” Charles gives Max a sympathetic look. Sometimes Max can come out of a fight with barely a blemish on him. Other times it looks like even breathing is a struggle. Today is a bad day, Charles can tell from the way Max inhales and exhaled so carefully, like his ribcage aches.

Max whimpers, brows pinching together, eyes pleading. If his lips weren’t so swollen then Charles is pretty sure there would be a visible pout. 

“Remember what we said,” Charles hums. 

“I have to tell you if it hurts,” Max says softly, already getting himself more comfortable on the bed, legs starting to inch apart. 

“That’s right,” Charles soothes as he inches the covers down, letting his gaze linger on each cut and patch of discolouration on the skin. Max may have won last night but he hasn’t come away unscathed.

“You should have seen the other guy,” Max quips half heartedly as he sees Charles staring at a particularly tender looking spot on his right side.

“I did see the other guy,” Charles runs his hands up Max’s legs  “But it’s you I’m worried about.” 

Max’s breath hitches the instant Charles gets to his thighs. For a moment Charles thinks he might have accidentally pressed against an injury but then the Dutchman moans softly and rolls his hips. 

“You need something inside you,” Charles hums, more of a statement than a question. The Monegasque might not be some muscled fighter but his touch is enough to make Max come undone in an instant, “What do you need?”

“You,” Max’s eyes are closed, head titled back, his dick already hard against his stomach, precum pooling right next to pink patch of skin. 

“Legs wider for me please,” Charles splays his hands to the inside of Max’s thighs and helps spread them. Max is particularly pliant the day after a fight, “Tell me what you want me to do to you?”

Max whines softly. 

“Use your words for me Max,” Charles reaches across to get some lubricant from the bedside cabinet and warms it through his fingers, “You’re doing so well for me.” 

And he really is. Charles knows Max is beyond exhausted. It’s not just the physical fight. It’s the lead up, the media scrutiny, the psychological side of preparation. He’s given everything he has to give. Almost everything. He saves a small part of himself for Charles. 

“I want you inside me,” Max mumbles lazily, a smile still on his face.

“That’s good,” Charles soothes as he runs his fingers around Max’s hole. Soft, slow movements. Still enough for Max to start moaning and rocking against him, eager for more. 

Charles smiles to himself. Teases a little past the point Max starts making disgruntled noises. Much like how Max has learnt to take his time and pick his moments in a fight, so has Charles. He knows when to make Max work for something, when to praise him, when to give him what he deserves. 

The Monegasque slides a finger inside, drawing out a breathy sound from Max. One finger becomes two, then three until Max is moaning and clenching around him, his dick still dribbling pre all over himself. 

“How do you want to come?” Charles curls his fingers, watches Max’s right thigh jerk. 

“With your dick inside me,” Max says confidently, spreading his legs wider as an invitation. 

“Do you deserve that?” Charles lets his fingers drag against Max’s rim and heaves himself off the bed so he can slip out of his clothes. 

“I won didn’t I?” Max smiles. 

“And if you hadn’t of won?” Charles asks, “Would you still have deserved me?”

Max pauses, squints through his blue eyes. 

“Baby,” Charles hums, “What did we say?”

Max takes a long laboured breath, “That I don’t have to win to deserve you.”

“That’s right,” Charles praises, “You’re so pretty, so perfect. You deserve so much” 

Max nods although Charles still isn’t sure if Max truly believes it. He still seems like he thinks he has something to prove, otherwise he wouldn’t keep putting his body through this time and time again. 

Charles clambers over Max and press the head of his cock against the Dutchman’s rim. The sounds Max makes are beautifully desperate, his hips bucking upwards trying to take what he wants.  When Charles pushes in, Max’s face relaxes as if he’s finally contented. 

[starmocha]

Remember when I said the Grassland!Sylus childhood friends/arranged marriage/soulmates AU was at around 4.6k words?

she grew and I still have like three scenes I need to finish writing, but instead of doing that, I kept writing new scenes and...I think I lost control of the story and my life (╥_╥)

So I'm posting another snippet, because...my brain is tired and I really, really, really want to finish this by Sunday because I have another AU wip that I'm also obsessed with I mean I need to finish part 3 of that other Sylus breeding kink fic I promise it's coming

Reminder that this story will include light breeding kink, pregnancy kink, smut, body worship, gratuitous usages of terms of endearment ("my bride" and "my beloved"), Sylus being grossly in love with you, basically lots of fluff. Anyhoo...

