#I have a half written snippet about this somewhere

[varpusvaras]

Thinking about how after Thorn dies, Quinlan has a harder time with the Dark side. Him and Fox do not comfort each other: both of them are too deep into their own grief, and, really. They never really got along anyway.

Then things happen, and Quinlan falls.

If him and Fox never really got along before, now there is not even trying.

[thepencilnerd]

Your Man

thank you very much to @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft, and @letsgobarbs for including me in the 𝘈 𝘋𝑂𝘊𝑇𝘖𝑅 𝐴 𝐷𝘈𝑌 writing event <3 i cannot wait to dive into the pieces written by my fellow writers (check out the full post for every tagged gem!) prompt: "I think to be so dumb must be nice." | colour: black 🖤 pairing: jack abbot x f!resident reader summary: You and Jack have been bickering your way through night shifts for ages now—until two flying trays, a stitched-up hand, and one too many almost-confessions turn everything into something neither of you can ignore. content/warnings: enemies to lovers (all the banter, jabs, & sarcasm), slow-burn, emotionally repressed idiots to emotionally repressed idiots in love, depiction of harassment towards healthcare workers, protective!reader & protective!jack, fluff, angst, Robby being done with both of you wc: 5.2k a/n: i def could have gone a certain direction *cough cough* but i was overcome with a sudden craving for enemies to lovers / "they're both stubborn and it's complicated tropes," so i present to you this emotionally constipated snippet of my heart 🩺🖤

It was a well-known fact that you always clocked in after Jack Abbot.

Not because you meant to. At least, not exactly.

It started one night during your first week on night shift. You’d been cramming for exams all day, convinced you could fit in just one more practice block before your shift—just one more. But you dozed off somewhere around question 43, mouth open against the back of your textbook, a puddle of drool collecting around what once was a diagram of the cardiac chambers.

You sprinted in at 6:45pm, flustered and un-caffeinated, only to find Jack already there. Leaning against the nurses’ station with a cup of coffee like he’d been born in that spot, annoyingly calm and smirking like he’d seen this coming.

"Cutting it close, Dr. L/N," he’d said, not even looking up from his chart. "Careful. That’s how habits start."

He was right.

At first, you were apologetic—nervous and over-eager, all stammered greetings and shuffled charts. Jack didn’t seem to notice you beyond the bare minimum, and you chalked that up to his status, his seniority, his general aura of don’t talk to me unless someone is actively dying.

But things changed. Somewhere between covering for each other during rounds, tagging out on disaster admits, and a running tally of how many times you each got paged during a single trauma night, familiarity set in. You became colleagues. Then reluctant allies. And somewhere along the line—rivals. Enemies, depending on who you asked and on how bad the night was going.

One time, you were both elbow-deep in post-codes, barely functioning off stale coffee and mutual spite, when he passed you a chart and muttered, "Try not to kill this one with your bedside manner."

You took it without looking up from the board above you. "I'll match your emotional range and we'll both be fine."

You were never late, but it soon became a silent game. He always beat you at it. Whether it was by five minutes or five steps, you never let yourself get there before him. A superstition, maybe. A routine. A rhythm. And because you liked to keep him on edge—just to get a reaction out of him.

Seeing Jack colored with shades of affect, even if it was playfully annoyed, was fun. It made him predictable, addictive, a full 180 from his usual stone-cold demeanor. He’d scowl, grumble something about professionalism, and still let you win half the time. It became a kind of game, and you were very good at it.

Now as a senior resident awaiting board licensure, it was practically tradition.

He was already at the nurses’ station, sipping black coffee like it was fuel and he was a half-full tank, eyes scanning over charts. His voice cut through the hum of bedlam as you approached. "Late again, Dr. L/N. At least you're consistent."

You flipped him off without breaking stride. "And yet, somehow, the hospital hasn't burned down yet. Miraculous, wouldn't you say so, Dr. Abbot?"

He raised a brow, the faintest smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Not even ten minutes in and already have our claws out, do we?"

"Oh, Jack," you pouted, "this is just foreplay."

"Ah, is that what you call passive-aggressive incompetence now?"

"Bold of you to assume it’s passive," you fired back, picking up an iPad and scanning through your list of patients for the night. "Or that I’m incompetent, considering I actually round with patients instead of brooding in corners like a gargoyle."

"Gargoyle?" he echoed. "I’m flattered you’ve been staring long enough to come up with nicknames."

"Please," you scoffed. "Your aura of gloom is visible from space. NASA actually filed a complaint saying it was interfering with their ability to conduct research."

Jack paused for a beat, gaze flicking over you more intently than usual. "Did you eat before your shift?"

You eyes were glued on the iPad, your only response a single head bobble "no."

He didn’t like that. Robby could tell from the way his jaw flexed slightly—but he said nothing. Just hummed under his breath and looked back at his clipboard.

Robby had been watching through his glasses the entire time, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like a dad wrangling in two over-caffeinated siblings. He blinked at the two of you, then sighed—long, theatrical, the kind of sigh that said he had survived more codes than he could count but this was titrating his patience.

"You two ever gonna kiss, or just keep trying to murder each other with sarcasm?" He took his glasses off to bury his face in his hands with a groan.

Jack didn’t look up, turning the page over on his clipboard. "I prefer homicide. Cleaner paperwork."

"Honestly, I'd take an explosive diarrhea case over having this conversation," you muttered, half to Robby, half to yourself, rubbing at the bridge of your nose like the words might erase Jack from your field of vision. 

Robby would be remiss if he didn't catch the way neither of you clocked his kiss and make up comment. He stared at you both, mouth frozen in a half-smile that said he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or launch you into separate time zones. He gave it two full seconds—long enough to confirm that you were both still hopeless—before shaking his head in defeat.

"I think," Robby hummed, patting both of your shoulders like a tired camp counselor, "to be so dumb must be nice."

You and Jack had the same unimpressed expression locked and loaded—scowls sharp and identical, contempt trained squarely on Robby, both of you about to mouth off in perfect sync.

He walked off before either of you could open your mouths. 

—

By 3am, the fatigue and hunger were chewing holes in your composure.

Too many admits. Not enough staff. Shen being chronically unbothered. Myrna threatening to murder her wife—when you and Jack turned to ask if she had a wife, matching expressions of disbelief already locked in place, she looked at you deadpan and asked, "You wanna get hitched?"

