#Fic snippet

[machtaholic]

✂️ - kinky kinky kinky

It is getting oh so kinky lol

“Color,” Steve prompted. “Green, I think,” Eddie replied.  “Steve.” “Okay, I’m going to add another layer,” Steve said, pulling an item out from the pocket of his vest and showing Eddie. A blindfold.

[moontearpensfic]

Infinite Snippet

Here is a snippet from my upcoming chapter of Infinite, a same age AU where Tom grooms and corrupts Harry. 😌🔥 Sharing a scene that gives me a good chuckle.

"You're in my home!" Draco half-yells. He steps closer, until they're nose to nose in the threshold of the bathroom door. "You can't do this, Potter. I won't let you."

"Let me what?"

"Take him from me!"

Harry laughs.

He can't help it. This is so—absurd. Draco can't be serious.

The blond boy bristles. Harry is not entirely surprised when the tip of his wand pokes into Harry's chest a flash of a moment later. Unfortunately, Harry didn't predict a duel at midnight, so all he can do is raise his hands, his pulse speeding.

"I haven't taken him from you," Harry says, as firmly as he can. "He was never yours."

Draco grits his teeth, his pointy features twisted with jealousy and anger. Harry braces himself for the coming curse or hex—tries not to too obviously eye the other boy's hand. If he's quick enough, he can grab Draco's wand from him.

"Expelliarmus."

They both twist to see Tom standing nearby as Draco's wand flies out of his grip.

[lay-z]

We maybe getting a 141 x reader sex pollen fic you say? Putting these ideas in my head while I’m ovulating? Are you flirting with me?

Yes, I am flirting with you! 😏 Here, a snippet:

Suddenly, Ghost’s gravelly voice interrupts the Captain’s speech. One harshly uttered word enough as a warning: “Johnny.“  

Soap, who has been trying his best to ignore the way you keep grinding your ass against his crotch in this position, ducks his head at the sharp and sudden reprimand, all too familiar with that certain tone coming from his Lt.

“Wha’? ’m not a-ah doin’ anythin’,” he grunts before sucking in a sharp breath as his cock keeps stirring and twitching inside his rough cargo pants. “Fuck, lass, please–” 

He tries to keep you from moving as his ungloved hands get a firm hold of your hips, but you’re practically panting and mewling in his lap, making it harder for him not to crumble under the pressure building up in his dick, and Gaz is swift to simply pluck you out of the younger man's embrace like you're some ragdoll with a judgmental frown etched on his handsome face.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ perv, Soap,” Gaz snaps, now cradling you in his arms, where you immediately begin pawing at his compression shirt, trying to get your warm palms under the tight fabric and on his bare skin. “She cannot fuckin' consent, mate!”  

It’s Price who approaches the bed then, while Ghost stays back, leaning against the doorframe and keeping a keen eye on the situation unfolding.

“Enough! Both of you,” he barks. “It might help if–“ John stops mid-sentence, clenching his strong jaw as he considers his next words carefully.

He can’t believe what he is about to say and he crosses his arms over his chest again, feigning control while he internally braces himself for the chaos that will most likely ensue.

“Those bloody doctors said it might help if she… climaxes.” 

[sohasters]

🥒✈️Cumplane Secret identity AU???

Peerless cucumber becomes so notorious that he starts getting Airplane notices semi-regularly. Airplane needs some extra cash so he starts doing vtube/voice change streams where he draws PIDW characters, comics, monsters etc - he's a talented baby what can I say, and he gets a decent stream following, offering sneak peeks at his creative process - but he really doesn't want his face and ID as an erotica writer out there thank you!!!

Peerless Cucumber is absolutely ridiculous in his chat, ubiquitous, always there the second he starts streaming. Constantly dropping huge donos to ask ridiculous lore questions that literally go on for minutes... riding herd on other chatters and policing people... Eventually him being "worst mod" becomes a meme, and Airplane mods him mostly as a joke.

They start messaging, and weirdly it's not hellfire? Modding the channel is the first actually constructive thing Shen Yuan has done, like, ever. It turns out that when he has actual responsibility, he takes it pretty seriously? He's more reliable than anyone, especially himself, could have expected him to be? Everyone still clowns in him and calls him "worst mod", "everyone tell the mods they suck" but it starts to be affectionate, because he actually helps detoxify the community a little? (Only HE is allowed to be toxic on airplane's channel!!)

He decides to take a media and communications degree because social media is the only thing he's ever been good at. He sees a guy with a PIDW sticker on his laptop in his lectures, and they become study buddies! It's great!

They talk about their shared appreciation for PIDW probably more than they should. Study Buddy is pretty chill, he teases Shen Yuan for his BingGe obsession. Shen Yuan doesn't want to be a dick, so he doesn't really slag it off as much as he would online? And Study Buddy LIKES talking about the monsters and how cool Bing-gege is!! Maybe they talk enough that Shen Yuan figures maybe there's a reason he was never into wife plots? Maybe he's actually just... Not into... You know.... Girls? That way??? And Study Buddy is super chill? And maybe it's okay to talk about that stuff???