The following morning you were lazing in the field as the flock of sheep grazed peacefully all around you. The warm sunlight had you yawning, already feeling yourself being lured by the tempting sun into drifting back to sleep. As the time passed, your eyes felt heavier, and you nodded off a little. Another yawn escaped before you decided a few minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt. Slowly, you closed your eyes, letting them rest for a few minutes. “Is this what you do when I’m not here?” You immediately opened your eyes when you heard Sylus’ approaching voice. You let out a soft surprised squeak when he knelt down next to you, his face looming just mere inches from yours. He was smirking. “Lazing around and sleeping? What if your sheep gets stolen by wild beasts, my beloved?” You glared at him. “I was not sleeping. I…was blinking.” “Your eyes were closed for far longer than a blink should be.” “I had some dust in my eyes.” “I’m quite sure I heard you snoring.” You blushed and shoved his face aside, glowering when he started laughing at you. “Did you come all the way out here just to tease me?” “Mmhmm,” he answered with a pleased nod as he sat back with his legs propped up. His elbow rested on top of his leg while he cradled his chin in his hand. You noticed in his other hand was a wreath crafted from leaves and berries. Your heart quickened and you gasped softly. You looked at him expectantly. It was at that moment that you noticed the dark bags under his eyes. You crawled over to him and he sat back, allowing you to settle in between his long legs. You reached up and touched his face. “Did you not sleep last night?” you asked him worriedly. He simply smiled and shook his head. Without a word, Sylus placed the wreath on top of your head. You reached up and touched it tentatively as you looked at him confused. “I wanted to finish this for you,” he explained, smiling, “Just as I had thought. This suits you.” “R-really?” “Mmhmm,” he hummed again, nodding. He leaned in to steal your lips. “You look beautiful.” “Sylus…” You could feel your cheeks warming up as he spoke. “Now everyone will know you are mine and I am yours.” You felt touched by his gesture. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, surprising him into losing his balance. Sylus laid on the grass with you on top of him. You grinned and kissed him happily. He looked up, gasping softly when he saw the sunlight had formed a radiant halo behind your head. How…ethereal... He smiled, his hand gently grasped your chin, his thumb brushing over your soft, trembling lips. “We are already promised to one another,” he said, “but if I may be presumptuous, I would still like to ask.” You looked down at him confused. “My beloved,” he said, voice soft and sincere, “will you be my bride?” You stroked his cheek, and as you leaned down closer to his face, your wreath tilted on your head. “What do you think?” He smiled. “Your wreath is going to fall off.” “You’ll put it back on for me, right?” He huffed in amusement at your audacious question, but he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, reaching up to fix the wreath for you, “I will…my bride.” For that brief moment, you felt like your heart had stopped, and then you smiled again as you leaned in and kissed him, feeling his strong arms wrapped around you and holding you close to his body. “This is my vow to you, my bride” he said, “There is only you in my eyes. In this life and all of the lifetimes afterwards, I will always choose you.” “Same for me,” you answered, gazing back at him fondly. You stroked his cheek, letting yourself drown in those passionate crimson eyes. “I will always find you,” you promised, “In all of our lives together, I will always find you and choose you, my love.” Your ardent words beckoned his lips to yours, and for the rest of the day, you lay together under the warm morning sun on the grassland, lost in your own world of bliss.

[chericos]

Moon Struck! —> sneak peak

Pro hero! Shouto x Popstar! Reader

cws; allusions of past abuse, shouto is WHIPPED, there's nothing more to this snippet, he wants you BAD. a/n at the bottom

[…] your head lying on his shoulder. You’re so close that he can hear your shallow breaths. This was just supposed to be like any other time you visited.

But somewhere along the way something changed. Like a switch flipped in his brain and now all he can think about is you. And he’s terrified. Because how is he supposed to tell you that he wants to kiss you so badly, that you’re the only thing he’s been thinking about for the past 3 months? That he wants to hold you, and love you in ways that can’t simply be explained.

He wants to know you.

Which may sound dumb considering you've been ‘friends’ for almost a year now, but he wants to know why you do every little thing, why you like that shade of lipstick, why you season your food the way you do, he wants to know every little bit of you, but he just doesn’t know how.

He's not good with feelings. Yes, he had friends, and a family—dysfunctional, but still a family nonetheless—but he’s never had to open up to a person like this before. Breaking down the protective walls over his heart because he’s never felt this way about someone before. He’s never had to explain the way he acts because of his family’s past. He’s never had to lay out every flaw— every impurity, for someone to dissect. He never had to do much of anything.

Before you, that is.

And he’s terrified of messing this up. Cause deep down there’s nothing more that he wants than to just be with you. And now his heart is hammering in his chest, and his mind is running a mile per minute because you’re just so perfect and you’re looking at him like he’s holding the world, with that adorable smile of yours and he swears he could kiss you stupid if you just gave him the chance.

Shouto’s not good with feelings. But for you, he’d try.

a/n; i wish i could say it gets better from here, but i'd be lying. You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder! (omg spoiling my own work). Full fic should be posted mid-end of october, along with two other surprises!

random side notes; im so scared to watch the recent eps of mha, idk if id be able to take it. started this game back in 2018, I've been here a while and it's so close to being over(anime-wise). Truly sorry for the person I will become when the class as pro heroes gets animated.