And always—always—Jack.

Fucking Jack.

With his clipboard full of passive-aggressive notes in that damn attractive calligraphy handwriting.

His tone clipped like a warning and welcome all at once.

And his black scrubs making him look like the grim reaper of constructive criticism and deconstructive mental undressing.

"Patient in six?" you asked.

"CT just came back. Small bowel obstruction. Classic presentation, apparently."

You glanced his way. "Told you it wasn’t just post-op gas."

Jack didn’t miss a beat. "And yet, you were already quoting discharge guidelines to the new intern before radiology even called back."

You shot him a look. Walsh would be proud of you for that one. "I was outlining possibilities. It’s called methodical thinking—must not be a concept you’re familiar with."

He grinned, lazy and unbothered. "Chaos works for me. You panic without bullet points."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re the only attending I know who thrives in complete chaos and calls it a ‘method.’"

"And you’re the only resident I know who color-codes her trauma alerts."

The edge of your lip curled. "That’s called being prepared."

He gestured vaguely. "It’s called being uptight."

You arched a brow. "Spoken like someone who thinks organized is a four-letter word that starts with 'f' and ends with 'k'."

He leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. "Spoken like someone who secretly enjoys cleaning up after my messes."

You blinked once. Then grinned wider. "One day, your beloved chaos is going to bite you in the ass."

He tapped your chart as he walked past. "I guess it’s a good thing you’ve already alphabetized the first aid supplies for me."

—

By 3:20, the storm hit.

Lightning cracked the sky. Power flickered. The backup generator hummed to life with a groan. You should've brought an extra jacket to keep in your locker but it would end up disappearing anyway. Jack was in the hallway already, flashlight in hand.

"OR’s shut down. We’re triaging manually. You good?"

You nodded, biting your tongue. This wasn’t the time.

You worked side by side in the makeshift command center. Tension simmered beneath the quiet coordination—until a grabby frat-boy type from bay four decided he didn’t like being told to sit still and wait.

It happened fast.

He flung the tray off his bed, sending instruments clattering across the floor. You instinctively raised your hand to shield your face—just as a stray scalpel nicked the back of your hand, slicing a sharp, shallow arc. The pain didn’t register immediately. Jack did.

He was on the guy in an instant, stepping in front of you, voice low and lethal. "Sit. Down." The words came out all but minced. 

Security had already been called, but Jack looked like he wanted to break the guy’s face just for breathing in your direction. He didn’t even turn back to you until the orderlies dragged the patient away.

Then his hand was cupping your elbow, his voice much softer. "Let me see it."

You hissed as he inspected the cut. "It’s not deep."

"You’re bleeding on my chaos," he muttered, guiding you gently to an empty room.

You snorted through the blossoming pain. "Told you my color-coding wasn’t excessive."

He grabbed a suture kit, pulling gloves on with the kind of care you usually saw him reserve for crics and broken ribs. "Hold still."

"Bossy."

"Only when someone I like gets stabbed in the hand."

Your breathing hitched. "Like, huh?"

Jack’s attention was fixed on your hand. "Don’t make it weird."

You smiled, watching him thread the needle, so close, so focused. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy. Quite the opposite. It felt warm. Easy. He worked methodically, hands sure, touch gentle, eyes flicking up every few seconds to check your expression like it mattered more than the wound. As he cleaned around the cut and prepped the lidocaine syringe, you both said it in unison—

"Slight prick and a burn."

You laughed under your breath, both at his expression of surprise and your synchrony. "God. That phrase is ingrained in my soul. I think I said it to a grapefruit during my 5th year."

Jack’s lips twitched. "I said it to a patient’s plush raccoon once."

You watched his hands move with steady precision, stitching you up like he had all the time in the world. The storm outside cracked again, but neither of you flinched.

"Make sure I don’t scar, Doc," you teased, settling in as he prepped the suture. "I need these hands to make magic and miracles happen. Might even become a hand model if this whole medicine thing doesn’t pan out."

Jack didn’t look up, but you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I’ll do my best, ma’am. But if you end up on a billboard somewhere, I expect royalties."

You snorted. "In your dreams."

Jack didn’t say anything at first—just gave you a small, private smile like he was tucking something away in the back of his mind. Like he was keeping it just for himself.

And this time, when you looked at him, he didn’t look away.

For a few minutes, the raindrops tapping against the windows were the only sound that filled the empty space. Jack didn't speak. He just kept his gaze on your hand, now bandaged, resting on the edge of the tray table like it had never been hurt. You watched him watching you, your heart thudding quietly in your throat. 

"You always take care of your disasters this nicely?" you mumbled.

He smirked. "Only the pretty ones."

You didn’t speak of it.

Not until later, when the lights came back and the halls emptied and you were alone in the break room.

You noticed it as he leaned against the counter, scrubs rumpled, hair even more so. His scrubs were black, as always—just rumpled enough to prove he'd been moving all night, just fitted enough to be infuriating. You took a sip of water, eyeing him from across the break room table as you both took a seat. Something about the way the fluorescent light caught the curve of his jaw made the words slip out before you could stop them.

"Do you own anything that isn’t black?" you asked, voice light with sudden curiosity. "Or is your off-duty wardrobe just a series of increasingly gothic-toned hoodies that match your work-wear?"

Jack glanced up from his coffee, one brow arched. "It hides blood."

You stared. "You really don’t let anyone in, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away, just sipped his coffee and stared out at the empty hallway beyond the break room.

Finally, with a shrug that didn’t quite match the weight behind it, he said, "You’re one to talk."

That made you laugh, but it came out softer than expected. "Guess we’re both pretty terrible at normal."

Jack’s lips twitched. "Normal’s overrated."

You leaned back in your chair, legs stretched out in front of you, the tips of your sneakers barely brushing his. Neither of you moved. 

Suddenly, Jack got up and yanked open a small drawer by the coffee machine and pulled out a sad-looking granola bar, handing it to you without meeting your eyes.

"Eat this."

Your brow furrowed, suspicious. "Seriously?"

"You haven’t eaten since yesterday," he muttered, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t noticed.

You stared at the wrapper, then at him. "You really had that locked and loaded?"

He didn’t answer. Just crossed his arms and stuck the bar out at you further. "It’s chocolate. Don’t make me regret it."