Meanwhile he's still chatting with airplane, who gets invited to attend a con to be on some kind of panel. He asks cucumber-bro along because he's shitting BRICKS, and he wants someone there who will, like... be in his corner?

Turns out Shen Yuan already has tickets because he and his study buddy were planning to go!

Oh, and look at that! He and airplane are booked at the same hotel! It's convenient!

They decide to meet in the lobby.

Shen Yuan and his study buddy go to their separate rooms to freshen up and rest, with a plan to meet for breakfast. Thirty minutes later, they're both back in the lobby.

Both of them are "waiting for someone."

Both of their "someones" are running LATE.

Shen yuan messages Airplane.

Study Buddy's phone buzzes.

Their eyes meet.

No fucking WAY. this is the guy who talked him through his LBH inspired GAY AWAKENING!! The friendly and supportive "bro" he has COMPLICATED FEELINGS ABOUT??? And that's AIRPLANE?

He literally spent five minutes TALKING ABOUT LBH'S MUSCULAR CHEST AND STAR STUDDED GAZE... to AIRPLANE????

Has he really spent MONTHS coming to the terms with the fact that AIRPLANE is kinda....

Could Bingge maybe portal in with Xin Mo and drag Shen Yuan to hell, because he can't deal with this 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

[baambastic]

“Drake,” Damian announced, “I require your presence at an outing this afternoon.”

“‘Hello, Tim, how are you?’ ‘I’m good, Damian, and how about you? Did you need something?’ It’s usually considered polite not to walk in and immediately make demands of people, Damian,” Tim replied from where he was hunched over his keyboard. He didn’t look over at his unexpected visitor, but he bet the brat was rolling his eyes.

“Whatever. Will you do it or not?”

Tim hummed. “Depends on what this ‘outing’ is. And why you didn’t ask Bruce or Dick to take you.”

“Father and Grayson are both imbeciles,” Damian huffed.

“They’re too busy today, you mean?”

“I meant what I said. Are you an imbecile like they are?”

“Again, you haven’t told me what it is you want to do.”

“Fine,” Damian grumbled. “Colin has asked me to do something called an ‘escape room’ with him. It sounded mildly diverting, so I looked into it. There’s a recently opened establishment for such an activity, but we need four people to participate.”

“And you want me to be one of those four,” Tim concluded. He pushed himself away from the computer. “I’ve got time, so sure, I’ll come with. Two things, though.” He paused for dramatic effect.

Damian crossed his arms impatiently. “Yes?”

Tim grinned. “First, who’s this Colin?”

“An acquaintance. He assisted me in apprehending Victor Zsasz not long ago.”

“Is he around your age?”

“Approximately.”

Was he some sort of meta, then? How else would a (presumably untrained) kid be able to handle Zsasz? Tim decided to file that away for later inspection. At least it sounded like Damian was making friends. He definitely needed some. “Alright then, second thing. You said you needed four people. Even with me, you only have three. Who’s your fourth?”

Damian looked away. “I… hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Was that embarrassment Tim heard in his voice? Damian was usually too proud for that.

“Okay, not a problem. I can wrangle us another person.” If the person he was thinking of could make it, both Damian and them could get a lot out of this. Hurrah for two birds with one escape-room-shaped stone.

“Very well. Colin and I will be waiting outside for you. I presume this fourth person will meet us at the establishment?”

“Probably, yeah. Did you really leave Colin on my doorstep?”

“He did not want to enter, I would say because he thought he might be unwelcome. A stupid notion; you are far too trusting.”

“Thanks,” Tim said drily. He waved towards the door. “Alright, lemme make this call.”

Damian nodded and walked away. Before fully exiting the room, though, he turned back to Tim. “What are you working on, anyway?” he asked.

Tim hummed. “Nothing much. Just preparing.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. After a few moments of waiting expectantly, Damian huffed and left.

[butch-buckley]

“So, you told him you were gay.”

Jake nods.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Javy,” comes Nat’s voice from in front of the dartboard. Bob hands her another dart, and she tosses it at the wall.

“I never said there was!” says Javy defensively. 

They’re drinking at the Hard Deck, something of a send-off before their collective two-week leave. A leave that, unfortunately, falls directly on Jake’s high school reunion. Apparently, being a hero means everything begins to fall into unfortunate place.

Javy takes another sip of his beer. “What’s the wrong part, then?” asks Fanboy, sitting next to him. 

“He assumed I had a boyfriend,” Jake sighs.

“And you had to awkwardly correct him, and he thinks it’s going to be weird that you’re the only one there without a partner,” says Javy.

Jake purses his lips.