@ CHERICOS 2024 all rights reserved do not repost, edit, copy, translate, or plagiarise my works

[teamred]

re: your tags - I am dying to know about your Wade’s sister!reader x Logan fic, omg that sounds so fun 👀💖

-@eupheme

omg hi j!!! @eupheme (gonna tag you in case the ask post doesn't do it)

i actually have two wade's sister!reader x logan fics in the works! i hope you don't mind me sharing both~

the one i was referring to in my tags is called "dusk till dawn".

summary: vanessa is kidnapped, so while wade runs off to save her, he assigns logan to be reader's bodyguard. however, they don't get along, but they start to fall for each other over time.

it'd be a road trip/motel hopping au with lots of banter, sharing one bed, tension, angst, and steamy moments of course 👀

i'm taking inspiration from some of the moments with logan and mariko from the wolverine (2013) movie!

i'd love to share snippets, but it's really in the draft stages right now!!

second fic i have is called "can't help myself" (title tentatitive)

summary: wade only has one rule for logan: his sister is completely off-limits. but of course, logan never plays by the rules, and you couldn't give two shits about what your dumb-ass brother says.

this one would be more of a fun fic!! just like messing with wade but also having fun with logan and lowkey falling for him too

lots of dialogue, especially with wade, smut, fluff, etc. just a vibes fic

wouldn't be as long as the other fic - i wrote quite a bit for this already! here's a snippet of the intro:

“Don't look at her,” Wade paces around his apartment’s living room, listing the things Logan, his new roommate, should avoid when he meets his sister tomorrow. “Don't breathe in her presence, don't even think about her, and especially don't—” 

“What, ya gonna tell me I can’t fuck her next?” Logan cuts in with an amused chuckle, reclining on the living room couch with a hand above his head. 

“Yes, bingo!” Wade exclaims, pointing at him excitedly. “Exactly that, you geriatric sexy vampire. Or should I technically say vampire hunter?” He pauses, wondering for a moment. 

“Anyways,” he continues, “you can have any woman you want in this new universe—hell, I’ll cry my heart out every night after my evening jerk-off seshes, but you can even have Vanessa—but my sister? We’re gonna have a repeat of the Honda Odyssey fight, Wolvie, and that won’t be a pretty sight to see.” 

“Okay,” Logan replies, getting up from the couch and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll make sure to fuck your sister until she forgets the fact that she's your sister. Got it.” 

“Hey!” Wade smacks him on the back as he’s bent over, trying to grab a beer from the fridge. A low growl escapes from him. “I’m being serious here.” 

“When are you ever serious?” Logan asks, popping off the beer cap with his thumb. 

“Now! I am being serious now.” Wade’s voice rises before he takes a second to compose himself, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. Logan watches him carefully, sipping his beer. 

“Please, Logan,” he barely whispers, avoiding eye contact. 

The silence, punctuated only by Logan’s sipping, feels uncomfortable and heavy. Finally, Logan lets out a sigh.

“Fine,” he grunts. “I won’t get involved with your sister.” 

Wade breaks into a relieved smile and extends his pinky. “You promise?” 

Despite Logan rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he ends up hooking his pinky around Wade’s, sealing the deal.

Except Wade doesn’t see Logan’s other hand behind his back, with his middle and index fingers crossed over another.

[adanseying]

I wanted to finish writing this fic in time to post on Adam’s birthday, however due to my bad priorities (finishing my work for my internship on time instead of finishing the fic) I did not, but I still wanted to post Something on Adam day so here is a snippet:

When Adam awoke, it was to the soft pitter patter of rain against the window of his Harvard dorm room. Next to him, Richard Campbell Gansey the third was waking. He blinked open those beautiful hazel eyes, dark lashes fluttering as gently as the rain. Ever since a fateful early December day, Adam had hated rain. But nothing could make him hate this moment. 

“Adam.” 

Gansey had said his name so many times over their acquaintance, yet it sounded different each time. Sometimes it sounded like “hello” or “goodbye”. Sometimes it sounded like “I choose you, I need you. You are special, wondrous, a marvelous creature. You are my favorite.” These were the times Adam was most distrustful of his name on those perfect lips. The worst times, it had sounded like “ridiculous Adam, messy, difficult, ruinous Adam, Adam the bomb which could go off at any time, Adam who breaks things”. Adam is always bracing for a time when this is the only way Gansey can say his name. He does not believe in god, but if he did, he would pray that day never occurs. 

The way Gansey pronounces his name now is not like those other times. Any of them. Today he says it quietly, so soft that if Adam were not pressed up against him as he is — oh, and how embarrassing that he can not move away, not even to preserve a modicum of his own dignity — he would not have heard it. He says it as if he is savoring a flavor on his tongue he’s afraid he’ll never taste again. Adam knows the feeling all too well. 

Seeing Gansey like this produced a multitude of feelings in Adam. That wasn’t a surprise; nobody could be indifferent to the golden, glorious sprawl of Richard Campbell Gansey III, unclothed and in their bed. Adam has never been able to stop looking at Gansey, not once in all the time he has known him. So it is unsurprising that he feels drunk on the sight of him. But the desire to touch — that was one he had wrestled down into his subconscious as much as was possible. Sometimes Gansey would do something that destroyed this resolve. Sometimes he would initiate something, like the fist bumps, and it gave Adam permission for a sliver of the indulgence he craved. But he’d never had such total permission, and so he had no defense from giving in to it now. Yet in addition to the lust and hunger, there was something more startling, more terrifying. Gansey looked so young. So innocent, with his sleep mussed hair and sleepy, blinking eyes. His boyish grin was almost shy. It was unbearable, the urge to protect him. Adam felt sure that it would break his heart. 

“What are you thinking about?” asked Gansey. His gaze had gone from out of focus and lethargic, to intent and curious. As was always the case when Gansey looked at him that way, Adam felt an odd fluttering sensation somewhere between his chest and his sternum. 

