#this also is four lil snippets

[fonulyn]

(since it's officially the 21st where I am, I'm just gonna go ahead and throw this out there)

for Chreon Week 2024!

Day 1: Patching wounds / Mutual consolation/comfort

-

“Careful there,” Chris groaned, biting back a pained sound right after. “You’re being a bit too rough, Nurse Kennedy.” He didn’t want to complain, not when they were both battered and bruised to all hell, having gone through one hell of a fall when half the mountainside gave in and they rolled all the way down with tons of rubble. But Leon was being a little bit too heavy handed with the way he was wrapping gauze around Chris’ knee for support.

Leon glanced up at him, grimacing apologetically. “It has to be tight or it won’t help,” he argued, but even so he eased up slightly when he wrapped the next round. He kept his focus on what he was doing, ignoring the way he was covered in small cuts and dust, some twigs and rubble even in his hair. “Trust me. My knees should’ve been replaced ten years ago with how many hits they’ve taken.”

There was nothing Chris could say in disagreement to that, not really. He’d been telling Leon to take it easy for a long time now, but who was he to judge. He was even older and still stuck in this same limbo, still fighting the neverending fight. Without thinking on it too much he reached out and plucked a twig out of Leon’s hair, and when it got him a questioning glance he shrugged. “You need a shower.”

“You’re one to talk,” Leon said, but there was no real heat in it. He stood up finally, groaning as his back made a creaking sound. “Now try it. Should be enough that we can walk out of here.” He looked around, frowning at their shabby shelter. They’d found some kind of a storage shack and without thinking crammed themselves in there so that they could take stock of their injuries before all the BOWs roaming the area would find them and make their lives exponentially harder.

For now, it had worked. They were still alone, not even footsteps outside.

“First you’ll have to lift your shirt for me,” Chris said, not making a move to stand up from the bench he’d crashed on. Once Leon just gave him a long look instead of acting on it, Chris rolled his eyes. “I saw you get snagged earlier. You’re bleeding.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leon said dismissively. It only took a long look from Chris and he relented, though, lifting the hem of his shirt enough to reveal a nasty looking gash. It was superficial, definitely not deep enough to be lethal in itself, but it also looked painful and it wouldn’t be good to get dirt in it.

“Alright,” Chris said, probing around the first aid kit. Leon had used most of the gauze for his knee but there was a wad of it left, and some cotton swabs and surgical tape. And of course disinfectant. Leon was going to hate this. “Hold still and let me fix this.”

Obediently, Leon waited until Chris was done. Chris didn’t say a word, but he couldn’t help but think that they’d come a long way. The Leon a few years ago would’ve argued back and wouldn’t have even shown him the wound. It might’ve sounded stupid to others, but Chris knew what this meant. It meant trust. He was pretty proud to be awarded that.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: Spin-off

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Update: Sylus went ahead and got himself mortalized (That's it, that's the plot). Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, slight crack (literally. lmao, you’ll see), FLUFF! A/N: Finally starting the spin-off! Hello again 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼 I’ve got a rough outline for the flow and a few key chapters mapped out, but I’m keeping it flexible for the most part. This isn’t gonna be a full structured story, so think more like vignettes of their life, w/ some world-building here and there (laying some groundwork for future chapters hehe). Come thru if you wanna see what error!Sylus and our lil player are up to post-reality jump 🙂‍↕️🙏🏼 Also: no posting schedule! I’m treating this like a chill side project I can pick up whenever, so not every part’s gonna be lengthy/that polished hehe. Mostly short snippets, unless the chapter calls for a longer one. (P.S. Just send a DM if you want to be taken off the taglist lol. I just assumed you guys would still want to follow along, but no pressure at all if you don’t! 💕)

(main series) - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2

You keep waiting to wake up.

For the sound of your phone alarm to blare somewhere beneath the covers, forcing you to fish it out at seven-thirty-something in the morning. For this absolutely wonderful, absolute mindfuck of a dream, to end—and for the real world to set in. 

For another uneventful day to begin, the way it usually does after a short reprieve from the hustle and the bustle of life.

From behind the bathroom door, the sound of the shower cuts off.

You scramble to open the cupboard overhead, grabbing the pepper shaker from the first shelf. You do four rotations over the half-cooked omelette before flipping it over with a rubber spatula, trying not to lose your cool. Or what’s left of it.

Three days. It’s been three days since it dawned on you that Sylus has actually managed to cross the threshold – through a tiny, impossible fissure in the fabric of reality – just to get to this dimension. Your dimension.

Three days since you locked eyes with the other half of your soul from across a room, no screen separating the two of you for once. No physical barrier to stop him from catching you as you ran toward him past the counter, just as twilight kissed the sky goodnight, sobbing at the first touch of his skin—electric against yours. The taste of his lips, the bittersweet notes of extant longing and pure bliss blooming on your tongue as he captured your mouth in his; the two of you lost in each other, uncaring of anything beyond that precious, shared moment. 

And three days for your mind to finally catch up to the sheer impossibility of it all.

As far as your Sundays go, you’d say this one takes the cake.

He’s been staying in a modest little rental just a couple of blocks away from you. Nothing extravagant – just a transient house he’s leased for the week. Not that you’ve technically been inside to know; he only pointed it out once, the single-storey residential from across the main street, as the two of you were heading back home—your home. To your little studio apartment.

Him. Sylus. In your condo. You can’t even begin to wrap your head around it.

You know that he’d just arrived in town two days before that fateful encounter at the bistro. That he’d already done his research to know exactly where you were going to be during that hour, and that he’s been here, on Earth, for quite some time now. Even before meeting you.

But past this knowledge, you haven’t actually covered much of anything, really. Just this little awkward dancing around you’ve been doing since you’ve been together.

And you know you should ask, probe, have him break down the hows of his existence to you, a clearer timeline of exactly when he popped into this world, what he’s been up to in all the time he’s been here… and why he’s even waited so long to come to you directly.

You’re painfully aware that it’s just you who’s keeping yourself from getting the answers you want. You’re the one making this harder than it needs to be. You can’t help it.

There’s no manual to tell you how to deal with your emotions when your virtual lover appears in front of you, in the flesh, miraculously defying all laws of physics in the process. No handbook telling you what to do next when something you’ve been wishing for every night before going to bed – for the past two years – actually manifests into being. 

Someone you’ve always longed for, staked deep within the confines of your heart, but never truly imagined the consequences of until your wishful thinking bled into reality.

And now he’s here.

All things considered, you think you’ve done an okay job at acting like everything’s normal. Mostly. Probably.

(You haven’t.)

The day after he showed up at your proverbial doorstep, you almost couldn’t believe everything that had transpired a mere twenty hours ago was even real. That maybe your brain had just gotten creative enough to invent a Hallmark-worthy scene to win you a one-way trip to your therapist—and that, maybe, you’d conjured him up simply because you missed him and you’re so down bad, your mind decided to start playing tricks on you.

...which nearly had your soul catapulting out of your body at the sight of the—extremely corporeal, extremely attractive—raven-haired (!) man moving through your kitchen the first morning he stayed over, wearing a black V-neck and a pair of grey sweatpants, ambling barefoot like he already knew the place by heart.

You suppose he does, you allow cautiously, an odd sort of warmth blooming in your chest at the thought. Of course he would. 

Still. It didn’t erase the surrealness of seeing Sylus, the Sylus—mortal, perfect, wonderfully alive—brewing you a cup of coffee at nine in the morning, your brain failing to fully comprehend the image of his towering figure working your faulty, secondhand De’Longhi like a pro.

"Are you," he started, eyes zooming in on the spot between your thumb and forefinger, mouth twitching like he's trying not to laugh, "pinching yourself?"

You had quickly withdrawn your hand, schooling your face into a poor attempt at nonchalance as you reached for the steaming blue mug he was holding out to you. "...No."

You can't help but hover around him, like some weird satellite desperate for orbit. You find yourself sneaking glances every five seconds—and more often than not, he meets your gaze with a wayward look of his own.

He never calls you out on it; he just gives you an infuriatingly impish smirk that sends your heart into overdrive, making you feel younger than you are. 

You’re still stewing over the events of the past few days, absentmindedly worrying whether the eggs needed more salt, when you hear the bathroom door open.

You whip your head around, and all systems crash to a stop.

Oh god. Oh fuck. 

He’s standing there—all six-foot-five of pure, lean muscle, like sin sculpted out of marble and left to walk your unvacuumed parquet wood floor without so much as a care for the cluttered little living space he’s in, looking completely at ease. Fresh from the shower, steam rising lazily from every inch of bare skin laid out in front of you, and it’s like The Neuron™ in your brain activates. The towel slung low across his hips leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, reducing your thoughts monosyllabic, like some half-evolved primate ready for mating season or whatever. Hot man. Hot man shirtless. Involuntarily, your eyes track a stray rivulet sliding down; right where the faintest suggestion of a happy trail (!!!) begins and ends… and you’re gone. Lost in some kind of trance. 