“You did correct him, didn’t you?” the other man asks, slowly looking up from his beer.

Jake is silent. 

“Seresin. Tell me you corrected him.”

Jake covers his face with his hands, his confident demeanour all but destroyed by that fateful conversation. “I didn’t know what else to say! He was talking so fast, and he was so excited, and I’m—”

“—painfully single and embarrassed by it,” finishes Fanboy.

“I wouldn’t say painful. Or single,” adds Javy. “Embarrassed, yes.”

Jake glares at the both of them. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m… waiting.”

“Yeah, waiting with your legs wide open,” calls Nat. Bob sputters next to her.

“Don’t slut-shame me, Trace,” Jake says, pointing a finger at her.

“Stating a fact isn’t slut-shaming. You’re not exactly closed for business,” Nat points out. 

Bob shrugs. “He’s right, Nat. It’s not very feminist to talk about how the guys Jake chooses to bring home. Or how many of them there are.”

“Wise choice, mansplaining feminism to the female pilot holding a dart,” says Nat, pointing the projectile at Bob’s chest. He raises his arms in surrender, and she flicks it at the target.

“What’s this about mansplaining? I thought that was Hangman’s department,” comes a voice from the doorway.

And there’s Rooster, sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, a shining grin plastered on his face. He’s next to Jake in an instant, taking the empty seat beside him. “Or is Bob usurping your role?”

“Can it, Bradshaw,” Jake says. “I’m no misogynist.”

“That was just the repressed homosexuality talking,” adds Nat.

Jake shrugs. “She’s not wrong.”

[jessicas-pi]

When Father breaks the news about the Jedi to Hera, she just stares up at him in bewilderment, then runs into her room and slams the door.

She doesn't come out for hours, and when she does, her eyes are dry---she hasn't cried. At dinner, she numbly remarks that they'll have to buy her something in white, because she's in mourning now.

From that day on, she wears no other color.

Hera never sheds a tear. She can't. Not with the Empire watching. But she wears white, and hears the people around her ask each other who Cham Syndulla's daughter is in mourning for--and sometimes, she hears other people answer.

It was her soulmate, I think. I hear he was a Jedi.

She wears white long past the time of mourning has ended. She wears it defiantly at dinner parties with Imperial Admirals. She wears it when she works on her mechanic projects and when she takes flying lessons and when she graduates at the top of her class. She wears it when her family goes on the run, and then she starts talking about him.

Caleb had eyes like the clearest sea, she says abruptly, one time, when some of her peers are gathered together chatting about their soulmates and she's sitting on the edge of the group, staring solemnly at nothing.

Caleb used to call me his little sister, she laughs in tragic commiseration, when her best friend is bemoaning his soulmate's habit of referring to him as her brother-from-another-mother. He didn't know I wanted him to marry me someday.

Hera talks about him freely. She tells how they met. She tells how they talked late into the night on comm calls until her parents started confiscating her commlink overnight. But she doesn't talk about her soulmark. Few people know where it once was, and no one has seen the place it used to be.

She wears long sleeves and keeps her right shoulder covered constantly, hiding the smooth skin that bore a three-pronged mark. She has to. If she doesn't, people will realize that she has been lying to the whole galaxy since she was nine years old.

Hera wears white because she wants everyone else to believe she's mourning her dead soulmate.

But the truth is, she doesn't mourn for Caleb.

She can't mourn for Caleb.

Her soulmark is still there.

Caleb isn't dead.

[lets-try-some-writing]

The Matrix's Guide to Choosing (And Raising) A Prime

Having grown increasingly frustrated with the continual failure of its Primes, the Matrix has had enough of being passed around. Determined to pick its own Prime for once, the Matrix has set off to select its chosen.

Well, it would be off doing that a lot more if it didn't have one young Orion Pax to take care of.

(NOTE: This is a snippet and will be a full fic soon :D)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The mythology presented on Cybertron generally depicted Primus’s core, the Allspark, as being a place of peace and respite. By almost all accounts, this idea was supported and correct. Primus’s core was a lovely afterlife for the fallen until the time came for rebirth and a comforting cradle for those yet to be. But for one who was neither living nor dead?

It was the same as being stuck at the bottom of a hole with no real way out.

The Matrix’s initial decision to abandon the surface for a time was made in a moment of calculated rashness. It was tired of the foolishness of its previous chosen bearers and at the time, it had no desire to be passed around and presented only with lackluster options. Sentinel had not been its ideal choice, but Sentinel was all it had to work with during its last stint on the surface.

The Matrix refused to suffer through that again. 

It needed someone worthy, and it was absolutely through with leaving the selection pool up to someone else to create. No, the Matrix was going to find a right and proper bearer this time. It would choose itself and it would mold its champion into the glory of Prima without so many pathetic impurities to tamper with its work.

At least, once it got out of Primus’s core.