That I don’t want anything to ruin this. “That I’m tired, I had so much to do this week and it’s catching up to me. We should stay in today.” 

“Well, of course,” said Gansey. “Even if I wanted to go anywhere, this weather would have prevented me.”

Thank god for the rain. 

Adam trailed a hand across Gansey’s collarbone, then let it rest at his shoulder. He rested his head on his chest, and closed his eyes. The sounds of Gansey’s heartbeat and breathing were a steady, much welcomed metronome that both soothed and dizzied him. They remained like that for — Adam doesn’t know, there’s an alarm clock on his desk but he’s afraid if he looks at it, the spell will break. Eventually, Gansey starts to shift, and Adam, purely on instinct, digs his nails into Gansey’s shoulder blade. “Ow!” Gansey grunted. 

Adam feels his face going hot. “Oh god, I’m so sorry are you okay?” 

Gansey huffed out a laugh. “It’s fine. Be easy, tiger. I just wanted to rub your back? But if that’s weird or uncomfortable I won’t do it.” he said the last part hastily. “I really should have asked, I know you don’t like sudden movements – it’s just that the quiet was nice, and you seemed so relaxed and peaceful. I didn’t want to ruin it with my voice.” 

Your voice could never ruin anything. “You can rub my back.” Adam did his best to say it matter of factly. 

Gansey grinned that sunlight smile of his, and proceeded to do just that. 

Adam found himself wondering if at one of the rich boy schools Gansey had attended before Aglionby, they taught some sort of massage class. Both of the rich boy schools Adam had attended at Aglionby and Harvard, offered some rather odd classes, so it didn’t seem impossible that at one of the many more Gansey had temporarily attended that could have been offered. Of course that would mean Gansey done this to people other than Adam…  If so that meant Gansey would have done this to other people before doing it to him. The thought made Adam burn with jealousy. 

         “Are you okay?” asked Gansey with concern. “You look upset, I can stop if you want—“

“No!” Adam exclaimed. Then he felt embarrassed, but Gansey looked delighted.

“Okay.”

[jakeluppin]

wip wednesday

hello i remembered this time woo. i wanted to do it last week and forgot so! snippet from my rabbot fic

Saturday update: fic has been posted on ao3

[Robby] places his phone back in his pocket and looks up to see Jack heading his way. He must be starting his shift and since he hasn’t yet started on any cases, it seems Robby gets to be his first. Lucky him.

“What happened?” Jack asks when he reaches him.

“Overhead lamp. And here I thought we were friends but it just went and attacked me for no reason.”

“No reason? You sure about that?”

“I mean maybe I was flirting with another lamp and it got jealous. Who knows. You know me, I just can’t help myself.”

Jack laughs and puts on gloves before reaching up and looking at the wound. Robby can’t seem to focus on anything more than the feeling of Jack’s hands in his hair, even if all he’s doing is moving it out of the way to get a better look at the cut.

“Well, you definitely need stitches. Shouldn’t take too long. Let me go get a suture kit and I’ll be right back.”

Robby nods and watches him walk off, his eyes maybe staring at his ass for longer than he should.

When he’s back, Jack asks, “You want something for the pain?” as he starts cleaning up the wound.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Jack replies with a laugh. Robby smiles but knows it’s less about that and more that he doesn’t want to be numb, that he wants to be able to feel Jack’s hands on him.

“Happy birthday,” Jack says as he starts suturing.

“You remembered.”

“Of course. Why would I not?”

It’s a good question. Robby’s not sure why he’s surprised that Jack remembers. With how long they’ve known each other, the number of birthdays they’ve spent together, it really is no surprise.

Only it is for some reason. Robby doesn’t like to try and dig into these thoughts – these feelings – all too often. But he thinks that there’s always just this part of him that’s surprised Jack cares about him at all.

[facewithoutheart]

Thanks for the tag @prettygoododds! I totally agree the 10 to 1k challenge is way more about editing than it is writing, which I’m really loving even if omg it’s so hard.

I’m off traveling with my husband for our 12th anniversary. I spend most days alternating between being so full of love for him that it feels like my heart can’t bear it, and wanting to push him into the nearest lake. Marriage, am I right?

See below for writing updates and photos from my trip, plus a small cursed snippet.

I’ve also been doing a ton of writing while traveling and none of it on things I should be working on 🤣

Some updates:

I’ve been really loving the 10 to 1k challenge which I wasn’t planning on entering, but got an idea the night before flying out and so I guess when else do you start a new WIP? Check mine out here if you want … it’s a buddie fic where Eddie will kiss Buck … but only for five minutes at a time. Featuring lots of mutual pining and self-hatred. These boys are really good at hurting themselves. This whole fic has really helped hone my short game. I’m having a great time.

I also started posting more silly adventures of Buck the robot. It’s dumb it’s sweet. At some point there will be porn.

To the excitement of none of y’all but a lot of buddie fans, I finally started tackling my sequel to We Are Like Frogs Oblivious. It’s basically just gonna be mpreg smut interspersed with some sweeter moments. If you’re hoping for angst resolution, you’re in good luck.