Utterly hypnotised, you watch as it soaks into the edge of the borrowed sage green terry cotton, faintly wondering if what’s beneath it could soak you the same way, shit—

A strangled noise slips past your lips. 

It’s terrible. You sound like a dying cow. Hot man’s fault. Bad.  

A snort breaks you out of your shameless ogling. 

Your head jerks up like you’ve been caught red-handed doing something you're not supposed to, guiltily meeting his eyes. You see Sylus already watching you wryly, the heavy drag of his half-lidded stare rooting you in place. 

Your face starts to flush red with embarrassment, heat climbing all the way up to your ears. 

He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe; arms crossed loosely over his chest, completely relaxed, and clearly getting a kick out of whatever expression you’ve got at the moment. His gaze doesn't waver, stuck on you like glue, drinking in every flustered reaction with quiet amusement. 

You swallow nervously. His eyes flicker down, tracing the movement of your throat, and his lips tug up into a semblance of a smile.

Fuuuuck.

"You already started on breakfast without me, sweetie?" He tuts in mock-disapproval. "I told you it’d take me less than twenty minutes to shower."

You don’t manage much in response, just a dumb, garbled, "mhm, s’okay."

You're completely blanked out at this point—bluescreen dead if you will—except for one panicked thought flashing through your brain: Holy shit, he's practically naked. Sylus Qin from Love and Deepspace is practically naked in my house. 

Then, not long after, a chorus of, “oh my god oh my god oh my god” starts looping in your head, overriding what little composure you had left like some raunchy PSA warning you about the dangerous rise of moisture down south.  

Sylus cocks his head slightly, sending you a sly, knowing look—one that says he knows exactly what's going on in that overstimulated little brain of yours.

Slowly, he pushes himself off and saunters closer to where you are, taking his time crossing the distance with easy, measured steps. As if he’s in no rush at all to get to you. As if he’s merely curious whether you’ll combust just from him shortening the proximity between your bodies. 

(You think you just might.)

And when he’s standing barely a few inches away – close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him – Sylus leans down, effectively trapping you between the counter and the solid wall of his chest. Between granite and sinew. 

You lose all capacity to speak.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches out a hand to shut off the burner stove behind you with an easy flick of his wrist, the brief brush of his arm sending a shiver down your spine. Then, with maddening tenderness, he pinches your cheek between two fingers—his thumb caressing the spot right after.

In a voice filled with faux sympathy, he coos, “What’s got you all distracted, poppet?”

He’s teasing. You know he’s teasing. 

He’s done nothing but tease you with his devastatingly good looks, his overwhelming presence, and syrupy words spoken so sinfully in that low cadence of his voice, ever since he arrived. And, oh, you’re not sure whether to scream or kiss the smug look off his face silly.

You’re so bad at being subtle. You always have been, especially when it comes to him. And you know you can’t hide anything from Sylus – from the smallest flicker of microexpression on your face, down to the shortness of your breath. Both of you know this. Both of you painfully aware of the effect he has on you.

And just as much, you know he’s been holding himself back—that no matter how flirtatious he gets, he’s still keeping enough control to pull away whenever you start to get too overwhelmed.

Despite his provocations, Sylus never pushes. He waits, patiently. Giving you the space to volley back if you want to. And if you don’t, he backs off in a second, with the same effortless ease he uses to tease you. Leaving you room to breathe again. 

Rinse, repeat. 

It’s almost as if you two are playing a game with poorly drawn rules. You don’t know who’s winning.

The little spell breaks when you feel a disgruntled meow against your shin; it's immediately followed by a cat headbutting you, twice in succession, with a surprising amount of aggression.

"Not used to sharing your mother, are you?" Sylus sighs, pulling back from where he’d been caging you in—his movements slow, reluctant. 

A warning hiss rises from below. He raises his hands in mock surrender, stepping back to a safer distance, just out of swiping range. 

"Yes, yes. You win,” he grumbles in acquiescence at the testy feline, a comically put-upon look on his face. “For now.”  

You pull your eyes away from his bicep—look, you're just a girl, okay—to blink down at the temperamental little creature who’s now self-appointed himself as your personal foot guard. 

He’s making some vague, cryptic noises, something between a purr and a growl, while keeping his eyes locked firmly on Sylus’ leg. 

"He–um, he might just be hungry," you manage to mutter. A quick glance at the food bowl says otherwise. "...or not."

Sylus huffs under his breath, a low sound, equal parts understanding and mildly affronted. He tilts his head – eyes narrowing at the untouched kibble, then to the small furry menace claiming your feet like a jilted lover.

Unfortunately, Maru’s reception to the new person has been... less than cordial.

From the moment Sylus walked in the apartment, Maru had hissed at him as if to say: There is no reason for a Man to be here, before darting beneath the coffee table – tail lashing with all the theatrics of a petulant child. The churlish product of a mother who's been single for far too long, that he’s decided he’s the only boy she’ll ever need. 

It strikes you as a little odd. He never usually gets antsy around guests, and you'd even thought he and Sylus got along—or at least, back when the man in question was confined to mere pixels on screen. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have counted on that.

Sylus, to his credit, hasn't once tried to close the distance or force a peace treaty. Amused, definitely; the way his eyes glint whenever Maru glares at him could almost qualify as charmed. But since stepping into your home, he’s been mindful about giving the creature a wide berth, moving with the quiet understanding that respect here is sacrosanct, something to be earned. That he’s the one imposing, and the truce between him and the (true) man of the house is a fragile, delicate thing. 

You honestly haven’t decided if Maru’s behaviour is because he’s protective... or just pissed that someone else is hogging your attention.

"It’s alright, sweetie," Sylus—your son’s chosen rival—soothed you reassuringly; his hand rubbing a slow, comforting circle over the small of your back when he caught the slightly crestfallen look on your face. "He’s just feeling territorial about his space right now. Give it some time."

“I’ll get dressed,” Sylus murmurs. “Don’t start on the coffee without me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, then another between your brows; the casual, freely-given affection leaves you warm and gooey inside. He turns toward your vanity, where his black duffel bag rests on the small plastic saddle chair.

You watch his retreating figure for a few seconds—long enough for him to glance back over his shoulder, one brow lifted in lazy inquiry. And the look is so familiar; so painfully reminiscent of the one he gives you in-game, right after you’d deliver a ‘slap’ to his ass, that it knocks you a little off-kilter. 

… Which might explain why you don’t react fast enough when his eyes flash with mischief, and he casually undoes the knot of his towel.

The fabric drops.

You catch a glimpse—more than a glimpse, hello—of the perkiest butt you’ve ever seen in your life, and you spin around so fast you slam your elbow into something undoubtedly solid in the process.

A half-pained, half-mortified wheeze escapes your throat.

"Careful," he calls out to you—and though amusement colors his voice, there's a real thread of worry beneath it, enough to make you want to slam your head against the counter for some inexplicable reason. "Don’t feel the need to grant me modesty on my behalf, kitten."

"Kitten’s about to kill herself," you lament with a whine. 

It earns you an unimpressed scoff.

“I just got here, my love,” he deadpans without missing a beat. “Daddy’s gonna have to ask you to hold on a little longer.”

You choke on nothing but air. Critical system failure. 

Buffering… buffering… buffering…

You inhale sharply.

"Okay, pause," you beg, a slightly hysterical edge to your tone as you claw your way back from a full-blown breakdown. In an attempt to divert the topic, “D’you–uh, do you want anything on your eggs? I’ve got ketchup, hot sauce... barbecue sauce..."

"A proper chef now, are you?" And oh, the next thing you know, he’s right behind you again. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your shirt. 

He smells faintly like your body wash, like Dove nourishing coconut and your calendula shampoo, a heady mix of something sweet and herbal.

The thought of him—of the both of you—smelling the same, actually makes you feel giddy. 

What a stupidly trivial, novel thing to find joy in. 

Snap the fuck out of it, it’s just soap, you chide to yourself. 

You don’t even notice you’re trembling until Sylus curls a large hand around yours; steadying the shaky fingers reaching for the bottle of Cholula on the condiment tray, while his other hand gently cradles your hurt elbow. 

Your breath hitches when he presses a kiss to your temple.

"Oh, sweetie," he murmurs, and it’s the way he says it—low and unbearably fond—that loosens some of the tension on your shoulders. "You’ve wound yourself up."

"I'm good," you mumble, though your voice betrays you, thinner than you mean it to sound.

"It's just me," he says, his tone as gentle as the breeze slipping through the open window, ruffling the choppy bangs that frame your face. "Nothing so different from how it’s always been, hmm?"

And you know he’s right. It's just him. Just Sylus. Your Sylus. No different from the one from two years ago.