The Matrix contemplated for what could have been vorns. It was impossible to tell without access to the surface or the frame of its chosen. However, eventually, the Matrix reached a conclusion. It would ask, then it would adapt. The task was of course, quite daunting. None save for Primes spoke to Primus. The Matrix was a mere forging tool, unworthy of direct communication… but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I shall bring forth a Prime worthy of thy glory. Release me, and I shall not fail you again.”

The Matrix waited, its many failures weighing on it as it felt the attention of its god turn toward it. Primus’s gaze was a heavy thing to bear, and most mortals hardly even noticed it. The Matrix wished it had such ignorance as it sensed Primus sifting through its crystalline core, seeking answers and understanding. If the Matrix had been a living being, the prodding would have likely hurt. When Primus pulled back, it did however ease at the lack of further invasion.

“Seek. Walk amongst my children. Bring forth one who shall stand against the coming darkness.”

Blessed relief washed over the Matrix, memories of prior Primes struck down for their foolishness fading away as the Matrix found itself released onto one of the many winding paths surrounding its god’s core. It lay there, momentarily frustrated with its lack of mobility before it ran a quick assessment of its shell.

Technically, the Matrix itself was a crystalline computation device and sparkless intelligence. It did not possess the necessary components required for full frame functionality. If it had a bearer, then it could make adjustments, but on its own, the closest thing the Matrix had to a frame was its shell. The ancient sentio metalico that made up its shell was moldable, easy to change if the Matrix demanded it. How else was it to bond to its bearer? Some were small, some were large. It had to make some adjustments.

It had never used its shell’s adjustability in this manner before, but again, desperate times called for desperate measures.

After sifting through a few old memories of creatures that met its size categorization, the Matrix shifted. Its shell warped, changing from golden handles and casing to instead create four spindly spider-like legs. Its core was carefully kept encased and served as the centerpoint for its new mobile frame. The change was disorienting for a moment, but soon, the Matrix adapted.

It always did.

Up it went, painstakingly using its legs to pull itself up and through shafts long abandoned. It knew these paths, for Prima had walked them before. After him, Guardian travelled far and wide and Nova went through great pains to know as much as possible for fear for his own life. The Matrix knew what roads to take and marched without regard for the passage of time or nonexistent exhaustion. It did not wither, it did not fade. It was the Prime forger, a tool designed for one purpose and one purpose alone.

Find, forge, and guide Primes to better Cybertron and its people.

Its design pushed it onward, until at last, the Matrix emerged from an old garbage chute. It was dirty, a fact that bothered it to a degree. Potential bearers would not be fond of seeing it in such a state. But first and foremost, its task was to assess and then, if the Recorder Prime still lived, return to him for guardianship. Alpha Trion always listened to the Matrix. It was he that carried the Matrix to Guardian after all.

The Matrix shifted its attention, sifting through memory until it determined its estimated location. Based on the towering and geometric city structure, it suspected Iacon. Outer Iacon at any rate, considering the amount of dilapidated buildings it observed. The trek was going to be long at this rate, but that afforded the Matrix time to observe and learn-

The Matrix halted in its steps as a cry rang out, young and desperate. Its legs tapped as it turned, adjusting its view and scuttling toward the source of the sound. Part of its design was to seek out and guide its Prime to aid the weak and the needy. The Matrix had no bearer, but it could not help but wish to see.

And see it did.

Rounding a corner, the Matrix saw devastation. Fallen crystal spires and toppled sunstone trees littered the area, plant life uprooted and made into little more than rubble. This was absolutely the outskirts of Iacon. These areas had been home to Iacon’s last forest, the only place Sentinel had seen fit to preserve at the Matrix’s prodding. Now it was little more than a barren wasteland, caution tape and markers for new construction already in place.

The Matrix was not living. It did not feel rage. But if it could have felt rage, it would have been seething as it carefully made its way through the ruins, searching for the cry that rang out without end. On and on it roamed, until finally, it came to a pile of rubble. It was largely leaf litter and branches from fallen trees, but hidden behind all that, the Matrix sensed life. Small and fearful, but living nonetheless.

“Be at ease. I mean no harm.” 

The Matrix projected its field, presenting the copied signatures of Prima and Nova, the most empathetic of its chosen. As it did so, a small frame sifted through the mess, lingering by a hole leading into the rubble and glancing out cautiously. The Matrix paused, its sensors picking up something impossibly young.

A sparkling. This one was a sparkling.

Immediately the Matrix folded its sharp limbs away, softening them and shifting until its shell produced optic shutters so that it might make its core appear as if it were an optic, and thus, less terrifying to the little one. If it had a face and vocalizer, it would try to smile and coo to ease the tiny being before it. Instead, all it could do was settle and emit waves of peace, blinking slowly to show its docility. 

The sparkling remained a careful distance away, growling lowly. But after a time, the sparkling came forward, prodding at the Matrix with tiny clawed digits. As it did so, the Matrix could finally get a good look at the distressed sparkling left to rot in fields of destruction. 