I started plotting but haven’t written much of my FTH fic for @thewholelemon. I’m kind of annoyed I got a wave of juice that dissipated in favor of buddie, but it’s based on a tv show I can’t currently watch, so fingers crossed motivation comes back when I’m home.

And then for my most cursed fic, I wrote, like, 6k of RPF on my flight to Zurich. It’s ringing too melancholy now (I was so anxious while flying I feel like that colored my creativity), but I’m gonna share some of it below because I need a reason to dive back into the google doc and convince myself it’s not as bad as I remember:

The worst part is Oliver’s not even frustrated that what comes hard-won to Oliver comes so naturally to Ryan because on their first joint interview together he finds himself equally as charmed.

“I loved you in Into the Badlands,” Ryan says shortly before the cameras start rolling.

Oliver, who prides himself on never being caught off guard, is surprised by this. “I wasn’t aware that show had much of a following.”

“Well, no,” Ryan admits, his aw shucks in full force, “but I tried to watch at least one film or show for each of the cast when prepping for the job. Did you know Chimney was in Halloweentown?”

There’s a moment where Oliver could feign shock; it’s clearly the reaction Ryan expects. Because that’s the normal response one has when one of your co-workers boasts the prestigiously credited role of “hip-sales-creature” in a Disney Channel Original movie.

Instead, Oliver finds himself confessing, “I did, actually.”

When Ryan doesn’t seem thrown by Oliver’s reply, simply sits there, full eye contact, his shoulders angled toward Oliver and one hand on his chin like Ryan couldn’t imagine anything more interesting than the drivel Oliver’s about to spout, Oliver adds, “When I got cast as Buck, I actually watched every project Angela, Peter, Connie, Aisha and Kenny ever made.”

This makes Ryan react, his brows flying upward to that lush hairline of his. “Every … every project? Phew,” he whistles, “that had to have taken …”

“Way too long,” Oliver finishes for him. “I can be …” Oliver bites his lip, thinking about how to phrase this, and doesn’t miss when Ryan’s eyes track the movement “… intense,” he lands, a bit breathless.

“Mmm. I’ll say.” Ryan’s smiling placidly, like he didn’t just reveal a tell that would send Oliver in a full panic if he’d allowed it.

If you’ve made it this far, here’s some photos:

& tags for people who I don’t think will be annoyed at the lengthy update lol @sillyunicorn @martsonmars @raenestee @thewholelemon @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla @stitchyqueer @forabeatofadrum @fiend-for-culture @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @ic3que3n @run-for-chamo-miles @monbons @roomwithanopenfire @whatevertheweather @ileadacharmedlife @skeedelvee

[thegingerwrites]

I've been writing quite a bit lately including making some progress on the results of this poll from the beginning of the year at least until I found an idea to obsess over which i have

The current fic I'm really into writing started out as like an outlet for my id (which is, coincidentally, how short cycle started too) I just wanted like a scrap doc to put my horniest thoughts in and it has evolved into something even more fun than i originally thought.

It's a sort of post-rots, no order 66, palpatine is dead, the galaxy is saved, anakin leaves the order to be with padme and the twins au. Obi-Wan and Anakin haven't seen each other in 4 years. I love getting to wrestle with Obi-Wan's pov in this scene where he is, in his mind justifiably, kind of a bitch

And because I feel like I haven't been around lately, here's an extended snippet:

“What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan asks. He doesn’t bother to wonder how Anakin got in. So many things that should be unlikely or impossible are child’s play to Anakin. If enough desire is there, nothing can stand in his way. Obi-Wan knows him well enough by now to know that the question to ask is not how but why.

Anakin looks at him, all of him. He rocks forward on the balls of his feet like he wants to step inside Obi-Wan’s quarters but Obi-Wan doesn’t move an inch. It’s not like Anakin can sneak past him without a struggle if Obi-Wan decides not to let him in. “I had to see you again.”

“And so you have.”

“I’ve been thinking of you a lot lately and seeing you today felt like a sign.”

Always so dramatic. “Today was a coincidence, nothing more.”

“There is no such thing as a coincidence when it comes to the Force.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head, the expression on his face veering towards amusement so that it doesn’t flirt with anger. “You sound awfully like a Jedi for a civilian.”

“Obi-Wan—” Anakin begins and for all that Obi-Wan is dying to hear where Anakin is going to go with this, Anakin doesn’t seem to have the words.

He lets Anakin struggle and fall. Keeping his face placid and still is a challenge, so he overcompensates and feigns a small, amused smile. It’s a cruel little thing but Obi-Wan doesn’t have it in himself to be gentle with Anakin. Not after all this time.

“What?” he asks, when he’s finally had enough. “You came all this way but have nothing to say to me?”

“I don’t know where to begin—Obi-Wan, can I please come inside?”

“We could start right where we left off today, couldn’t we? Exchange pleasantries?” Obi-Wan keeps his voice light and manages to hold his tongue through iron self-control. He desperately wants to pile other questions on top of those. How have you been since you decided to leave the only life you’ve ever known? How have I been since you left without a word?

Anakin scoffs. “What, you want to talk about the weather? I don’t think we’ve exchanged pleasantries in the entire time I’ve known you.”