"I know," you sigh, finally turning to face him, having to crane your neck slightly to meet his eyes. 

His expression is softer now, the type of softness reserved solely for you, something that never fails to make you ache. The teasing is gone, tucked away for the time being. 

"I just need a little time to wrap my head around this," you admit, voice quieter now. "Is that... is that okay?"

The greys of his eyes melt into something silvery, moonlit—impossibly tender. 

In one smooth motion, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter and steps between your legs, closing what little space remains between you. You yelp in surprise, but before you can react, he’s already leaning in, stealing a kiss from your lips. Just a quick one, like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed a taste to hold him over. He chuckles when he sees your wide-eyed look.

"Of course, my love," he says, voice wrought with promise—in love with the way your lips part, bitten pink and unsure, as he lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. "We’ll go as slow as you want. Forever, if that’s what you need." Forever, as what you two have. 

… 

For over a year, you’ve learned how to enjoy the small things alone. And you did—enjoy it, you mean. Once, almost a lifetime ago, you took for granted the quiet joys of a slower life. But you learned to take it day by day. One hour at a time, minute after minute. 

It made room for reflection, and it moulded you into something stronger, and softer, all at once.  

But this—with him—brings you back to another time. A sweeter time; the dog-day summer of your life. 

The morning hums with a kind of quiet normalcy you’ve grown accustomed to. You’re used to the sunlight spilling through the linen curtains, lining the floor with streaks of honey-gold, soft as a happy memory. Used to the noise of the outside world bleeding through the walls, a constant presence you’ve long since accepted as a permanent fixture in this tiny apartment, like a second heartbeat.

He’s right, in a way. 

This isn’t so different from the mornings you once shared with the same man—back when he wore a different face and led an extraordinarily polarized life, completely at odds with yours. The ones spent laughing into a screen, your fingers ghosting across glass, desperate to grasp something you never could. 

That life feels like it belonged to someone else now. Someone lonelier. 

So, no. Maybe not quite the same – maybe not even close.

–

You finally allow yourself to give in; to sink into the warmth of him, folding yourself smaller in his embrace like a tired bird nestling into a safer sky, your heart fluttering wild and restless against your ribs. Too big for your body, too full to contain. Here – tangled together in this sliver of morning light – everything that has hurt you feels small in comparison. You were never alone to begin with. But with Sylus in your arms, the world feels brighter than you ever remembered it could be.

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited @magnoliaswriteatsunset

[chdarling]

ok so, I can't, like, set a precedent for every time there is a catastrophic event in my country I post a TLE spoiler because let's be real, that's gonna be every day for the next four years at least and I only have so many non-major-spoilery TLE bits to share. But I'm making my way through an emergency bottle of prosecco and texting my friends about how in the face of the endless onslaught of late stage capitalism, fanfic -- a community built purely around love and joy and not a single drop of money being exchanged -- is in a small way something radical and precious and dare I say holy (did I mention I was drunk) and that should be honored on today of all fucking days, and ALSO we should all spend less time staring at gifs of that evil-ass motherfucker doing nazi salutes and more time crafting joy and creating community with each other so

here is a lil snippet from TLE3

as with all my spoiler snippets, I reserve the right to completely rewrite this before the final draft because honestly this was mostly an exercise in me learning how to craft sentences again mid-burnout, but!!!! here, have a lil moment of joy, maybe. i love you.

Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders’ End

“So, what do you think?”

Sirius turned expectantly to his best mate, who stood beside him as the boys peered through the doorway of Sirius’s second bedroom. The room had been unoccupied at the time of Sirius moving into this flat a few weeks ago. Now…it decidedly was not.

“Er…” said James, who did not quite seem to know how to answer the question.

“Her name is Lola,” Sirius added in a reverent tone.

“She has a name, does she?”

“Of course she has a name, you pig.”

“Right,” said James. “Well, then frankly, I’m a bit hurt you moved out and left me for Lola.”

Sirius knocked his shoulder against James’s. “Come on. I didn’t leave you. We’ve been over this. I’m of age, I was going to have to get my own place eventually.”

“Yeah, okay, sure, but you barely made it a month before you shacked up with your new flatmate, Lola.”

Sirius grinned. “She’s sexy, isn’t she?”

“She’s…very shiny.”

“She’s the goddamn love of my life.”

“Okay, ‘she’ is a motorbike, mate. You’ve gone completely batty.”

Sirius laughed and strode further into the room where indeed the Muggle motorbike had been set up, dominating the space. It was a thing of beauty, all sleek lines and silver glint. The floor around the motorbike was haloed with the detritus of Sirius’s last few delicious days: all sorts of mechanical bits and bobs, empty beer bottles, an ashtray, a crumpled up bag of crisps, a few oily rags, and a confusion of Muggle tools, the names of which Sirius kept mixing up — a socket wrench, he thought that one was called. The spare bed that had once been the primary feature of this room — a springy mattress James had transfigured for the nights he was too pissed to apparate home (“Mum won’t mind, she put the security spells on your flat herself.”) — had been shoved into the corner to make room for this new sacred altar.

James did not seem as impressed with Sirius’s new acquisition as he felt his friend ought to be. “You’re just jealous,” Sirius told him, “that you’ve never known a love so true.”

“Ha. Touché.”

Sirius pulled a rag from his back pocket and began to lovingly polish a spot on the seat of the motorbike.

“You know,” said James, still observing from his post at the doorway, “I’m not sure it’s healthy, you spending so much time by yourself.”

“What time by myself?” laughed Sirius. “You’re here almost every day.”

This was true. Hardly a day had passed so far this summer that James hadn’t found a reason to come by. Not that Sirius minded. Though he’d never admit it, he liked living on his own rather less than he’d expected.

“Yeah, well…” James strode closer to inspect the motorbike. “Someone has to make sure you don’t go completely bonkers, all on your own here. Lola, I ask you. You know, if you start talking to the bike, mate, I’m hauling you off to St. Mungo’s too.”

Sirius leaned down and whispered to the handlebars: “Don’t listen to the mean man, Lola. I’d never leave you.”

James sat down on the spare bed with a mournful creak. “Besides,” he said, “Potter House is too quiet now, with you gone and dad all…entombed. Some days I think if I don’t get out, I’m the one who will go bonkers.”

Sirius turned back to his friend, suddenly somber. “Hey, you know I’m just joking, right? You’re always welcome over here. I love having you here.”

“Yeah,” said James, though the faintest tint of melancholy compromised his credulity. Sirius watched as James plucked an oil-stained rag from the bed, sniffed it, then tossed it aside with a wrinkled nose.

“How are things…?” Sirius ventured. “With your dad?” Fleamont Potter’s health had been in steady decline for years, but last Christmas things had taken a turn for the worse. The diagnosis seemed to be simply that he was old…though Sirius had a hard time wrapping his head around that. “Have things gotten any better?”

“No,” said James shortly. “And they’re not going to. It is what it is.” He glared at the wall for a brief moment, then sighed — a deep, intentional sigh, as though exhaling all his miseries in order to transform himself back to Sirius’s good-natured friend. “So…does she work?”

“The fuck d’you mean, ‘does she work?’”

“Well,” said James, “it hasn’t escaped my notice that the bike is in your spare bedroom, rather than, say, on the street. So either you and Lola have a far kinkier relationship than I care to know about…or she doesn’t work.”

A pause.

“She’s a work in progress, okay?”

“Knew it,” grinned James.

“Hey, have some respect,” said Sirius. “I’m fixing her up myself. It’s far cooler than just buying some shiny toy from a shop. This is my bike. Mine. I’ll make her fly, just you wait.” He stroked the bike handle. “Isn’t that right, Lola?”

“Yep,” sighed James. “Completely bonkers.”

[maxispixels]

HANDPICKED

PART FOUR.

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

1.8k words

You work at a flower shop in late 70s London and Hobie's being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy?

CW: One slightly suggestive joke

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight. Part nine. Part ten. Part eleven. Part twelve.

The pages of your sketchbook had taken a darker turn. Besides a few buttercups here and there, you had stopped drawing flowers. No, now you had a new subject, far more fascinating, but also far more complex.

You just couldn’t get his face right, no matter how much you tried, his features never felt like him. His nose was too small, then too wide, his skin never the right shade, and you couldn’t remember if he was wearing lipstick or not. 

You were so frustrated, you threw your sketchbook across your tiny flat. The loud thump almost startled you, filling you with instant regret. You hoped you didn’t break it as you rushed to get it back.

Somewhat, the crumpled paper made it look just a bit more like him, the scrappy charm of wrinkled pages suiting his style. You felt like the drawing was mocking you for even caring.

You hated how you found yourself tinkering with your little radio, trying to find the station he put on at the shop, never quite managing to reach it. The static hissed and crackled, occasionally interrupted by snippets of cheerful pop songs or somber news reports. None of it sounded right, none of it was him. 