The sparkling was still largely matte gray, as was customary for all newly forged little ones. Its optics were a stunning blue of the cycling variety, taking after Amalgamous in design. Its frame type indicated it would be meant for the ground, but the small finials on its helm reminded the Matrix of Thirteen, Prima’s ever elusive visionary. The sparkling’s growls slowly eased into faint chuffs as the Matrix continued to emit soothing waves of emotion, finally letting fangs hide behind a soft smile.

The sparkling patted the Matrix’s shell, gently caressing its core. They were almost the same size, and yet the sparkling was so thin…

The Matrix was not intended to get involved in such affairs without a bearer. But looking around… there were none to care for the sparkling before it. The newspark was bound to extinguish at this rate. That could not be allowed if the Matrix had a say in things.

Hoping for the best, the Matrix carefully unfolded a limb to draw the sparkling closer. The sparkling hissed at first, tensing and batting at the Matrix’s outstretched leg. But after a moment, it accepted the contact, returning to a comforting series of chuffs as the Matrix purposefully increased its temperature and wrapped itself around its newfound ward. It had to go slowly, so slowly in fact that by the time it wound fully bound to its new ward, the sparkling was deep in recharge, nuzzling against the Matrix’s core.

This was acceptable.

Gently, so as to not cause too much distress, the Matrix shifted a limb to hold the sparkling in place, and with its other three, it began the long journey to the Archives. Everything else could wait. For now, it would go to one it trusted and lean on Alpha Trion’s guidance.

The Matrix was a Prime forger, a warrior maker and observer. It did not directly interact. 

But as it felt the sparkling venting softly against it, the Matrix found itself willing to make an exception.

[lizardlicks]

a scene that presented itself to me with very little context:

Sokka is trying and failing to light a fire inside this chaos. At first it was a little funny, but the longer Sokka goes without successfully producing a spark with his stupid little rocks, the more frustrated Zuko becomes watching him. He could do this in his sleep. A baby could have sneezed and lit the fire by now.

Click

“Make the Avatar stop playing with his stupid monkey and light it.”

Click “First of all, Momo is a Lemur. Second: Aang can’t firebend, and third: fuck you.”

Click, click

“Oh for Agni’s sake, then untie me and I’ll do it!” “No. See again: fuck you.”

Click, click, click

Zuko has had enough. He scoots forward and leans over Sokka’s bundle of (he notes slightly damp-- no wonder the boy is struggling) kindling and fills his chest, forcing the air deep into his lungs. He’s only seen Uncle do this once, but Zuko had already learned the basics of the technique. Standard firebending involved stoking his inner fire with the correct breathing, then letting it flow with the movement of his limbs, down his chi paths, and out as visible bursts. Uncle had shown him how to hold that energy, feeding it through the pathways in a looping circuit that warmed him through. But where breath came in it also flowed out, and where chi could flow-- “What are you--” Sokka starts to ask, leaning back away from the prince crowding into his space. With no other warning, Zuko opens his mouth. And fire pours out. Sokka throws himself away from the flames with a yelp, but they don’t go any further than the sad pile of wood he had been failing to light. “Aaaah! How-- What-- You can breathe that!?”

Zuko sits back with a satisfied huff, tries unsuccessfully to shake off the sweat that’s beaded on his forehead. “Apparently.”

[youcouldmakealife]

Gabe/Stephen (Bryce/Jared); tell me about it, stud

Because I had to do ~something for Valentine's, and while there was plenty of romance in COTT if you looked (Holden Chase shutting up for twenty minutes is true romance), I figured it'd be a good day to feature the stars of the upcoming Kickstarter.

No Expectation of Returns doesn't really roll off the tongue, so I've dubbed them (and the Kickstarter project itself) The April Fools, because they were both born in April (April 25 and 27, 1991, for those curious). Stephen's lived two whole days without Gabe in his life. Gabe's happy with the tally of none.

Everybody knows Gabe's a sucker for Stephen. Very few realise just how mutual that is.

“Okay,” Gabe says, which is all Stephen needs to hear to give him his undivided attention.

Stephen had been rifling through the kitchen cupboards when Gabe called, trying to find himself a low-effort snack, though the food gathering operation gets abandoned as soon as Stephen’s finished asking Gabe how his day’s been.

It’s something about the way he says it, a thread of laughter in his voice, but incredulity too. It’s easy to make Gabe laugh, though Stephen acknowledges he’s saying that as someone with decades of practice, and also as the person who is, he thinks, the best at it. Dmitry probably spends more time with Gabe, with them on the road half the season, so he might win for volume, but frankly, his attempts are all crude, so Stephen thinks he still has the edge.

It’s easy, it turns out, to make someone laugh when you’ve known them their entire life. Extremely difficult to surprise them, however.