Because that is what strangers do and they have never been strangers to each other but they might be strangers now. Anakin has made certain of that. “What do you suggest we do then? I’m still waiting to hear what brought you to my door.”

“I’d like to come inside before someone comes to investigate a shouting match in the hall.”

Obi-Wan puts on a look of innocence and peers to the left and right down the hall. “A shouting match? I haven’t heard anything of the sort but I’ll be sure to keep an ear out. Kit does like to leave the volume on his holoprograms rather loud.”

This is fun, Obi-Wan realizes. For all of his nerves, for all of the rattling sense of inevitability, he hadn’t anticipated enjoying himself trying to goad and skewer Anakin. But he does have to be careful not to push Anakin too far. He can’t risk the man storming off now that Obi-Wan has the upper hand.

“Come in, then.” Obi-Wan steps back to let Anakin past him.

“Thank you,” Anakin murmurs. Obi-Wan tries hard to find the note of sarcasm that must be hiding there but he must not have the ear for it anymore.

He takes a minute to stand back and watch Anakin in the middle of his apartment. He blinks and tries to will away the shock of it. Remind himself that Anakin is real and tangible. He won’t vanish like a ghost or a dream. Obi-Wan tries to put himself in Anakin’s shoes, see his apartment from his point of view. It isn’t as though much has changed since he left. Obi-Wan has never had very many possessions. A throw blanket on the couch, a new mug by the sink, a succulent drying out on the windowsill. He can’t get a read on what Anakin makes of it, the same but different, but Obi-Wan doesn’t much care what Anakin thinks. He isn’t ashamed of how he has led his life, the code he has always tried his best to stick to.

“Shall I put on some water for tea?” asks Obi-Wan, ready to keep pretending that Anakin is just some other house guest for as long as it gets under Anakin’s skin.

Anakin gives him a look. It’s far too familiar and something in Obi-Wan aches at the sight of it. The feeling vanishes in an instant, replaced by a kind of disgust in himself for his weakness that is far more comfortable.

Then Anakin seems to come to a decision. He moves to the kitchen cabinets with a purpose. He opens the one over the sink and lifts up onto his toes to grab—ah, yes. There is a bottle of Corellian brandy Obi-Wan once confiscated from Anakin as a padawan. He came back to their rooms dizzy, drunk, and babbling after a night out somewhere in the temple with some of the other padawans, not more than fourteen years old. At the time, Obi-Wan told him they would share it one day when he was older, when he was an adult and could handle his alcohol better. Then it became something of a joke that no, even when Anakin was nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three, he still wasn’t quite ready yet.

Patience, my very young padawan. Some things get better with age.

Obi-Wan doesn’t go into that cabinet very often. He’d mostly forgotten that bottle was there.

[waywardstation]

hey no pressure I'm just being silly here and this is completely in a joking manner but

you haven't posted a fic in so long I'm starting to have dreams that you do and then I wake up and I'm like awwwwh

like the other day I had one where you posted something about the phione akari au (which is my favorite btw besides maybe what you've revealed of the iwlyb saga) and last night I had one where you posted one and then decided you didn't like the story and then me and someone else had to try and write the rest to convince you it was still good lmaoooo

im yearning here TvT

HELLO ANON I am both honored that you appreciate my fics so much and want more to the point you dream about them, and also mortified that it’s really been so so SO long since I’ve last posted a fic when I think about it ;0;

tbh I have an unfinished drabble for the Phione Akari AU I still really need to finish (she is swimming around in the shallow coastlands shoreline looking for stuff to collect and bring back to Ingo while he rests and takes a break from the heat — she is also enjoying just how much more mobile and strong and independent she is in the water compared to land) AND I really really need to finish just one more segment in IWLYB before it can be ready to at least START posting it.

It’s been so, so long since I’ve posted any of my writings. It’s not WIP Wednesday but I’ll post snippets from both.

First, Phione Akari AU:

—————

“Here,” Ingo moved to lower his cupped hands to the gritty coastlands sand, though Akari jumped out and down the rest of the way before he could reach it.

With her out of his hands, Ingo settled into the cool sand himself, leaning back against the wall of water-damaged boards of the overturned wreckage that provided him shade.

Today was a rather humid day — the previous days’ rainstorms had left sticky air in their wake. And while it was appreciated that the dark clouds would stop emptying their supply onto the two of them, the humidity was almost worse in the coastlands’ climate.

Well, for one of them, at least. The moisture in the air kept Akari from drying out so quickly, but with the poor man cooking in his multiple layers and black coat under the glaring sun, Ingo was not faring as well.

“Ugh,” Ingo groaned, taking off his hat to wipe at the accumulating sweat on his forehead. “I apologize, it seems our schedule has many more stops than I’d intended today.”

“Phi-phi,” Akari squeaked reassuringly, watching him practically peel his thick coat off of himself and begin rummaging through the supplies in his pack. She wanted him to know that she was appreciative he was managing himself better than he had been the last few days.