You didn’t even want to listen to punk at the moment. You just wanted to understand him. Figure him out. His whole attitude. How he seemed to care about so many things people didn’t care about, how he didn’t care about what people did care about. 

That was totally what this whole thing was about. Definitely, mh hm. Just trying to understand.

After all, he had that air, like he knew something more. Like he figured out something you didn’t, and you wanted to know what that was. Maybe if you had listened to him talk instead of memorizing his face… All of that to not even be able to make a proper portrait. What a shame.

The weather kept getting colder as the days passed, and the heating in your home still wasn’t on. You were doing free extra hours at the shop just to enjoy the warmth. There was not a speck of dust left there—not even on the old radio. 

Even Rose scolded you about spending too much time there. You told her about the boy, how he brought the buttercups. You were a little sad they were going to wilt, so Rose taught you how to press them in your sketchbook. She didn’t miss the numerous drawings of a certain someone, and she looked at you disapprovingly.

“What?” You muttered.

“Nothing.” She sighed. “Youth.” 

You felt the underlying implications. “He just has an interesting face!” You defended.

“Whatever you say.”

You didn’t insist.

Days passed and the temperature only dropped further. It was still autumn, but it certainly felt like winter. The rain was constant and loud and cold. It seeped through your clothes and reached your bones, making your teeth clatter whenever you were outside. 

At least, the rides in the bus felt relaxing. You didn’t even mind having to snuggle with other people. They felt warm and soft, with big fuzzy jackets. 

You wouldn’t mind rubbing shoulders with a spike in the bus, but Spikey Thing only showed up when he felt like it.

You’d given him funny nicknames in your head. That’s what he got for playing mysterious. Loser. 

You looked at the door at every jiggle of the bell, hoping to catch a glimpse of his tall wicks, or studded belt, or leather jacket, or red combat boots. It was honestly shameful how disappointed you felt when anyone else entered the shop. 

That didn’t happen often, which left you alone with your thoughts too much. The heavy rain deterred most people from trying to buy flowers, and you had to put inside the pots in the storefront. The wind and rain would have broken the plants. 

You were dripping and you were cold, and tired, and frustrated. 

When the rain stopped for a moment, you went back outside to wipe the front window a little. You didn’t want the grim from the rain to linger on the glass, it was a pain to remove when it was all dry.

“S shapes work much bette’, y’know?”

You almost had a heart-attack. You didn’t hear him coming at all, and he startled you so bad, you almost dropped your cloth. You met his gaze through the reflection in the window. Play it cool, you told yourself, turning to face him properly. “Oh, and what would you know about window washing now?” 

“I was a window washer at some point.”

You snorted. “Wait, you’re actually serious?”

“Wot? Don’t believe me?” He challenged, grabbing the supplies right from your hand and doing the window in record time. And he didn’t need  your little stool to reach the top of the window. And it was really well done too, not a trace left.

“Okay, you win.” You sighed, impressed and defeated at the same time. You smiled as you imagined him just cleaning windows as a job. It made him a tiny bit more ordinary, normal.

“I always do.” He gave you back the supplies, entering the shop before you. “It's bloody freezin’.” Seemed like he also liked the heating in the shop. You followed him quickly. 

Only when you both were inside did you notice how grim he looked, with eyebags deeper than the last time—you’d know, you were lost in his eyes for an embarrassingly long amount of time, and darker spots across the edge of his jaw. The sight somewhat tugged at your heartstring, but you refrained from asking. 

He walked around like he owned the place, leaving behind mud stains. His arms swung lazily along each of his steps. You didn’t even scold him, a bit too happy with him showing up. 

“Missed me?” He asked as he sat down on your stool, behind the counter.

“Forgot you ever existed. Spent the most peaceful week of my life.” You blatantly lied.

“Pft, careful what you say, I got the till in front o’ me.” He teased, gesturing dramatically. “Fuck, you don’t even have a lock on that thing! That’s askin’ for it.” 

You chuckled. “Whenever the amount is over 500£, Rose takes it with her to keep the count.”

“Rose?”

“The owner. My boss.”

“No way. Rose sells roses.”

“Yes way. The shop’s called Rose’s roses for a reason. She made that joke before you.”

A comfortable silence fell after that. He stayed perched behind the counter, watching, while you shuffled the pots from the storefront, trying to find space for them in the crowded shop. You untied ribbons, swapping colors and fluffing petals, pretending you didn’t feel his gaze burning into your back.

“You’re overthinking the display.” His voice pulled you out of your concentration. “Just chuck a load of flowers in a bucket and call it modern art.”

“You’re not helping.” You sighed.

“Good — I’m helping you embrace chaos. It’s liberating.”

“I’m already liberated, thanks.”

“Liberated? You’re folding ribbon into little bows. That’s basically bondage.”

You glared at him. “Why do you even care? You’re not even buying anything.”

“No, but I’m stealin’ some fantastic entertainment.”

You pinched a smile off your lips before going back to fold said ribbon. You heard him fiddle with some stuff behind the counter, but didn't pay him any more attention for the moment. He didn’t bother you either as you took on the rest of your tasks. 

A customer entered, an older gentleman that already visited a couple of times. He often bought flowers for his wife—which you thought was quite adorable. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Anderson!” You greeted cheerfully. He smiled down at you, and you stood up. “How can I help you today?”

“Good afternoon. I am looking for a bouquet for my wife. It’s her birthday, and I wanted something special.”

“Of course. Do you have anything in mind? A theme, certain flowers, colors?”

“For once I was actually counting on your recommendations. I just want something original.”

You hummed, thinking. You usually suggest roses, everybody loved roses, but it was far from original. “Maybe some lilies with lavender…?”

“I got her lavender a couple of weeks ago…”

“Oh right.” You mumbled. Spikey thing from the back suddenly spoke up.  “If you want to give ‘er somethin’ special, maybe get ‘er somethin’ other than flowers.”

Anderson turned, startled, as if only now noticing the man slouched in the corner. His eyes darted to the ripped leather jacket, the spikes, the mud streaked boots, then back to you, wordlessly asking if he was supposed to be part of the staff. 

You turned as well and glared at him. If your eyes could shoot bullets, he’d no longer be living. It had an effect as he coughed and cleared his throat. “I mean, succulents are also an option, and uhh, their blue tint will marry, erm, beautifully with blue flowers over there. Yep. Succulents. Very, erm, modern, strikin’ even.”

You were about to scold him again, but his suggestion made you pause. That was actually a good idea. You turned to Anderson, whose eyes held a mix of confusion and disapproval at this stranger’s involvement. 

You grabbed some chrysanthemums, with a light blueish color, as well as some succulents, a couple of white flowers and other leaves to create a harmonious bouquet. You hated that he had a point. Succulents did work beautifully with chrysanthemums, damn him. He had no business being this obnoxious and occasionally clever.

Anderson looked at you incredulously. “You know what?… That works. I guess. Thank you?” He blinked, almost confused at how this random suggestion gave such a pretty arrangement. 

“You’re welcome.” The punk grinned, satisfied. 

You sighed, as you unceremoniously pushed the boy out of the way to the till to take care of Mr Anderson.

“Blimey, that much?” He exclaimed from behind you and and you shot a glare at him again. “Wildflowers are free and much more personal.” He added. 

Anderson just shook his head, now more amused than anything else. “Funny friend you got yourself.” You gave him a sheepish smile as you handed him his change.

“And I hope you have a marvellous day, good sir.” The deep voice echoed behind you and you swore he did a little bowing gesture. You rolled your eyes at your ‘funny friend’ dramatics. When Anderson finally left the shop, you turned to him.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell was that?”

“Me being a genius. I should probably take your place, you suck at your job. I can wash the window better and I’m a better salesman too.”

You huffed and pushed him out of your way, trying to act more annoyed than you really were. It didn’t work too well as you couldn’t help a chuckle from escaping.

Part five.

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard info compilation Post 5

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

[There are also a series of 'lil snippets' posts where I was just chucking together bits and pieces that I saw at other times: one, two, three, four, five, six]

Post is under a cut due to length.

There is a lot of information coming out right now about DA:TV from many different sources. This post is just an effort to compile as much as I can in one place, in case that helps anyone. Sources for where the information came from have been included. Where I am linking to a social media user’s post, the person is either a dev, a Dragon Age community council member or other person who has had a sneak peek at and/or played the game. nb, this post is more of a ‘info that came out in snippets from articles and social media posts’ collection rather than a ‘regurgitating the information on the official website or writing out what happened in the trailer/gameplay reveal’ post. The post is broken down into headings on various topics. A few points are repeated under multiple headings where relevant. Where I am speculating without a source, I have clearly demarcated this. if you notice any mistakes in this post, please tell me.