Though it’s hardly only Stephen who has a hard time surprising Gabe. He has this — vision, Stephen supposes, seems to see well past the horizon everyone else does, and everything he does see, he tends to take in stride. It is, frankly, one of his most infuriating qualities — possibly even the most infuriating, tied with that particular way he says ‘Steve’ that always makes Stephen want to bite him. But it’s also the reason Gabe’s so steady — not to mention the reason Gabe still puts up with him — so Stephen has grudging respect for it.

But Gabe sounds incredulous, so Stephen knows, without another word, that whatever it is Gabe has to say, it takes priority over balancing effort versus nutrition.

“One sec,” Stephen says, and goes straight to the nearest junk food stash — or, at least, the nearest one he recalls, sometimes Gabe finds hiding places Stephen had entirely forgotten about — and grabs a bag of Smart Food. He suspects it will be an appropriate snack.

“Okay,” Stephen says. “I’ve got the popcorn ready.”

“You mean that literally, don’t you,” Gabe says. It isn't a question.

“Yep,” Stephen says anyway, tucking the phone against his shoulder as he rips it open. "Lay it on me."

“Jared’s married to a Calgary Flame,” Gabe says, then, “Did you just drop the popcorn?”

“It’s literally everywhere now,” Stephen says. “And yes, I meant that literally too. Wait, which Flame?”

“Bryce Marcus,” Gabe says, and all Stephen will say is that it’s a damn good thing he’s holding his phone to his ear again, or he might have dropped it too.

*

Gabe only continues after Stephen’s substituted the popcorn with chips, opened a bottle of wine, and assured Gabe that he will not leave the popcorn all over the kitchen floor, but Gabe has to know he’s not allowed to just drop that bomb without following up by giving Stephen every single salacious detail he’s gathered.

Infuriating, like Stephen says. Do you know how difficult it is to outwait someone as patient as Gabriel Markson? Stephen doesn’t. He doesn’t think he’s ever succeeded, not once. And believe him, he he has tried.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he doesn’t bother. When Gabe’s asking how Stephen’s day was, sounding genuinely interested, because he’s always genuinely interested — that particular tendency of his is one Stephen likes more than he would ever admit out loud — Stephen says, “Jared. And Bryce Marcus. Are you sure you got the right Flame, Gabe, he’s kind of—“

“I mean, Jared introduced me to him,” Gabe says. “So I’m pretty sure.”

“Wait,” Stephen says. “You met him? When did you meet him?”

“At the dinner Jared had me come along for,” Gabe says, then, “Jared told me I could tell you all this, by the way. About Bryce, I mean. I wasn’t going to say anything if he wasn’t okay with it.”

“Gabe!” Stephen says.

Gabe’s — discretion, Stephen supposes the word would be, means there are likely plenty of things that Gabe doesn’t tell Stephen, simply because he thinks the other party would prefer he keep his mouth shut.

Meanwhile Stephen gives Gabe every single bit of gossip from wine nights — and there is a dizzying amount of gossip, a perpetual motion machine of gossip, most of the ones who aren’t working are bored as fuck —which he can trust never to reach anyone else’s ears because, again, Gabe would keep a secret to the grave. Which is probably the reason that Jared already trusts him enough to introduce him to his husband.

Obviously Stephen’s a little torn about this one.

Gabe doesn’t even say anything, just mutely waits Stephen out, like he always does when he knows he’s in the right, and he knows Stephen knows it too, or he will if he thinks about it for a minute. The worst part is he’s usually right. Like yes, obviously Stephen would prefer Gabe be reliable and trustworthy, but when someone's always that guy, every time you argue with him, it probably means you're being the unreasonable one.

“You don’t have to sound so smug about it,” Stephen says.

“I literally didn’t say a word,” Gabe says, and unfortunately the literality of that ‘literally’ doesn’t have to be confirmed, considering he didn’t.

“Dinner,” Stephen says. “Jared. Bryce Marcus.”

“And one of the other Flames,” Gabe says. “Jared’s buddy from Juniors. Bryce’s buddy too, I assume? I don’t know, we didn’t actually talk much, just kind of grimaced at each other as Jared and Bryce kept alternating between pretending they were just buddies and giving each other longing looks.”

“Wait, did they tell you or not?” Stephen asks. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if they hadn’t intended to let Gabe know, but he figured it out anyway. Even Stephen forgets sometimes just how quickly Gabe can take a few pieces of information and put together an entire essay.

“I think they were kind of testing me out?” Gabe asks. “Like, when I told Jared he should go home to his husband he got really embarrassed but he also seemed almost — relieved, maybe? Like he didn’t want to tell me but he wanted me to know. Or he wanted me to know, but only if I was okay with it, which I obviously was.”

“Wait,” Stephen says. “Was in front of Bryce, or—“

“Oh,” Gabe says. “Sorry, this was later, Bryce and Chaz left first and then I finished my beer while Jared stared at me like he was going to kill me if I took any longer, so I told him he should go home to his husband.”