Ingo pulled out a flask and popped the cap off, tipping it to down a few big gulps of cold water. He wiped at his mouth after and took in the sight of their shaded shelter briefly, a few fingers of light reaching through into the cool darkness where the hull’s wood had cracked. At the far end of the stretched shelter opposite to Ingo, the edge of the surf lapped gently with its repetitive motions. Reaching out, pulling back. Reaching out, pulling back…

And Akari had shuffled through the sand to meet it, reaching a flipper out to feel the cool ocean water as it pulled across the shaded grains. He knew what she wanted to do.

“I think I should rest my engine here for a while.” Ingo screwed the top onto the bottle and slumped back against his pack. “I should be ready to resume travel shortly, but until then Miss Akari, you may venture into the waters. Just please don’t wander too far from this station, remain near where the wreckage provides shelter, out of the open waters.”

The casual allowance surprised Akari somewhat — he’d never let her do so before, but perhaps he’d taken her seriously when she asked him to trust her a little more, and allow a bit more freedom.

Well, she wasn’t going to waste a moment of this little bit of freedom he’d just given her.

“Phi!” Before he could say anything else, she bid him goodbye with a wave of her flipper and leapt forward into the surf, swimming out further under the protection of the overarching wreckage where the shallow sands began to dip down. She’d already decided she was going to find and bring something back for Ingo — perhaps a basculin spine? Or a qwilfish quill? Or maybe even a Lumineon scale! Perhaps even all three if she was quick about it.

—————

And now, a snippet from I Won’t Leave You Behind. This one is much shorter:

—————

No, this was the behavior of a mother. Or rather, one that was grieving.

Jörmun was not a male like the Pearl Clan had always told him, like he’d always just went along with. Like he’d always just assumed because of that notch in the dorsal fin.

It wasn’t a male marker. It was nothing more than a poorly-healed scar. Jörmun was a female. And she was out of her mind with rage, trying to find who had done this to her ill-fated offspring.

Ingo’s eyes darted between the destroyed eggs, all the tiny fragments scattered across the snow with the yolky contents pooling in the nests and the footprints.

She thought they’d done this to her eggs.

A deep bellowing, more felt then heard, shook the mountainside. It reverberated through Ingo’s chest, an uncomfortable rumbling in his ribcage that shook everything inside with the overwhelming realization that they’d been drowning in a danger that went so much deeper than they’d even realized.

“Akari, we must depart.” Ingo’s eyes scanned the mountainside, searching for that telltale dorsal fin to come cutting through somewhere along the snowy stretch of fog that surrounded them. “Immediately.” He emphasized when she didn’t move. She looked at him with wide eyes, realizing for herself what was happening.

[scarlet-witchery]

fuck it, it's Steve Rogers' birthday, I'm posting another snippet of my post-TWS au to celebrate, enjoy! @mapofyourstars @beskad

(if you wanna read the other posted piece of this fic, it's over here)

Six months into their search found Steve crashed on Sam's couch, exhausted. Another day, he thought, another dead end. Every time they thought they'd found something, it turned out to be another cold trail. So much information about the winter soldier had been buried deeper than the file Natasha had given her. But a few of the leads had proven to bear fruit, so they'd been running down those threads wherever it took them. It at least gave him the chance to do something, even if it was mostly just chasing after ghosts—some of the ghosts might still be talking. Natasha was still off on her ‘finding herself’ trip—which may or may not include Clint; Steve thought he heard the other man's voice in the background of a hotel room when he'd talked to Natasha a few weeks ago, but he knew she'd never tell him one way or the other—so that just left Sam and Steve. And Steve still didn't have a place of his own after the last one got demolished, so. Couch it was.

Sleep still eluded him, even as he tried to put all of the racing thoughts from his mind. Bucky, first and foremost, as always. The other Avengers, several of whom had reached out to him in the aftermath of DC. Peggy, who apparently heard about the whole thing in one of her more lucid moments and called him while he'd been in the hospital (“don't blame yourself, Steve Rogers, because I know you already are,” she'd said in her voicemail. “You can't help what you didn't know about. I should be the one apologizing for not finding Hydra sooner, infiltrating SHIELD. I'm so sorry, Steve. I know you'll find Barnes and bring him home again. You're too damn stubborn not to.”). And that was just the start Tossing and turning, Steve found no relief, even moving at one point to lay on the floor to see if that would help. (It didn't.) He swore he could see shadows moving in every corner, all of them turning out to be Bucky—just a product of being sleep deprived, Sam said, when Steve told him about it. Which of course Steve knew, but it didn't get rid of the nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

If he was being honest, he almost wished the shadows would turn out to be Bucky—it would save a lot of time and frustration for Steve and Sam, who wasn't even doing this because he had to. So even though he understood why Bucky was being elusive, it didn't exactly make the work any easier. And every night his thoughts kept racing through his head: how far they'd come, how much more there was to go, what he could do better, what he planned to do when they finally did catch up with Bucky…it made for unsettling and restless dreams.

Finally, he was nearly asleep when there came a noise from the kitchen. Just a soft one—he suspected that any normal human would have missed it—but he was certain enough that he rolled out of bed right away and crouched low to the ground. Steve then opened his door as quietly as he could manage, making his way down the hall. Walking silently wasn't second nature for him, even after all his experience with stealth missions, and unfortunately it slowed his progress.