For notes in here on community council things in particular, I recommend to listen to the vid directly, it's always better hearing things first-hand ^^

Character Creation

"The diverse body and gender options make it an industry leader by a signifcant margin" [source]

"BioWare was keen to highlight the hair strand technology that looked very similar to that seen in FIFA and EA FC, also made under EA's roof" [source]

"Fine tuning sliders that allowed for microscopic adjustments of nose angles, it was clear that a lot of options exist to get the smallest possible body parts exactly right" [source]

"There's no specific genital customisation to be oversold as CDPR did but, much like Saints Row, there is an option for bulge customisation" [source]

Pronoun choice, gender identity, body type, and voice choice are 4 separate options, not tied together [source]

Height is customised on a slider [source]

Size is customized on a triangle like in Saints Row: the 'points' are fat, slim and muscular [source]

The different lighting options are 4 different settings: clean, bright, dim, sunset [source]

In CC you can also try out what Rook looks like in their starting rags, in typical mid-game armor, and some level 50 gear (class appropriate for each one) [source]

There's a way for you to modify your character's look once the game has started if you want to make some tweaks [source: the official Discord]

You can be any class and choose any backstory/faction, any race, any gender [source]

Story and lore

On meeting Neve in the opening, if Rook chooses to say the positive dialogue option (I think this is the thumbs up one, "You rescued yourself, I see") they say something like, "It looks like you're doing pretty well by yourself huh?" [source]

According to someone who played the game at SGF, the game has a Mass Effect 2 Suicide Mission feel to it [source]

The Shadow Dragons are kind of an anti-Venatori faction, sort of. [source] A freedom force. [source]

The Mourn Watch are kind of like the police for the Grand Necropolis [source]

The Veil Jumpers are kind of like weird magical investigators, weird magical nerds [source]

The moment right after the gameplay video ends is 👀❗❗...? [source]

On the timeskip, the Community Council were told that they were going to make it about the same amount of time in-game as the amount of time that passed in real life from the time most people would have last played DA:I [source]

Rook's faction is also referenced outside of the intro segment of the game [source]

In the gameplay reveal video that we saw, some of the Evanuris statue assets at Solas' ritual site are doubled up in error, i.e. some of them have the wrong heads. This is not supposed to be the case, they are supposed to each have a different head (bear in mind this was an early build and isn't the final build of the game) [source]

Characters, companions, romance

Go [here] to see some DA:TV doodles of the characters that a dev drew this year and last year. :> the hidden doodle is a version of Rook, hidden as they have not yet shown any of the possible hairstyles for Rook outside of the gameplay reveal video. [source]

It is Lucanis who has the purple wings [source]

His name is pronounced "Loo-khan-ess Day-ah-MORT-ey" [source]

Lucanis is hands-down "the sole dumpster fire of the crew". Mary "wrote him specifically to be a bisexual disaster of a human. You're welcome." [source]

As a name 'Rook' is closer to 'Inquisitor' than 'Hawke' [source]

The Community Council highly requested there to be 4 voices for Rook. They kept bringing it up [source] (there are 4 voices for Rook)

The Solas face model has been tweaked "a hundred times" [source]

Gameplay, presentation, performance etc

Rook can jump [source: the official Discord]

Rook can sprint [source: the official Discord]

Warrior gameplay (or at least one build of this) involves doing the right parry timing to lead to a certain attack [source]

Warriors have a dropkick ability, enemies can be dropkicked off cliffs using this [source]

According to someone who played the game at SGF said that the game ran smoothly and didn't have any bugs [source]

Companions can have an ability that heals Rook even when they are not mages [source]

Sword and shield warrior's ranged skill is like, boomeranging their shield over there [source]

In terms of the 'the game isn't open world, it's mission-based' stuff, it could be likened to Trespasser in this regard [source]

The first time the Community Council played, they asked if there is a photomode. BioWare said no, and the Council were like 'aw that really sucks, we really wanted one'. The next time that they went to play it, BioWare introduced them to a dev and said "Okay, we have photo mode, all thanks to this guy". "So there is one particular dev we all need to be kissing the feet of" because he figured out photo mode. [source] [nb, more on the Photo Mode situation here]

The current build of the game is not the final build of the game. A few things are currently being vigorously worked on [source]

Other

Someone who played the game at SGF was told that all of the choices and consequences were in the game, and that basically the team are just polishing things up right now [source]

The number of community members on the Community Council is in the double digits and they are from all walks of life. They don't have any contracts which say that they can only say positive things; they can be as negative as they want about DA media. Not every member of the council has said publicly that they were part of the group, there is nothing mandating them to do so [source]. They have not played the full game [source] and they tested it on consoles [source]. A lot of them ended up liking the gameplay [source]. They played some of the main story but they don't know how it ends. At one point they did three days of playtesting from like 9am-4pm daily. "I liked the quality, I liked what was going on, I was very invested. I did have some worries from the first playtest that were completely resolved in the second". "If you are someone who is into the story, I think we're safe, in the clear, I think we're okay. What I saw, I was really enjoying, I'm really excited about" [source]

The name change also surprised the community council. They aren't keen on the 'the'. There are a lot of things that they said to BioWare which, sometimes things just cannot change as it's too late. [source]

They did not see the finished game trailer before it released, and at that time it might have had a different song in it. They fed back that the version of the trailer that they saw was fine (what they saw was a bit different) [source]

BioWare have data on the percentage of people who used tactical view in DA:I and it's in the single digits [source]

Upkeep of the The Keep is a lot and it goes down like once a month. There have been times when it was down for weeks at a time [source]

[poppitron360]

Just a lil’ bass guitar cover of “Good Luck, Babe!” By Chappell Roan performed by me, Poppitron360.

I wanna start doing more of these things, perhaps on my barely touched Music Blog @theheartonmyt-shirt so lmk if that’s something y’all would wanna see and also lmk if there’s any particular bass-line you would like to see me learn (Perhaps something Epic the Musical?)

Anyhoo, I like posting about my other hobbies and interests that I don’t usually share on my blog, so hopefully this was a nice little snippet of Poppi you don’t usually see!

@lavenderfairiez @lilyfrey @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @demigod-shenanigans @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @hawthornewhore @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @puzzled-pegasus @ollieisanerd @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @frayna-of-the-hollow @hadeslegacyhephgirl @day-draws @pjowasmy1stfandom @thetourturedwritersclub @m-for-now @inky-void @deciduowl

[fandomonetwo]

puppy love and flowers — remus lupin

▸summary: he's absolutely sure he loves you. he's absolutely sure you love him. flowers aren't given to just anybody.

▸characters: remus lupin x f! reader, lil snippets of james and sirius and peter

▸tw: hay fever, small sadness moment

▸a/n: consider this my apology for the previous angst post. also, look at the guy. he's a smol bean

REMUS LUPIN WAS a sucker for a good bouquet. He'd always want to give them to you, yet he could never find the moment. There'd always be something that would stop him.

Today was one of the days where his plans were smudged.

It was a Hogsmeade day, so naturally, he with his posse decided to head into the town to scope out bouquets. There was one he'd seen little bit ago that he was fidgeting to buy. It was a beautiful set of red and white roses with baby's breath surrounding them. They were your favourite flowers.

Sirius Black had never felt so depressed than when he had watched his friends realise that the 'sold out' sign was for the bouquet he wanted to get for you. He felt so out of place when Remus looked like he had just been deprived of his natural resource of chocolate.

"Why not just get her different flowers?" the Black boy asked, awkwardness coating his very body in a tense feeling.

Remus sighed. "But those were for her. They were like, specifically crafted just so that she could have them. And now they're gone. And I still haven't gotten her flowers!"

James sympathised more with Remus that Sirius could. James often got flower for Lily from this very shop. Albeit, she always threw them out when she got them, but it was the thought that counted. Peter didn't say anything. He was too busy drawing stars in the snow.

The bespectacled boy put his hand on Remus' shoulder, noticing his friend's eyes welling with tears. "It's alright, mate. There's always tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day."

"But I wanted to get her those today."

There was something so frustrating about not getting something done on the day you planned. You'd feel so incomplete in your tasks, and he'd never get to sleep tonight. Well, he might drift off if he cried long enough.

The walk back to the dorms was long and awkward and tense and depressing. There were so many emotions. Remus has just been thwarted yet again in his attempts to woo you. Peter was plucking the snow off of his mittens one by one.

"Damn, mate, you are so in deep," Sirius teased, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, I've heard of puppy love, but this just takes the cake."

"Is that supposed to be a pun?" Remus muttered. It was kinda funny.

"I suppose so."

They had only gotten to the dorm when they heard the girls. They were laughing. No, hang on. They were shrieking. And... sneezing?

The four boys entered the common room to find Lily and Marlene holding onto furniture for dear life, their faces as red as their ties. Marlene tried to heave in a breath and little was wiping her face.