Instead of prying further, your hand reached out slowly and took it, eyes still narrowed, studying him like he’d just burnt out a fuse in your brain.

Silence washed over you again. Occasionally filled by the sound of you munching on your granola bar and taking measured sips of your coffee. After a few minutes and one crumpled granola bar later, you caught Jack sneaking a glance at you over the rim of his cup.

You didn’t say anything—just raised a brow.

He looked away like he hadn’t been watching you at all.

But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The words crept out of your mouth carefully. "Do you think..." 

Jack looked up, gaze intent. 

"Nevermind," you stopped yourself. 

He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking into something almost unbearable. Not quite touching, not even brushing—but the air thickened under the weight of his stare. That kind of eye contact that felt like it could crack glass. Steady. Searching.

You let the quiet spool between you like a thread someone might tug, if they were brave enough.

"It's rude to start things you don't intend on finishing," he stated simply.

You blinked, still caught in the current of that look, then leaned in a little—almost like you were about to whisper a secret. Jack mirrored you without hesitation, like it was instinct.

Your voice was barely above a murmur. "Do you think..."

He waited, gaze steady, maybe even a tinge of hope if you squinted.

"...that the real reason you thrive in chaos is because it matches your personality?" you deadpanned.

Jack exhaled sharply, the ghost of a scoff tugging at his mouth. He sat back, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grinned, eyes bright and playful. "What? I finished it."

"Barely," he muttered, but he was smiling too.

A few beats passed. You both sat in the lingering quiet, the kind that settled in only after long shifts and half-spoken things.

Then he leaned in—just a little—mirroring what you'd done earlier. You furrowed your brows, curious.

He lowered his voice, almost conspiratorial. "Do you think..."

You leaned in too, expecting something real, something heavy.

"...that you secretly enjoy being wrong? Because, statistically, it’s seems like your favorite hobby."

Your jaw dropped to let out a puff of air, baffled by his audacity, and pushed his arm. "God, you’re insufferable."

He chuckled under his breath. "And yet, here you are."

You gave him a sideways glance, lips quirking. "I will admit that it’s in my top five favorite hobbies. But it still doesn’t beat ‘annoying Jack Abbot.’ That one’s undefeated."

Jack shook his head, eyes warm and lips softened in a grin. "You’d miss me if I ever stopped letting you win."

Your only response was a coy smile. You nudged his foot with yours beneath the table, and he glanced down at the contact. He nudged back, subtle and sure, like he didn’t want the moment to end just yet—then looked back up at you. Something passed between the pair of you—unspoken, tentative, curious.

The room fell quiet again, comfortable this time. Neither of you moved to leave.

Until Jack's phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, then cursed under his breath. "Room seven. It's that kid who demanded to speak to the 'head doctor' because I wouldn't give him dilaudid for a tension headache."

You raised a brow. "So... a normal Friday?"

"Basically."

You watched him go, expecting a quick de-escalation. Room seven. You knew who that was. Height rivaled only by his ego. Frat letters drawn across his bare chest like illiterate war paint. Barked at nurses like he owned the floor. The kind of guy who made everything someone else's problem, backed by daddy’s legal team and a two-semester record of hazing infractions.

Jack had said he’d handle it. He always did. Especially with these types. It was like they were on a rotation—every Friday night, a new brand of uninhibited pre-frontal cortex, privileged chaos.

But then you heard his voice—Jack’s—sharp and too loud from down the hall. A clatter followed, unmistakable. Tray to tile. A chair scraping. Then another crash. A shout that definitely wasn’t Jack’s.

You were already moving.

By the time you rounded the corner, the frat boy was mid-lunge, fury twisting his face as he hurled a tray toward Jack’s head like he was reenacting some half-remembered bar fight. Jack ducked, barely—but he was boxed in, too close to the wall.

You didn’t think. Just moved.

"Hey!" you barked, adrenaline surging. You threw yourself at him, coming at him like a freight train and making him fall back onto the bed with a grunt. A nurse hit the emergency call. Security swarmed seconds later.

Jack had grabbed your arm and pulled you back—tight but not painful—pulling you just out of the fray. "What the hell?"

You glared at him, chest heaving. "Returning the favor."

He didn’t let go.

"On-call room. Now."

He practically hauled you down the hall, his hand never leaving yours. You were both silent until the door shut behind you. He pressed his palms to the counter and stared at it like it had personally offended him.

"What was that?" His voice was sharp, unfiltered, pissed in a way you didn’t see often—not like this. Not when it was about you. "You could’ve gotten hurt."

"So could you." You leaned against the metal bunkbed frame, still catching your breath. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

His Adam's apple bobbed, slow, like the movement itself took restraint. His jaw was tight, eyes darker than usual.

"You're reckless," he said quietly.

"Takes one to know one," you laughed.

Jack didn’t.

He stepped forward instead, jaw clenched. "You have no regard for your safety and only for that of others."

You took a step back.

"You will go out of your way to treat and protect everyone around you at the expense of your own well-being."

Another step back. Any closer and—

"Do you understand," he said, each word measured, devastating, "how much I worry about you?"

Your heartbeat was a war drum now—loud, insistent, thunderous.

"Do you know how much I think about you? How much I plan for the worst every time you throw yourself between danger and someone else without a second thought?" he added, voice cracking just enough to reveal the truth beneath it. Laid bare.

"When you walk into the ER and you haven't eaten since the night before and I can see it—you're running on caffeine and impulse and whatever scraps of adrenaline are left."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

He didn’t stop there. "When you give your jacket to a freezing patient and spend the next six hours shivering without saying a word—like that’s normal."

You swallowed. "It wasn’t cold..."

Jack’s voice sharpened. "You forget your umbrella and show up soaked but act like it's fine. Like it’s not freezing. Like you didn’t just volunteer to get sick."

Your fingers twitched against your side.

"And when you blow off your own wound care to finish a chart. Or cover a code blue for someone else even though your shift ended twenty minutes ago."

You looked away. His eyes never left you.

He stepped even closer, willing you to look at him. "When you pretend you’re made of steel. And then crack alone in the stairwell when you think no one’s looking."

It felt like ice cold water had dropped from the ceiling.

"Jack—" you managed to force out. 

He held up a hand and turned around, cutting you off. "Please." 