As it was, he got to the kitchen just in time to see a shadowy figure dive out the window and onto his apartment's small balcony. Bucky—it had to be Bucky—barely made the smallest sound when he landed, and Steve had to spare a moment for a flare of jealousy before he went to yank the back door open and run outside.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, seeing as Bucky was unsurprisingly gone by the time he made it out there. He gripped the railing and swung over the side, easily dropping to the ground from the second story window.

He'd forgotten his shield, hadn't even thought about grabbing it before he'd left. All he'd been focused on was catching up to Bucky. Now here he was, running across the darkened, empty parking lot, in shorts and a t-shirt, entirely barefoot and completely unarmed.

Steve came to a stop, looking around wildly to see where Bucky had gone; he couldn't be far away. He half expected Bucky to be lying in wait behind one of few cars in the parking lot, or around the corner of his apartment building. But he heard nothing, saw nothing, couldn't find one damn thing that might tell him where Bucky might be. At first he'd been chasing after Bucky, but now he couldn't help but wonder if it was Bucky chasing him.

And then Steve went down hard into the asphalt, feeling the burn and scrape against the side of his face. He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, spinning on his foot to gain momentum and get back up. Bucky didn't give him a chance to get his balance, though, throwing a punch with his metal arm aimed right at Steve's head. But Steve dodged the blow, ducking down and moving in, slamming his elbow into Bucky's stomach. It sent Bucky reeling, stumbling back, enough time for Steve to get his bearings.

“Bucky-” he started to say, winded from his fall. Bucky got to his feet with cat-like grace and had Steve flat on the ground in an instant. He crouched over him, holding his forearm against Steve's throat, pressing hard enough to make him choke and struggle for air. The metal was impassive and unyielding against his flesh. Bucky wouldn't yield, he knew that, no matter how much Steve clawed at the metal arm obstructing his airway. A familiar pain, one he remembered all too well from just a few months ago. He kept Steve's legs and hips pinned with the rest of his body, a consummate soldier using every tool available to him. But the feeling still raised heat in Steve's face nonetheless, bringing back thoughts that Steve had tried to leave behind in 1945. Thoughts that he couldn't afford to be having right now.

“Why do I know you?!” Bucky demanded, letting up just enough that Steve could talk.

Steve gasped in as deep a breath of air as he could manage to take. “We've—been best friends—since 1925….”

Bucky leaned over Steve once more, putting pressure on his throat with the metal arm once again, somehow even harder this time. Their bodies pressed closer together, and Steve barely managed to inhale again, heat stoking the fires of hope inside him. That didn't matter right now. What mattered was Bucky, here, talking to him, staying here…

“I remember you—but I don't know how I know-” And Steve could see the look of desperation on his face, even in the dim glow of a distant street lamp. This wasn't Bucky—nor was it the winter soldier—but someone in between. Steve tried to pry Bucky's arm away, but Bucky grabbed his hands, slamming them down above Steve's head with his flesh and blood hand.

“Please-” Steve choked out. He tried to break free of the hold, but the worst part was that he didn't…he didn't want to, not entirely. Because if Bucky was keeping him pinned to the asphalt in the parking lot of this apartment complex, it meant Bucky was here. With him. “Bucky-”

“I'm not him!” Bucky yelled, letting up on Steve's throat long enough to slam his metal fist into the pavement next to Steve's head with alarming alacrity. Then, with more hesitation, he shoved his arm right back under Steve's chin and jaw, keeping Steve from taking anything but the most shallow breaths. “I saw it—at the museum, I went there…that man isn't me. Bucky Barnes is dead.”

“Then—who are you-?”

“I don't know!” He shoved his arm down once more, hard enough to make Steve see stars…and then suddenly pulled away, making Steve gasp as he grabbed at his throat. Bucky only sat back on his heels, still keeping him trapped on the ground. They stared at each other for a long, long time. The only sounds that broke the silence were the distant noises from the nearby street, and Steve's slightly labored breath. “...I don't know.”

“Is that why—you broke into my apartment-?”

Bucky nodded, still looking frustrated and furious. All Steve wanted to do was fix it, make it go away, make this easier on Bucky. But he knew he couldn't. Even though Bucky already seemed more like himself—more like a person, rather—but Steve knew it couldn't be that easy to regain his memories and sense of self. No wonder he didn't know why he was doing some things—sense and muscle memory was stronger than anything, Natasha had said, so it would come back first. Without the rest, though, he'd have no context, so of course he would be confused. “Part of it.”

Steve looked up at him, a strange mix of adrenaline coursing through his system. The urge to fight, to run, to stay…he could see those very feelings reflected in Bucky's gaze as well. “What about the other part…?”

No reply came. Instead, Bucky stared at him for a long moment, like he was searching for something. He stood abruptly, taking several steps back. For a moment he looked like he might speak, but he clenched his jaw and shook his head. Then he turned and ran, melting into the night. Steve found himself left on his back in the middle of an empty parking lot, head pounding and heart beating wildly.

“Fuck,” Steve said to himself, all but exhaling the word into the night air, and slowly picked himself up off the ground. He rolled onto his side and shoved himself up onto his forearms, then carefully got to his feet. Even though his head still spun, colorful spots bursting in his vision, Steve turned and headed back home. Now he definitely wasn't getting any sleep tonight.