And then you sneezed. They erupted into laughter again.

"What on earth is going on?" James asked, confusion filling his bloodstream. The girls couldn't find the words, too busy giggling, so you decided to speak.

"I bought flowers for Remus," you started, your nose stuffed, "and I have just found out that I am, in fact, deathly allergic to flowers."

You sneezed again. The girls didn't completely fall apart, but they still chuckled.

Remus looked at you with those big eyes of his. "You got me flowers?"

"Yeah," you said sheepishly. "I though it'd be a nice surprise, but now I'm covered in snot, my nose and throat hurts, my head kinda aches, and my eyes are red."

You sneezed, and Remus started laughing. He rested his head on your shoulder, despite your protests.

"How did you never realise you had a tendency to get hay fever?" Sirius asked, trying to stifle his own chuckles.

"I don't know. It doesn't get this bad at home. The flowers there are small, and here, I don't go out much in the spring. It's too warm. Plus, it's not like I get up close and personal with flowers now, do I?"

"Yeah, but still. It's hay fever, it's a pretty common thing."

"Like I said," you sneezed again, away from Remus' face, "there just wasn't enough for me to notice." You paused for a second. "I always wondered why I got the sniffles in the springtime. I thought it was just spring colds."

James grinned. "Well, now you know."

You sneezed twice more, Remus brushing the hair out of your sweaty face.

"I think we need to rescue you from your natural foe." He guided you by the hand outside of the common room, and he stole a glance back at the flowers you had bought for him, his heart swelling.

Red and white roses surrounded with baby's breath.

[jungkoode]

Don't want to sound like a greedy bitch but... May we have a tiny little preview of the next FMU chapter? I'm sorry to do this and feel free to tell me off, but reading it made me feel all warm and fuzzy and giggly (maybe I need to touch some grass ik)

Just going through my asks don’t mind me hahahaha. OKAY so now that it’s officially been uhhh… Four days? Here’s a lil snippet of chapter 24 🫶🏻:

“He looked small,” you say quietly. “Scared. Not like himself.”

Yoongi takes that in. Doesn’t react right away. He just huffs out a breath through his nose and leans back against the edge of the kitchen counter.

Another pause.

Then: “She’s good at that.”

He says it flatly. No inflection. No explanation.

You tilt your head. “You know her?”

“Not much. But I know exactly what he looked like after her.”

You’re quiet, sensing the line. The invisible perimeter Yoongi keeps between what’s his to share and what isn’t.

“I’m not asking for his secrets,” you say, meaning it.

“Good,” he replies instantly. “Because they’re not mine to give.”

That makes you like him more. Irritatingly so.

Also yeah, you need to touch grass Flower. But so do I. And everyone in here let’s be honest. But that’s what we do best, bond through delusion. 🧚🏻🩷

[zarnzarn]

Hello! Here's an anon who asked about Athena's seizures fics. Does it have a part 4??? Because I see that on your ao3 line of this fic has 3 parts and only one is really about it... unless I misunderstood something, it's not my first language! Sorry about that! If there is something more, can you provide a link? As someone who also has this "problem", I am very happy to see such representation in a badaas godness!

hi!!!!!!!!!!!11 omg im so glad you saw it so fast, i keep worrying that i spend so long in between answering anons that they might not see it since tumblr doesnt notify you ugh.

it doesnt have a part four yet!! its a wip for the moment, but i should finish it hopefully by next weekend. no worries about the language btw, im always okay with language barriers; ill figure it out!!!

heres a link to my ao3 where ive posted everything so far anyways!

and oh, im so glad you are reading it then! i will definitely write something more, just for you. for now, here's a lil snippet:

-

“Oh,” Penelope breathes, putting one hand to her mouth as she stares up at Athena, the paintbrushes around her face quickly moving back so the Ithakan Queen can see, looking awestruck. “Oh, you look so beautiful, love.” 

“Hey, what's-” Odysseus rounds the corner with a scroll in hand, takes one look at Athena and bursts out laughing. 

“Odysseus!” Penelope hisses, the goddesses around bristling, though all of it is drowned out by Athena’s loud, “Shut the fuck up!”

Unfortunately, Odysseus lives up to his name and laughs so hard he has to go to his knees, holding onto his stomach as he wheezes.

[trombonechurchill]

Snippet Saturday!

belated tag from @inawickedlittletown and more timely one from @honestlydarkprincess thank youuu both!

I've admittedly been a little distracted By Certain Things happening in 8b so I've not made a tonne of progress but here's a lil sneak peak from what I do have for the sixth and (hopefully) final chapter of Watching the Credits, my Movie Star!Tommy AU

"Hey," Chim cuffs him around the ear, ignoring the noise of outrage from Hair and Make-up still hovering nearby. "The thing about love is, it's terrifying," he says matter-of-factly. "It's scary, putting yourself out there, letting someone see all your messy gooey inside bits. There's always the chance they're not gonna like what they see. Trust me, I know." "Is there a but coming or-" "But-" Chim drags the word out with an exasperated eyeroll. "There's always a chance they'll look and love you anyway. And in my humble opinion, that might just be worth trying anyway." Tommy swallows.

no pressure taggingggg @setmeatopthepyre, @emphasisonthehomo, @leashybebes, @frogsinflannel, @beanarie, @geddyqueer, @dark-alice-lilith, @buckmaddies, @fake-mouthstatic, and @aesthetictarlos if you guys have anything to share ❤️

I'm also throwing a bit of an 8x11 bonus coda under the cut here cause why not

He thinks he must have moved first, momentum still thrumming under his skin from that small point of contact, swinging to face Tommy. His phone is still in his hands. He presses them to Tommy's skin anyway.

His face. His jaw. Palms fitting to the shape of Tommy's head like they belong there. Muscle memory pulling them both together. Tommy doesn't hesitate, they're two objects in orbit, crashing together. Buck sees shrapnel fly behind his eyes as their lips finally crush together, does his best to press the sharp taste of tequila into the back of Tommy's mouth, chases the taste of lemon from his own on the tip of Tommy's tongue.

Buck's back hits the wall behind and he dimly registers the scrape of brick through the plaid of his jacket. Why is he still wearing a jacket. Why is he still wearing anything at all. He wants to shed himself, shed the last four months without Tommy here on the sidewalk and crawl into Tommy's skin instead.

[letsgobarbs]

WIP Wednesday

Ooh thanks for the tag @probablyreadinsmut you wanna see my little hoard of words? you want a lil peek into my brain lab?

Here's a live of me cooking up my fanfictions this week:

But feeling very overachieving today because I finally posted another Chapter of His Young Wife (Marcus Acacius x Reader) last night.

And here's a little snippet from the new Homecoming (Dave York x Queer, Muslim!OC) chapter:

David Anthony York was wicked. He had to be. There was no other reason he had haunted her thoughts by day and her dreams by night. Maryam was taken by him since the first time she had seen him. He had looked up at her with the softest eyes the colour of molasses. Except, they hadn't been warm or sweet. His eyes reminded her of the dark pebbles down the riverbed smoothed over the years by a steady stream. Even with one eye covered under an eyepatch, they were so pretty that she was tempted to call them a gift that spoke of a gracious Creator. Tempted, but not convinced. She just couldn't trust eyes that told no stories, they didn't have the texture of tree bark, or specks of amber or black. His eyes had been a blank, even slate covered in a shiny, wet sheen that reflected the light but offered no noor, no real warmth or glow from within. 

He had looked so lost and pained with the scrunch between his brows and the deep creases that ran along his forehead. But something about the weakness and vulnerability in his eyes had struck her all wrong. His puppy-dog, baby-cow eyes didn't distract her from the falsity in the way David York had held himself. His pursed lips and tight jaw heralded a brewing storm. It had been an anger and rage so all-consuming it took root in his bones simmering under a facade of trained stillness that belied a man who had ceased grappling with his morality, a man who had beat his own conscience back with a stick until it no longer whispered at the back of his mind. The man with the prettiest eyes set on the face of a killer. 

Maryam knew the folly of giving any man an unearned chance to be close. But would it be unearned? Every action of his had gone against her first impression of him. He had been kind to Carol. Most other men in his place would have either trapped their wives in the marriage with guilt or threats, or raged against them for ‘ruining their lives’. But David had granted Carol her freedom through a smooth divorce, along with the house and an alimony. He had even stood up to Carol’s parents; he wouldn't allow them to meet their granddaughters if they couldn't accept their own daughter. He was a good father. She had held both Molly and Alice when they missed their daddy and had watched Carol struggle to fill his place in their lives. However, surely, it is best to err on the side of caution. She knew first-hand how monumentally stupid it would be to establish any sort of connection with a dangerous man.