He couldn’t hear it. Not unless you felt the same. Not unless you'd listened, actually listened, for once. He’d rather bleed out not knowing than survive a rejection he couldn’t patch. Just colleagues. He'd switch over to day shift if he had to. Robby could put in a word for him. Temporary, at least until he found a new hospital. Maybe in a different city. Of a different state.

He looked anywhere but you, turning like he meant to leave, like he could walk it off and pretend none of this ever happened.

"Jack, please..." The words came out desperate, begging, pleading for him to stop.

He didn't meet your eyes—couldn't. "I'll see you at the nurses station." 

"Oh, for the love of God—" You reached forward and yanked him back by his forearm.

And then your lips were on his.

It wasn’t clean or careful. It was a crash—years of tension detonating all at once. He froze for half a second, eyes wide open like his brain was short-circuiting, then kissed you back with everything he had and more. Desperation, disbelief, hunger—it all poured out of him like water breaking through a dam.

Your hands cradled his face, thumbs grazing over the light stubble along his jaw, fingertips brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones like you were learning him by touch alone. He kissed you like he couldn’t stand to stop, and you held him like you weren’t going to let him. He tasted like spearmint—sharp and stubborn—the gum he always carried in his pocket, and behind that, burnt coffee and something so distinctly Jack it made your limbs tingle.

His hands found your waist, your jaw, your back—grasping like he didn’t trust the moment to be real unless he mapped every inch of you with his fingertips. You were pressed chest to chest, and it still didn’t feel close enough.

Jack had kissed people before. He had slept with people before. He'd been married, for God's sake. But this—this—was unreal. This was heat and gravity and every inch of restraint he’d stitched into place finally tearing wide open. This was the reason human beings fought in wars. Why people wrote poetry and ruined perfectly stable lives for one perfect, maddening kiss. Why everything else material and immaterial suddenly paled in comparison.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging salt and pepper curls just enough to make him groan, low and wrecked against your lips.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, share the oxygen in your lungs, the little gasp you made when his thumb grazed the spot behind your ear just right. He devoured everything you gave him and kissed you like a man who had run out of time and patience.

Because he had.

He’d wanted this too long to pretend otherwise, and he'd sooner die than deprive either of you from this any longer. 

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting lightly against his. Both of you were gasping, eyes locked in the kind of dazed silence that usually followed adrenaline crashes. 

"Took you long enough, old man," you whispered, lips still brushing his.

Jack blinked once, twice. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like the thought had crossed his mind a thousand times, but the reality of you—this—hit harder than he’d prepared for.

"You feel the same?" he asked quietly, in a tone that was more awe than question.

You nodded. "Since before either of us were brave enough to say it."

Jack let out a breath that shook at the edges. "I thought if I let it slip—if I looked too long, said too much—you’d shut me out."

"I thought if I admitted it, it would ruin everything."

"It didn’t," he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours.

"No," you whispered. "It finally made sense of everything."

Jack blinked again, almost like he hadn’t fully registered it until now. His gaze swept over your face, pausing at your lips, then your eyes, as if searching for the lie he couldn’t find.

"You really mean that?" he asked, quieter now. Not disbelieving—just internalizing.

You nodded again, slower this time. "I don’t do this if I don’t."

Jack let out another breath, but it wasn’t shaky this time—it was solid. Grounded. Relieved. He laughed under it, the sound warm and slightly incredulous.

"You really are impossible," he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

"And you’re dramatic," you whispered back, smiling.

"Fair," he said. "But you’re still mine."

"Yeah," you said. "I think I always was."

Jack huffed a breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Careful. You just kissed your attending. That kind of power could go to your head."

You grinned, still breathless. "Please. You kissed me back like your life depended on it."

"Who says it didn't?" he asked rhetorically, so quietly it almost got lost in the air between you.

Your fingers drifted to the back of his neck, fingertips brushing softly along the hairline, anchoring him there. Jack shivered. Not from cold—never from cold.

"Thank you," you admitted. "For taking care of me while I was busy taking care of everyone else."

His grip on your waist tightened, grounding himself, and then he leaned in again. This time it was slower. Less frantic. His lips found the curve of your neck, warm and reverent. You gasped—quietly—but it was enough. He kissed lower, just beneath your jaw, and your hands curled in the fabric at his shoulders.

"Always." The word left his lips like a prayer.

His fingers traced the hem of your scrub top, ghosting up your sides like he was overriding any and all memories of anything else other than you. No dissonance. Just Jack, desperate to feel something real in a world that never gave him space to.

You pressed closer, kissed the corner of his mouth. "You taste like that godawful spearmint gum."

He grinned against your skin. "You love it."

Another scoff. "If throwing myself in front of a raging frat boy was all it took to get you to shut up and kiss me, I would've done it ages ago."

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, smug. "If you do that again, I’m going to make you do my charting for a week."

You snorted. "With pleasure."

He didn’t argue. Just dipped his head and kissed you again.

—

You woke in the on-call room, a mess of tangled limbs and haphazardly strewn clothes. Your cheek pressed to the rise and fall of his chest. The storm had long passed, but its echo lingered in the hush around you. Jack’s arm was slung low around your waist, fingers drawing lazy, absent-minded shapes against your hip like he didn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’d started.

"For what it’s worth, I still think you’re a pain in the ass," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

His chest rumbled beneath your cheek. "Likewise," he said, but it came out softer than usual.

You shifted just enough to look up at him, your hand brushing gently across his ribs, then settling over his heart. "Don’t get used to this."

His brow arched. "This?" If you looked hard enough, you might have seen worry flash across his face. 

"Me being nice."

Relief painted his expression. He smiled, full and rare. "You’re the one curled into me like a particularly mouthy cat."

You buried your face in his chest. "Shut up."

His fingers tightened slightly at your hip. "Not complaining. Just saying... I could get used to this."

You looked up again, caught the vulnerability flickering there before he blinked it away. Your thumb brushed his jaw, and you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth, a smile blooming in its wake.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Me too."

—

A few weeks and an undetermined number of shifts later, you walked through the double doors of the ER wearing a black hoodie—oversized and unassuming to anyone else, but unmistakable to anyone who knew him.

Robby and Dana spotted it from a mile away. The frayed drawstring, the hole near the front pocket, the faded cuff seams—the one he always reached for when the weather dropped below 60 degrees, too tired to bother, or too raw to pretend. Jack’s favorite and now second most prized possession.