This is all getting confused in Stephen’s head now, but he focuses on the most important part first. “You say there were longing looks?”

“I’d call them gazes,” Gabe says.

Never mind what Stephen said earlier: his favourite thing about Gabe is the way he plays along.

“There was also a little bit of eye fucking going on,” Gabe says, and Stephen chokes on his wine.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, as Stephen sputters.

“I got it up my nose, Gabriel,” Stephen says.

“Sorry,” Gabe says, but he sounds a little less repentant this time.

“Just tell me about the eye fucking,” Stephen says, then, “Wait, no, you’re skipping around too much, you need to establish the details. Where was dinner? A restaurant? Was this a planned dinner or was it more spontaneous? How exactly was this framed to you, did Jared say you were meeting his husband or that he was meeting some friends, or what? The buddy’s name is Chaz?”

“Do you want to know what I’m wearing too?” Gabe asks. "Help you set the scene better?"

“Right now I’m more curious about what everyone else was," Stephen says. "But we can have phone sex after if you want."

Stephen smiles into the sip of wine he takes then, safe in the knowledge Gabe can’t surprise him into a laugh when he’s the one laughing instead.

[machtaholic]

🧜 - MerMay Fic(s) holding out hope for that nsfw monsterfucking! <3

We got kisses?

Eddie smiled when Steve closed the space between them and, before he could say anything, Eddie leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve’s in a kiss.  Eddie slipped an arm around Steve to keep him close and deepened the kiss a bit, teeth nibbling on Steve’s bottom lip and plundering Steve’s mouth with his tongue. He broke the kiss just as Steve gave a needy whimper. “Fucking tease,” Steve whispered.  “Making me choose between kisses and clothes.”

[naffeclipse]

hey, psst, hey, check this out

[amazingmsme]

Just a lil sneak peak of what’s to come

"You're going to call off that storm." He spoke in a dead, flat tone. One that struck fear in the hearts of many and commanded respect.

Poseidon's triumphant smirk stretched further across his face, twisting his features with sadistic glee.

"Or what? You can't kill me," he taunted. Odysseus slowly shifted his gaze back onto him.

"Exactly."

Odysseus stalked closer, like a lone wolf closing in on a kill. Poseidon's grin faltered once he realized Odysseus was still coming towards him.

"Wait-" his eyes darted to where his trident now rested at the soldier's feet. "Wait!"

And then Odysseus smirked.

"Oh no. By the time I'm through with you, you're gonna wish I stabbed you instead," he said matter of factly.

Poseidon sneered, lurching forward threateningly. "What?"

But before he could say another word, the King of Ithica was straddling his hips, shoving his back against the rocks. He blinked in shock, at a complete loss for words.

"Cruelty comes in all shapes and sizes," Odysseus said, cracking his knuckles for emphasis. "Even ones you don't expect," he went on to crack his neck, rolling his shoulders just to drag out the anticipation.

Poseidon could've thrown him off, but he was curious where the mortal was going with this.

"Do your worst."

"I intend to."

[chaos-bear]

Harry tipped his head back with a deep breath and looked up, knowing Voldemort would follow suit. Above them, a bundle of mistletoe with beautiful white berries and a red ribbon bow slowly unfurled.

"Mistletoe," Harry whispered. He looked back at Voldemort, whose eyes widened and throat bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes flicked down to Harry's lips, hands tightening where they grasped his arms.

The golden thread between them tightened and hummed with power, and an ache formed in Harry's chest that urged him forward.

(artwork commissioned from Basia Tluchak)

This man had been inside his head ever since he could remember, but he'd never felt so close as right now.

A flood of golden warmth washed through them, wringing a gasp from them both. Harry pulled back slightly, and Voldemort chased him, capturing his lips again for a deeper, longer kiss. He tasted like chocolate.

A Golden Thread by Chaos_Bear

4k | Teen+ | Harry/Voldemort

[asukiess]

grr hello i am still thinking about your sentiemilie au

emmy pov...imagine! you have no life before, and no life after. all you know is the House.

the House and those who live in it. the Man who stares too much. the Woman who averts her eyes. and the Boy who pities you, when it should be the other way around.

an intern, they call you - and you may not know much, but you do know that this is not what an intern should be doing.

the Man has you pose for him often. he designs clothes, he tells you, and more than that, he designs clothes for you. you stand in his office, eyes drawn to the large frame behind his desk. the empty frame.

perhaps he'll put a portrait of you up there some day, he says. you don't ask whose portrait used to be up there.

the Woman barely glances up from her tablet when you approach. you're here to help, you tell her. isn't that what an intern should be doing? her lips purse, as though you have said something wrong. but you don't know what wrong is - all you know is what you were told.