You're being delusional, Maryam. There was no way that man was even thinking about her, let alone contemplating a connection. There was no connection. No spark. No heartbeat skips. No nothing. Men like him didn't want women like her— they lived in very different worlds. So, despite the futility, she was still thinking about the freckles on his right cheekbone, there had been four prominent ones forming a diamond shape and several lighter ones that trailed up towards his temple. It reminded her of the Little Dipper. Maryam was tempted to turn to her mother and request she pray and cleanse the house of bad vibes. Her daughter was likening a man’s freckles to constellations and that had to be a sign of Jinn or some spirits whispering these thoughts into her ear like the stories from home. She was bewitched.

Now, that suburban middle-aged man wouldn't know the first thing about black magic and influence. Maryam recited her verses anyway as she put on her shoes— partially out of habit, but to also ward off evil, protect against accidents and fate’s whimsy, and for mental fortitude and strength. She was going to see David York. Something about the way he had looked at her when she left his apartment made her worry. Molly and Alice are with him half of the weekdays and every other weekend, the custody arrangements were still being tinkered with to suit everyone involved. But Carol was taking the girls to stay with Theresa’s family for spring break.

Maryam had inquired about him with Carol, hoping to assuage some of that worry, only to learn he had recently lost friends. She hadn't wanted to pry further, it was weird to keep asking Carol about her ex-husband even if it was from a place of concern. She didn't want that concern to be misconstrued because that's all it will ever be. Nonetheless, she felt nauseous— not because she felt guilty for seeking out her friend’s ex-husband but because she was hiding it from her. This was the sort of thing you discussed with friends— perhaps not the freckles and doe eyes part, but certainly the worrying bit. 

Maryam had been at a club to support a friend at their big DJ gig where she had met Carol. They had both felt out of place, and Maryam had bought her a drink. The night had been life-altering because Carol experienced her first kiss with a woman. Maryam had pressed Carol against the wall in a secluded corner of the club, their kiss had tasted of espresso martini and strawberry cheesecake. The experience had been wholly overwhelming because Carol had cried her sorrows into Maryam’s arms who had ensured she reached home safely to her kids and by the time they met for breakfast the next day, they were best friends. 

For context: Carol thinks Dave is dead and this is her 'trying to move on' process that makes her sorta realise that she is a lesbian and she had been trying to conform to that husband and two kids lifestyle her conservative, god-believing parents expected of her. Carol dates Theresa now. And Dave isn't going to turn away a willing prey walking into his home out of concern for him— so stupid of Maryam really.

I'm also cooking up my Pero Tovar in the winter prompt for the writing through the seasons challenge organised by @guiltyasdave (Hope you're having lots of fun and relaxing on your bday trip <3) and @sizzlingcloudmentality

Do I have actual paragraphs for it? No :) But I have plot points and I have ideas, and I love my ideas, I think they're neat. It's going to be a reverse mail-order bride trope lmfao. Because I like a mail-order bride story. Pero thinks he was just interviewing for a servant post, he could figure his way around cooking and cleaning when he couldn't find another fighting gig. But he somehow ends up in one of those medieval rattling wooden prison transport carts with wooden bars and also somehow hired as a mail-order husband. Best believe the other girlies in that cart are giving him side-eyes.

share your stuff you guys lemme see what's cooking: @pedrospookie @slimybeth69 @galaxyedging @iknowisoundcrazy @joelslegalwhre @jessthebaker @pedroswife69 @joelswritingmistress @missyorkswhore @peepawispunk @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist @everybodylovedcontractors and anybody else who wants to share <33

[tennessoui]

What is your favorite prompt you’ve ever written? 💗

ooo a fun question!! setting aside ficlets that i've written in response to my own silly lil aus and thinking only about ficlets that are in response to prompt ask games, here's a few that come to mind!

this angsty, meeting (again) at a party while drunk au

i think most of the prompt fills i write now are expansions of tags i have on my blog (which i very much enjoy because some of the best writing i've done has been in short ficlets doing just that), but i do love this one for being a canon au and mostly a complete story all by its own in less than 3k. i also just did a quick reread and i like obi-wan's voice in it a lot. tired, hurt, unable to do anything but give into anakin

this snippet in the cheating au where things are beginning to bubble over

i just love the cheating au, for one thing, and i love the dynamic here with the four of them (anakin, padmé, satine, and obi-wan) at a restaurant and playing at normal only for obi-wan to end the night laying a pretty overt claim on anakin (by taking his necklace back and wearing it - which padme notices in another ficlet set a bit later)

this snippet in the playmaker au where obi-wan is returned to anakin's care and keeping

i. also just love the playmaker au lmao and i really like this ficlet for how it looks at who obi-wan has become and how when pushed, he'll do anything it takes to get back to anakin, even if it means committing some random taxi driver to die because he got in a bad place. this obi-wan is not the same as the one who went into the prison and he's irrevocably become anakin's by this point. probably doesn't even regret it (much).

and this prompt fill from agesss ago where obi-wan is in the agri-corps and anakin is a jedi padawan and they become penpals (or flimsi friends, in star wars language)

i haven't thought about this au in ages (flimsi friends au lol) but i enjoy it sm. anakin would fall in love with obi-wan via letters despite never meeting him in person and, well. obi-wan would very much do the same tbh

[tswaney17]

A Game of Chess

@elriel-month Clandestine Meetings! I've been sitting on this fic since the beginning of the year and I'm so excited to share this one with you. It's inspired by the song, When You Say My Name by Chandler Leighton and I highly recommend listening to it (it's very Elriel-coded). Hope you like this! 💕

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: None

Word Count: 1,114

This fic will be posted on AO3 only. Read the beginning below or click here to head to AO3.

Elain was not one for going out, especially not to places like Ritas for drinks and dancing. She was, by definition, a homebody. But when Mor had announced she was going and looking for takers, her eyes had traveled to the brooding Shadowsinger leaning in the corner of the room, and said, “I will.”

Surprise had lit everyone’s face at the declaration, but she only focused on his. Made sure she threw the challenge at him.

It had been six months since that disastrous Solstice night, and he had yet to say more than four words to her—never apologizing for what had happened or explaining why he abruptly left.

But despite that, when he did grace his presence at the River Manor, she felt his eyes on her like a brand upon her skin, even if she never truly caught him looking at her. She always felt it.

Well, tonight Elain was going to make him show his hand. Force him to watch her while she danced.

That was if he took her up on her challenge. And if Elain knew Azriel as well as she thought she did, she knew he could never back down from a challenge.

Read More

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved most of my fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist: 

@nikethestatue

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Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

[mari-positas]

a safe haven l chapter eight sneak peek

A/N: it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted an official sneak peek for this series. I was kind of surprised that most people voted for a snippet of this one, I really thought it would be the PD fic. But I’m glad that this lil series of mine is still one people want to read. There’s a few people out there rooting for these babies and to those few people: thank you for motivating me to see this one through to the end. Few more chapters to go!

*this is from the beginning of the chapter before shit starts to hit the fan so let’s enjoy the good while it lasts! also, I made sure to post a hefty snippet because this chapter is going for 9k 👀

“The water isn’t too hot, is it?” You asked, running the wet washcloth over his chest and neck, careful not to take it near his bandaged shoulder. Leaning over the side of the tub, a lock of hair fell loose out of your ponytail and Joel was quick to lift his hand out of the water, tucking it behind your ear.

“It’s perfect,” he murmured, his hand grazing your cheek, the water dripping off of his arm landing on your blouse, soaking through the material. “Looks like you’re gonna have to take that shirt off, Peach. I got you wet,” Joel couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at his own terrible innuendo.

“Unbelievable! I just pulled a bullet out of you, and you’re already thinking of getting me naked?” You teased him with a little giggle. “Oh and by the way I hope you know that there will be none of that for a while, not until you’re all healed up. Got it?”

His face fell. “You serious? But you said it could be four to six weeks until my shoulder heals—how am I supposed to go that long without touchin’ you?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to survive, Miller.”

Joel grumbled incoherently under his breath.

Chuckling, you leaned over and pressed a delicate kiss to his right temple. Your lips lingered over the small jagged scar, causing him to shudder slightly.

“You were right about Ellie,” You murmured softly against his skin. “You were right to warn me about her.”

He frowned. “She confronted you ‘bout us?”

Pulling away from him, you nodded.

“Earlier at the stables, before Tommy showed up.”

Joel grimaced.

“Might regret askin’ this, but what did she say?”

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip.

“She wants me to leave Luke.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She did? What else did she say?”

“That the three of us could be a family. She said it wasn’t that complicated—all I had to do was pack up my things, take off the ring and leave him. Said I could move in here with you two.” You paused to let out a small, breathless laugh. “I told her I would love that more than anything in the world, but that it’s not possible. I can’t leave him.”

His jaw clenched. “Because he won’t let you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again.

Like father, like daughter.

Joel and Ellie were cut from the same damn cloth.