The first being the shirt you wore when you stayed the night for the first time—oversized and soft, probably older than the first year med students—borrowed without asking. He never washed it. Claimed it smelled like you now and he'd keep it that way.

No one said a word.

Except Robby, who walked past and muttered, "Finally." Then, as you and Jack strolled side by side toward the nurses’ station—still bickering, now with smiles tucked behind every jab—he held out a fist to Jack.

Jack bumped it without hesitation.

Robby grinned. "Took you long enough."

"Shut up," you and Jack muttered in unison, but neither of you stopped smiling.

Jack's hand brushed yours between steps, a casual touch that lingered just long enough to say everything he couldn't say out loud in front of witnesses. You let your pinky hook around his for a second before letting go—just a flash of something soft beneath the usual snark.

"Didn't know we allowed pets in the ER," Dana remarked from her chair before looking up through her glasses. "Or are those lovebirds I hear?"

You smirked. "We’re just evolving."

Jack raised a brow. "Into better people?"

"No," you replied. "Into slightly better-functioning disasters. I am, anyway. Jack’s still somewhere between disaster and cryptid."

He bumped your shoulder gently before giving you a playful wink. "Speak for yourself. I was already perfect."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. A smile crept up like second nature. You'd get him next time.

Robby snorted. "God, you two are insufferable."

You turned just enough to shoot him a smug look. "You love it."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I do. But if I walk in on you making out in the supply closet, I’m blackmailing both of you. With photos."

Jack didn’t even flinch. "Make sure you get our good angles."

You could definitely get used to this.

[cosmiclily]

For the writers block: I hope this is okay to request this kind of snippet but I think this idea is very cute. -🎸

It’s raining and Vi plus reader are coming out of a bakery with fresh strawberry muffins, a dog catches a whiff of the delicious muffin and chases them in the rain running away from said dog, Vi throws a muffin so far the dog leaves them alone and they run again not trying to find out if that dog will come back for them. The both of them find some sanctuary away from the rain and the dog. So out of breath laughing at their exhausted faces and taking a long look at each finally kissing. They sit somewhere dry and eat their muffins peacefully listening to drips that hit the ground.

“Thank Janna, for the rain” - I just realized I basically just wrote a lil mini story but like I feel like if you tweaked it, it could be better, it would be softer like the way you write the both of them is refreshing ✨

You don’t have to use this if you don’t want to at alll

“thank janna, for the rain.”

• vi x reader

wc: 1.4k

notes: i’m on a fluffy roll, this is the cutest thing i’ve ever written. thank you so much for the request!!! i loved writing this 💕

I met Vi through a mutual friend, and the first time we ever saw each other, I was helping that friend puke outside a frat party. Vi stepped in to help me get our friend home, and before parting ways, we exchanged numbers so she could check in on us later.

After that day, we started talking—constantly texting, sharing random thoughts, late-night confessions, and jokes that only made sense to us. It felt effortless, like we’d known each other for years. But every time we tried to go on an actual date, something went wrong. It was almost comical, like the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

The first time, we planned a simple outing to the park. The day we scheduled it, the skies decided to punish us for no reason, unleashing a torrential downpour that flooded half the city.

The second attempt was at a restaurant everyone was raving about. We were excited, certain nothing could go wrong with a reservation. But on the very day we were supposed to go, they suddenly announced a temporary closure due to “unforeseen circumstances.”

The third time, Vi got hurt—badly—during a hockey game. She took a nasty fall, ended up with a sprained wrist and a trip to the hospital.

Now, we were trying for the fourth time.

“I don’t care if it rains, if the café catches on fire, or if a piano falls on my head. We are going out!” Vi declared over the phone, determination radiating through her voice as we both got ready for our date.

“Don’t put those things out there; they might actually happen,” I replied, half-joking but also slightly paranoid. At this point, I didn’t want to take any chances.

Vi laughed on the other end of the line, that warm, effortless sound that always made me smile, even when I was trying to be serious.

“If a piano falls on my head, at least I’ll die knowing we tried,” she teased, her voice full of that stubborn charm I’d grown to adore.

“Yeah, well, if you die, that’s going to make date number five even more complicated,” I shot back, slipping on my jacket and checking my reflection one last time. My heart was racing—not just because of the string of bad luck, but because this time felt different. Like it might actually happen.

We hung up with promises to see each other soon, and as I stepped outside, I held my breath, half-expecting the sky to open up or a rogue piano to come crashing down from the heavens. But the air was calm, the streets dry, and for once, nothing catastrophic seemed to be on the horizon.

When I arrived at the café, I spotted Vi instantly. She was leaning against the doorframe, scrolling through her phone, her pink hair slightly messy from the wind and a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She looked up, our eyes met, and just like that—everything felt right.

No storms. No sudden closures. No injuries. Just us.

“You made it,” she said with a grin, as if she didn’t quite believe it herself.

“We made it,” I corrected, walking up to her.

We stepped into the café, the warm scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries wrapping around us like a cozy blanket. We ordered, found a small table by the window, and sat down. Everything felt calm, effortless—like the universe had finally decided to cut us some slack. The date was perfect, just the way I had imagined it.

Vi had this awkward sense of humor that never failed to make me laugh, the kind that sneaks up on you, catching you off guard in the best way. She’d say something completely ridiculous with a straight face, and it would hit me a second later, leaving me in stitches. And God, she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen—like she didn’t even have to try. It wasn’t just her looks; it was the way she carried herself, unapologetically real, with a spark in her eyes that made everything around her seem a little brighter.

After we’d finished our drinks, Vi leaned back in her chair, that familiar grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“We could get some muffins and coffees to go, then head to that park I was telling you about. I really think you’d like it,” she suggested, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

And that’s exactly what we did. We ordered a couple of strawberry muffins, grabbed our drinks of choice, and set off toward the park. The walk was perfect—easy conversation, hands brushing occasionally, stolen glances that made my heart race. It felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Until that stupid dog showed up.

Out of nowhere, this scrappy little thing came barreling toward us, barking like we’d personally wronged it in a past life. Its eyes locked onto me with what I can only describe as pure, unfiltered hatred. Like it had been waiting its whole dog life for this exact moment.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the universe—clearly bored with our happiness—decided to spice things up. Dark clouds rolled in out of nowhere, and within seconds, fat, cold raindrops started pelting us.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled at the sky, my arms thrown up in frustration as the rain soaked through my clothes.