you're a hard worker, you insist. please, if there's anything you can do--

no, she says, harsh. but then, she softens. you can go spend some time with the Boy, she tells you. he'll be glad to see you.

then why aren't you glad to see me? you want to say. you never do.

the Boy is often in his room, a fact you don't quite understand. his door is not locked - not like yours so often is - but he acts like it is. like it would be the hardest thing in the world to wrap his hand around the doorknob and step outside.

with that, you sympathize. your world is the House. what could possibly lie beyond?

the Boy is so, so kind to you. he treats you like something fragile, something delicate - like if he closes his eyes and opens them again, you'll vanish. gone, back to wherever you were before the House.

he stutters over your name, the syllables unfamiliar in his mouth.

is there something else you'd rather call me? you ask him.

...no, he says, not yet.

then when?

when it is your portrait on the wall? when the Woman sees you as an equal? when the Man finally tires of dressing you?

the Boy looks sad. because of you, perhaps. but when you rise to leave, his hand reaches out to catch yours.

you can stay, he says quietly. if you want.

you do want, so you stay.

i'm sorry, you say after a moment. if me being here... if it's making things hard for you.

it's all right, says the Boy, and he squeezes your hand. he is so very kind. but then he says: it's only temporary, after all.

what is?

you, he says. sooner or later, they'll get tired of you. sooner or later, they'll make a new one.

a new one. a new intern, a new model. a new family.

you think your heart would be pounding in your chest - if you had one.

HI NEMALI!!! my love!!! my insp!!

my god..... genuinely I adore your 2nd person pov writing, it just arrests me and I know it'll gut me sooner or later in the story and UGH!!

ALL YOU KNOW IS THE HOUSE!!! what an absolutely confusing situation. I just know Gabriel sanded her down just enough to not ask questions, but the right questions so she isn't boring to him.

"the Man has you pose for him often." SICKENING. and hello!!! emilie always haunting the narrative!!!

and Nathalie hating to face her--in some way, a cowards way out--but offering her a solace, a friend, someone who will genuinely and wholesomely be happy to see her. !!

"his door is not locked - not like yours so often is -" O H OH OH HELLO!! who locked it!!! does she understand on some level or is it Nathalie, protecting her, or Gabriel keeping her from leaving!!

him stuttering over her name and her asking if he'd rather something else GUTS me. the layers. "...no, he says, not yet." UGH!!! nemali please!!!

"you think your heart would be pounding in your chest - if you had one." EMMY ESCAPE THE HOUSE ESCAPE THE NARRATIVE I AM OUTSIDE THE GATE!!

thank you thank you thank you aaaaaa I genuinely LOVED this and I'm literally so over the moon at everyone who has sent in ideas and art and I love!!! this idea and how people are using it and yours, as always, are outstanding <3

oh emmy..... alexa play what was I made for.....!!!

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @theotherbuckley

hello, I need to start posting more snippets again, I have too many wips I need motivation for lol

here's my "8x11 morning after going differently fic" where im giving them the counter make out they deserve lol it uses some of the dialogue until a certain point, but then it's going how it was supposed to idc lol

(lowkey set myself a cut off point in the episode dialogue to change stuff from then on and got stuck but I rememberd I can change stuff at any point actually, who knew lol)

___

"Honestly?" Buck scans Tommy's face, leaning in slightly. He can't help his eyes falling onto his lips, that perfect cupid's bow he needs to taste again. "This was the best night I've had in this place." He smiles, feeling so light and well-rested for once, and so happy. Just, he feels right, sitting here with Tommy so close. "To be fair," Buck adds, "it's also the first night I've had in this place, but, uh, still." He licks his lips, not even hiding he's looking right at Tommy's. Craving another taste.

Buck squeezes his thighs around Tommy's hips, reaches out to wrap his arms around Tommy's neck and bringing him closer. Tommy's not protesting, his smile only growing, hands inching a little further up on Buck's thighs.

"Yeah?" Tommy tilts his head, gaze stopping on Buck's lips.

"Mhm." Buck's eyes flutter as he leans further into Tommy, their noses brushing.

"Wonder why's that." Tommy hums, and Buck laughs, shakes his head slightly, enough to not lean away from Tommy.

"I always sleep better with you next to me." Buck whispers, and hears Tommy's breath hitch before he presses his lips to Tommy's.

___

no pressure tags

@dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @pirrusstuff @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @diazheartsbuckley @giddyupbuck @thewolvesof1998 @underwaterninja13 @your-catfish-friend @gaytommykinard @beyourownanchor6 @weewootruck @kirkaut @quillvice @wildfluorescent @bucked-it-up @drcloyd @girlwonder-writes @dadbodbucky @loullaby @aringofsalt @actuallyitsellie @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @hyperfocusthusly @cornerofspace @tommybuckleys @romanbridgers @evansbuck-ley @champagnetommy and anyone who wants to idk <3