“Joel, I love you. And I love Ellie, too. You two have made me so, so happy,” You told him, softly. “Ever since I met you both, something in me changed. It was like I had forgotten what it felt like to love, and to be loved. That part of me, I thought it was dead and buried, but you two brought it back to life.”

“You belong with us, Peach. Your place is with us. Your home is with us, not with Luke.”

“I know,” You whispered. “I know that, Joel.”

Joel sat up straight in the tub, wincing slightly. He was really starting to feel the pain in his shoulder.

“Joel, stop. Come on, you need to take it easy.”

Placing your hands on his chest, you tried to push him back, but Joel’s hand reached up and caught one of your wrists, his fingers curling around it.

“Whatever you’re afraid of—”

“Joel, please,” You whispered, thickly. “Don’t.”

“You ain’t gotta be afraid, baby. I can protect you. I can keep you safe.” His thumb lightly caressed the thin, delicate skin on the inside of your wrist as his eyes met yours. “I can keep you safe. I wouldn’t let anythin’ bad happen to you. Neither would the kid. She loves you too damn much.”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat.

Lifting your wrist, Joel planted a gentle kiss on the inside of it, your pulse strong under his lips.

“Me and Ellie, you’ll be alright with us.”

A long, heavy sigh escaped you. “I know that.”

“Then? What’s stoppin’ you?”

You sighed again.

“Just—just give me time so I can figure things out, okay? If I have it my way, I’ll be living here with you and Ellie before winter comes around.”

[kennedys-lvr]

TENNESSEE WHISKEY, STRAWBERRY WINE — CHAPTER 24 (AO3)

hehe oops i kinda forgot there's a bit of freakiness in this chapter. but after this i promise ur gonna get a lil reprieve hehe. NOTHING FULLY SMUT but like... there is very nsfw language in there so yh

in my defense it's been like.. months since i wrote this fic (i edited it just the other day)

enjoy the snippet! read the full chapter here!

The sound of my phone vibrating on my bedside table has me stirring groggily, feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. My eyes peel open, staring into the dark, cold bedroom as the memory of what had happened hours before hits me like a ton of bricks crashing over me.

She’s tucked up against my chest, her breathing soft and gentle like a kitten as she sleeps soundly. I feel the warmth of her drool on my chest, and as I reach across to the bedside table to shut off my alarm, I switch on the lamp, flooding the room with light so that I can soak her in.

Turning onto my side, blocking out most of the light from her closed eyes, I stare at her for a while. She’s peaceful, undisturbed—and for a moment it brings a warm hint of pride to my chest, knowing that I was the one who put her in this state. Her hair is mussed against the pillow and against my arm, her nose twitching like a baby rabbit as she smacks those pretty little lips together, practically daring me to lean in and kiss her senseless again.

She’s got a rosy blush dusting across her cheeks, and I can't help myself as I reach out to brush my thumb across her cheekbone. She stirs against my hand, letting out a soft whimper that has my cock jumping at the sound, rising to the occasion—literally.

Staring at her like this, seeing her in my bed, I almost can’t believe it. Last night had felt like a dream—the taste of her still lingers in my mouth, sweet and tangy and delicious, making me want it again and again. Making me want her again and again.

God, this is so fucking dangerous.

I shouldn't be wanting her like this. Last night never should have happened—I’d crossed a major line, said things I shouldn't have said and did things to her that I shouldn't have done. She was the granddaughter of my boss, a part of a family that I had come to consider myself a part of too.

This is wrong on so many fucking levels, and yet, there’s a part of me that just wants to do it over and over again. To taste her on my lips, to feel her cum for me again, to have her make those gorgeous sounds and moan my name like it’s the only name she knows.

But not right now. Right now I would leave her to sleep for a bit longer, and sort myself out so that I can go on this cattle drive and pretend to her family like I hadn’t fucked their precious little sweetheart stupid not four hours earlier.

I roll onto my back with a low groan, feeling the ache in my arm from where she had been laying on it, and an ache in my groin from the memory of last night playing on a loop in my mind. How I’d had her up against the wall downstairs, pressed into my couch as I’d humped her like a dog in heat, how I’d had her pussy on my face like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I glance down at my half-masted morning wood beneath the sheet, feeling the stickiness of my release from last night spread across the dusting of hair down there. I grimace, slowly disentangling myself from her, taking care not to wake her up as my mattress groans and creaks beneath my sinking weight.

Standing up slowly, I huff out a breath as that aching feeling seems to worsen for a moment. I feel so old, my back aching and my joints sore, and yet I also feel so young at the same time—my heart all aflutter as I glance over my shoulder to see that she’s still sleeping. She rolls onto her back, the sheets sliding down to expose her naked breasts and those huge red lovebites I had left on them.

I chuckle darkly to myself, shaking my head as I trudge over to my dresser on the other side of the room. Pulling open the top drawer silently, I snag a fresh pair of boxers before peeling myself out of my ruined ones.

“So, that's what it looks like.”

The sound of her sleepy rasp has me turning my head back towards my bed. Her eyes are open, half-lidded and staring at my exposed cock, which seems to swell further from that heated gaze. She bites down softly on her bottom lip, those little bunny-like front teeth rolling the plump skin around in a display so erotic I nearly buckle to my knees.

I smirk proudly, turning my body so that I face her head-on—so that she could see me fully, the heavy six inch shaft that bobs between my legs, standing to near-full attention now, preening for more of her praise like a puppy in training.

“Good morning.”

Her deep forest eyes snap up to meet my gaze for half a second, then go back to my cock. “Good morning.” She hums, as if she’s speaking to my shaft instead of me, like my cock is a separate entity entirely. And maybe it is, because that might explain why I did what I had done last night.

I know I should be putting my fucking pants back on and telling her to go, but I can't. I feel like I’m frozen to the spot, pinned beneath her heated gaze, her head propped up on her closed fist as she leans on an elbow, her skin glowing in the soft yellow glow of the lamp.

“You like what you see, then?” I croon. I can allow myself to tease her, surely? That won't put any more harm on things? As if things aren't bad enough already.

Why am I not kicking her out?

[lizpaige]

I'm so late to this but pleasepleaseplease talk to me about True Crime pod because not a day passes that I don't think about it 🥲

hiiiiiii tysm for asking about this im v sorry ive abandoned it for so long lmao i have thought about rewriting it completely with more narrative less script/podcasty bits cause my original outline went off the rails so enjoy this lil snippet i don’t think i’ve shared before? ive also toyed around with writing it from ronan’s pov which might be fun? idk def feel free to ask questions about it if you want 💕

Ronan jolted awake from a kick to his side. He reached out and grabbed Kavinsky’s black boot by the ankle, held on, and gave a gentle tug to try and knock him off his feet. Kavinsky shook him off.

“Go home, Lynch. Daddy’s calling again.” He tossed Ronan’s phone down on his chest. It was vibrating from an incoming call. Ronan tossed it on the floor without answering it.

He groaned and sat up. His head swam, the alcohol still blurring every sharp line and edge in his vision. How was he still drunk?

“What time is it?”

“Time for school, champ,” K said in a low voice with a thin Irish brogue. The accent was terrible, but the sentiment was there. Ronan swiped at his leg again, this time successfully taking him down to the mattress on the floor with him. “Ow, shit.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ronan pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth as K fell into him and then shoved him off.

Kavinsky flopped down beside him on the bed, closing his eyes, throwing an arm over his head. His gaze lingered on the way his tank top rode up, the glimpse of warm skin at his hip peeking out over his waistband. Even with his eyes closed, Kavinsky knew what he was doing. He smirked. “You can play hooky. I’m sure as fuck am not going in today.”

Ronan shivered at K’s fingertips lightly grazing his lower back, running along his waistband. He didn’t have long to consider it. His phone started vibrating again, now louder and more insistent as it rattled against the wooden floor. He groaned again and reached for it, silenced it, and slid it into his pocket.

“Or not.”

“I have to bring back the car,” Ronan croaked out, his throat felt dry, his mouth felt fuzzy. He leaned forward over his lap and rubbed his hands over his face trying to wake himself up.

Last night was another of Kavinsky’s infamous substance parties. Ronan took his father’s BMW to make it there and obviously did not ask for permission. Near midnight when he finally checked his phone, he had twenty missed calls from his father along with a dozen or so voicemails ranging from his disappointed dad voice to full blown rage. Apparently he wasn’t done this morning judging by the four missed calls and dozen texts.

Ronan found his keys in the empty fishbowl by the bedroom door, his jacket in the living room on the back of the couch where Skov was passed out, and his boots in the kitchen. He left Kavinsky laying in bed, wishing that he could join him under the covers and avoid another argument with his dad.

It was a twenty minute drive from K’s house to the Barns. Ronan could make it in twelve, but he wasn’t in a rush to get home. After his mother died, there wasn’t a day that went by where Niall and Ronan didn’t fight.