Vi burst out laughing. Not just a little giggle, but a full-on, doubled-over, can’t-catch-her-breath kind of laugh. She was drenched, her hair sticking to her face, mascara smudging just a little, and she’d never looked more beautiful.

Her laughter was infectious. I tried to stay mad—I really did—but it was impossible. Soon enough, I was laughing too, standing there in the middle of the downpour, trying to shield the box of muffins in one hand and my heart in the other.

“Here, let me take this,” Vi said, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she reached for the box. Without hesitation, she popped it open, grabbed one of our precious strawberry muffins, and chucked it toward the ugly little dog like it was some kind of sacrificial offering.

The dog’s attitude shifted instantly. It sprinted after the muffin with the kind of determination it had previously reserved for us, leaving us blessedly alone.

“My savior!” I exclaimed dramatically, throwing my arms around Vi’s neck and planting a wet, exaggerated kiss on her cheek. My lips met cold skin, damp from the rain, but her warmth still bled through, making me forget just how soaked we both were.

She laughed again, gripping my hands with a firm, playful squeeze before pulling me along. “Come on, Romeo. Before we melt.”

She led me toward a small gazebo nearby, tucked just at the edge of what I assumed was the park we were supposed to be going to. The rain hammered against the roof like it had something to prove, but under the shelter, it was just us—breathless, dripping, and still laughing.

Vi set the slightly damp muffin box on the bench and turned to me, her hair a mess of wet strands sticking to her face, her cheeks flushed from both the cold and the laughter. She didn’t bother to fix it, and honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted her to. She was perfect just like that.

“Well,” she said, brushing water from her forehead with the back of her hand, “this wasn’t exactly the plan.”

“Yeah, but when have our plans ever worked out?” I replied, stepping closer, our soaked shoes squeaking slightly against the wooden floor.

She smirked, tilting her head. “Fair point.”

The air between us shifted—still light, still filled with laughter, but underneath it was something else. My heart was racing again, but for a completely different reason this time. I reached up, gently tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering just a second longer than they needed to.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she leaned in, her smile fading into something softer, something that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. And then she kissed me—soft at first, like she was testing the waters, then deeper, like she’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

The rain kept falling, the universe still doing its chaotic thing, but none of it mattered. In that moment, it was just us—messy, soaked, laughing—and somehow, perfectly right.

“Thank Janna, for the rain.”

──────────────────────

masterlist

[eliotquillon]

Now can you please recommend chase centric fic as well <3 (I also don’t care about the pairings or if it’s gen)

will once again point you to my camchase fic rec list, because a lot of those fics are chase centric, and once again shoutout to myself (hey. if you’re asking me for fic recs i’m gonna toot my own horn). but if you’ve read everything on there…

the trick is to keep breathing by alpacas — ok obviously read everything by helen. duh. but if for some reason it’s the end of the world and you can only pick one then read this hunting/the mistake era character study of chase. the first time i read it i legitimately had to take breaks and stare at a wall. you’re gonna suffer, but you’re gonna be happy about it. T, 1.5k, camchase

Prodigal by JayneL — written 2005, alternate take on chase and house finding out about rowan’s death. very different to what we get in canon (besides the obvious ‘written before the mistake aired’ part) but i think it still feels…chase. you’ll see what i mean. T, 2.3k, no pairings

future planning by iamremy — girl i don’t even go here (established relationship choreman) but everything about this is so so good. this is really more foreman centric than chase (and he is oh so perfectly foreman at that) but chase certainly gets his day in the sun too. it’s funny and sweet and foreman has an existential crisis about toothpaste. s6 era. T, 5.8k, choreman with background hilson

long odds by captainharkness — i know it’s popular but CHASE RUNNING THE BETTING POOL FIC WHO CHEERED. really a chase character study disguised as a hilson fic and it is so good and fun and also there’s background camchase. T, 3k, hilson and background camchase

Earl Grey by paradisecity — great little wilson and chase relationship study, set after cursed. gen, 683 words, no pairings

Declare Ye, Tell This by sabinelagrand — mini character study of chase and religion and his position within the team, written late s3. lovely stuff. gen, 601 words, no pairings

Third Wheel Rolling by ignaz — original trio ot3 threesome post-human error. really more foreman centric but again chase is also prominently here and i gotta rec this fic somewhere because it drives me insane it’s so fucking good. E, 4.7k, camchaseforeman

Little Things by anoyo — teeny tiny chase character study, makes me feel big big feelings. gen, 210 words, no pairings

Arise by Josselin — AU where chase becomes paraplegic, with all the expected angst but also secretly a fascinating chase character study with a lot of house and chase. at one point foreman says he wishes chase’s arms were paralysed too which should give you an idea of how fucking dead on this characterisation is. nasty and raw and real. trigger warning for discussions of suicide. M, 8.1k, no pairings

In Whose Shadow by voleuse — snippets of chase character study running from pre canon to s6. it’s a voleuse fic you’re gonna suffer and have a great time. gen, 684, background camchase

Retractions by KlayterMcCabe — chase-centric s3 camchase relationship study, runs between finding judas and half-wit. gets them both SO WELL but especially chase. T, 2.2k, camchase

[akingnotaprincess]

Fic: between one heartbeat to the next

Read on Ao3

Author: @akingnotaprincess

Fandom: Star Wars Clone Wars

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Rex/Ahsoka

WC: 2,147

Notes: Written for the the 2024 round of May the Fourth Be With You for cavka.

Summary: The heart beats in a steady rhythm, matching his own. It's comforting. It means she's still alive somewhere out there. A sigh escapes his lips as Rex traces the outline of his heartmark on his wrist with his index finger. She's alive, he thinks to himself, maybe a little bitterly. Rex misses her so much—he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye.

Snippet:

It's the only photo he has of the two of them. It was taken last year. In the photo, both of them are not looking at the camera, but are facing each other. The photo was taken after a mission, and the two of them were speaking—about what Rex doesn't remember. He can guess that based on Ahsoka's smile alone, it had not been the standard communication between two officers. There's not much space between their bodies, and his hand is resting on her shoulder, and it appears that the photo was snapped with Ahsoka's blurry hand in mid-air, probably reaching up to place her own hand on top of Rex's own or perhaps to put her smaller hand on his broad shoulder to mirror him.

Cody hitches his breath when he sees the photo. Regret and sorrow crosses his face for a moment before his usual hardened expression returns. "She was a good soldier. It's a shame what happened to her. She didn't deserve such mistreatment."

Mistreatment. Mistreatment seemed to understate the betrayal of the only friends and family Ahsoka had ever known. The half-assed apology from the Jedi Council… Skywalker's face flashes into his mind. Blank, stony-eyed, as the words he spoke made no sense because Ahsoka wouldn't just leave.

"I miss her."

Cody nods. "We all do, though you most of all, I think."

Rex's thumb is poised over the screen. He should exit the screen, shut off his datatpad and go to the cafeteria to eat with Cody like a normal person. That's why he is not sure why he says, "I never told her. I never told her that I loved her. That she was my soulmate." Rex is surprised that he said it out loud, immediately wishing he had kept the words inside where they'd been for so long, yet now that they have been said, he finds that he cannot stop them from spilling out. He rolls his sleeve up to his elbow and offers Cody his wrist. "It's her heartbeat. It's her. I had to feel for her pulse once and…" Rex lets his words trail off, his memories wandering to those life-pivoting seconds of realization.

[hightowerqueen]

WIP WHENEVER

thank you for giving me an excuse to double post, @thewardenisonthecase <3

not tagging anyone, since i already did yesterday

a snippet of what i have going for the WIP chapter 3 of "roots planted in my skin":

It's still dark when Bea wakes up. Illario is asleep next to her, an arm slung over her stomach and his face half buried in the pillow. Features relaxed like this, the sharp edges are gone. He looks closer to the man who used to sit her down, carefully brush and braid the hair away from her face before bed, to keep that mess out of MY face, all faux annoyance with a sparkle in his eye. She trails a finger down the exposed side of his face, and his nose crinkles slightly in response.

It's unsettling, how easily being close to him becomes normal again. They're both covered in marks that will need concealing later, little bits of each other claimed viciously, and somewhere in the back of her mind she hears Davrin's mocking voice asking her what the fuck is wrong with them. Davrin had always taken her stories in stride, just part of who she was (is?), the kind of man who didn't flinch in the face of much.

The reminder of the world outside this room is what shakes her out of her reverie. There's still so much to be done, out there. So many responsibilities waiting for her. It all feels like a selfish indulgence now, and the realization has her limbs stiffening nervously.

If she doesn't leave now, she never will. It's a terrifying thought.

She untangles herself from Illario quietly, slides back on the half-ruined clothes from earlier. On a whim, she digs through the pile of his, too. Finds the scarf from the market, and for a lack of functioning pockets to stuff it in, just uses it to cover her tangled hair like a bandana, instead.

She has the decency to leave a note, at least, rushed in that chicken scratch of hers Viago still complains about.

It's a short thing, and she hopes Illario won't notice the slight smudging of the ink and the damp spot where she's written i love you. Maybe it's unfair, putting that out in the open, present tense, and running away from it, but she can't quite stop her trembling fingers from doing it anyway.

There's a quiet snore from the bed, and she itches to go back.

Her head swims with a confused mess of thoughts, and Viago's patience is an already stretched elastic, ready to snap. She needs to get back, and the distance will give her room to think clearly about what she wants. Talk to Ayden about it, maybe, finally. She has questions of her own for her dearest sibling, most of them involving the First Talon, and maybe if they're trading stories on even ground they'll make headway together.

The door clicks shut behind her, loud in the silence of this in-between hour.

[qwordavoider]

I'm so curious about "dad not donor" in part because that's basically what I'm writing right now so I'd love your take on that

I'm reading your fic (which is so good btw) and there were definitely times when I thought get out of my head because it was so similar to what I was thinking. I'm not even kidding, I also had the 133 respond to their car accident and Tommy called in for a medivac. And I ALSO had Tommy think something to the extent of kids always hitting them hard. It was wild since I wrote it over a month ago and didn't post it anywhere, but I digress. Here is a snippet of Tommy's pov in the first chapter under the cut.

“The kid’s in and out of consciousness, so I don’t think he’s aware of the pain too much right now. We’re all set”. Lucy said as she got to work monitoring his vitals and getting him warm. 

Tommy took off and radioed ahead to the hospital and to dispatch that they were en route. While in the air, they heard Captain Mehta’s voice crackle over the radio informing the hospital that the likely IDs of the couple were Connor and Kameron Anderson and the kid’s name pulled from the sweatshirt in the back of the car was likely Liam. Thankfully the kid remained stable the whole flight to the hospital. 

They were met by the hospital’s trauma team on the helipad. Tommy powered down the helicopter as Lucy rattled off his vitals to the doctors. As the team was carting him away, Tommy got a better look at Liam and saw him open his eyes briefly. Despite the dark clouds overhead, he could tell they were a nice shade of blue. For some reason, he felt like he recognized Liam from somewhere. It was probably just all his previous saves messing with his mind. 

They had to fill out some paperwork and were grounded for an hour because the storm had gotten worse. So they headed to the hospital cafeteria for some coffee and to dry out for a bit. 

They were standing at the nurses' station chatting with them and the paramedics who brought the parents in when Tommy heard a familiar voice from the opposite end of the desk. He turned and found himself looking right at a panicked Evan Buckley. Bobby, with a concerned look on his face, was right behind him as Evan asked for information on the Andersons. How did he know the Andersons? Friends of his? Tommy’s question would be answered seconds later as the nurse asked for his relation to the family. Tommy’s world stopped as Evan responded, “I’m Liam’s biological father."

For those who are curious, I have about 10 chapters with 5 written, 1 half done, and a general idea for the final 4.

[akoyaxs]

Tunutu pt 2

Okay so i'm FINALLY getting somewhere with my writing!!! Enjoy this little snippet of what I've written so far, and I swear the rest WILL be better it'll just take a few days 💗

The next time you saw Aonung after that day in your room, you didn't know what you were expecting. Maybe, like he usually did with other girls, he'd pretend nothing ever happened. Maybe he'd taunt you and say it was all a joke, despite everything you said. 

If you're being honest- you didn't have high hopes. It's not like all your other experiences with Metkayina men had ended with them ackegknowledging you afterward, after half-breaking your back and saying you were the tightest thing they've ever felt. 

But you certainly weren't expecting him to stick to his words.

Days had passed since you slept with Aonung, days in which you didn't see him around the village or anywhere around Awa'atlu. Of course, your mind had just come to terms with the fact he was like all the other guys, and you really had been stupid, listening to the meaningless pillow-talk riff raff he'd cooed at you afterwards. 

No one would say where he was, and Tsireya, Rotxo and the Sully's all acted infuriatingly knowing and smug when you sneakily asked them. Very casual. Definitely off-hand. Nonchalant for sure.

And you were. It wasn't that deep that Aonung, like you predicted and prepared yourself for, did not stick to his words about sticking around and everything. You were stupid and hopeful, and you didn't really blame him either.

So you were trying your best to put him behind you when a whole week had passed without you seeing him, and you were starting to fall back into your old patterns.

Which is why, on the eighth day, you could be found in the Tsahìk's marui. 

There had been an incident at training where Zei'ke had gotten a little bruised and battered. He was very good looking, so you tolerated his chatter. God- he really was even stupider than Aonung. Why did you always just go for big stupid hunks?

But at the end of the day, he was a big hunk, so you were happy to patch him up, applying ointment to his cuts and bruises, bandaging the worse injuries and massaging his sore muscles.

The trouble was, Tsireya had begged you to come swimming that afternoon, and this was your first time wearing swimmers out in the village. So maybe your bikini was a little smaller than it could of been, but who was it hurting, really, to be showing off the best assets you had to offer in a strictly na'vi village.

It certainly wasn't hurting Zei'ke, given the way his eyes stared not so conspicuously down your top when you bent over, or how the ties of your bikini bottoms peeked over your shorts.

What's the harm in having some fun, you thought.

It wasn't like Aonung was going to do anything, his absence had made it pretty clear that he was a liar, that it really was just about sex, maybe even just experimentation.

But when you moved closer, leaning up to massage Zei'ke's shoulders, you were surprised by the way he flinched back.

"What, am I hurting you?" you ask, frowning slightly. You had been careful, using your hands gently and besides, na'vi were literally impossible for you to injure.

"No," Zei'ke says slowly, blinking owlishly at you. His gaze flicks down to your breasts, then he clears his throat and looks away. You frown.

"Is there a problem with my clothing?"

"No- I just... I should go," he says hastily.

"Why?" you ask, weary and suspicious. You wonder vaguely if suddenly, everyone's starting to wonder if you're turning into the evil sort of tawtute. "I haven't finished massaging your muscles-"

"You shouldn't," Zei'ke says shortly. "He wouldn't like it."

That was new. Your eyes narrow as you try to guess what this skxawng is going on about, but you have a sinking sort of feeling you know exactly what's happening.

"And who are you talking about?"

Zei'ke blinks guiltily. Obviously he wasn't supposed to say anything, but if he was careless and clumsy enough to let the first words slip, you could pull the rest out of him.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain future Olo'eyktan, would it?" you ask casually, shifting on your feet to look more careless. "You know, tall, stupid, very good looking. Name's Aonung?"

"No!" Zei'ke practically bursts out, before scrunching his face up guiltily. Even someone that thick would realise he wasn't convincing anyone. Your eyes narrow further.

"What does him not liking it have to do with anything?" you ask.

"He is my commander," Zei'ke says owlishly.

"No," you huff, growing tired of his incompetence. "Why would he not like it?"

"Because... well... you fucked him..."

"Charming," you mutter under you breath, rolling your eyes at his very limited vocabulary. "What does us sleeping together have to do with anything? I've been with other na'vi men, and that didn't change anything, especially about others?"

Zei'ke frowns, processing your words, and you want to take him by the shoulders and rattle him. It would be hard though, given he's double the size of you.

"You are his," Zei'ke says simply.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"No other man goes near you," Zei'ke explains. "Sometimes we can argue with the claim, but he is to be Olo'eyktan, and we do not dare-"

"What is he playing at?" you snap. "We just fucked, I've fucked others and nothing ever happened with that? Just because he's the little prince he thinks he can control what I do?"

"Uh... I don't know?" he says weakly, and your scowl deepens.

"How did you even know about that anyway?"

"We can all smell his scent on you," Zei'ke says, face flushed with embarrasment. "You did not realise, tawtute?"

"Obviously fucking not," you growl. 

"Besides," Zei'ke says, obviously eager to take some of the heat off himself, "Aonung got upset with us asking about you. That's why I'm so battered."

At this, you freeze. Zei'ke can obviously tell he said something important, because he winces and scrunches his face up.

"I mean- no- I tripped-"

"Shut up," you say carelessly. "You saw Aonung?"

"Yes? I mean... he's been at training for day-"

With a furious growl, you push past Zei'ke, storm out of the marui, and stalk along the village. You can feel his eyes blinking owlishly at you, clearly torn between confusion and worry for what Aonung might do to him.

Rage is boiling in your veins. First, Aonung ignores you after promising a million things. Then he "claims" you or whatever the fuck that means. And now it turns out, he was here. In Awa'atlu. And he just didn't come and see you.

You storm across the sand to the warrior grounds, hands balled into little fists. All the sparring and beatings and fights don't faze you, you storm straight through all the tussles towards the familiar broad figure of Aonung on the very opposite side.

Fights pause and everyone stares as you stride past, all tiny and furious in your bikini and shorts, less clothing than they'd ever seen you in.

Finally, you reach Aonung. He hasn't noticed all his warriors have stopped fighting, he hasn't even noticed you storming towards him. He's busy sharpening a spear, discussing something with Neteyam seated beside him.

Neteyam is the first to spot you, and his eyes go wide. Before he can say anything, Aonung notices his friend's surprise, and turns with a small, puzzled frown on his stupidly handsome face to see you right in front of him.

Thank Eywa he's seated, because it makes your next action a lot easier. You slap him. Hard.

Several people gasp, everyone mutters, and all eyes are now on you as you glare up at him. Aonung's eyes are dark, but he doesn't say anything. He looks a little confused, and that makes you even more furious.

You shove him hard. Mortifyingly, yet predictably if you're looking at it logically, Aonung doesn't move a single inch, and suddenly you're right against his warm, muscular body. Stupid skxawng, his hotness making it hard for you to be mad at him.

"You dick," you growl. "You fucking idiot-"

Aonung clears his throat, clearly aware of everyone watching with varying degrees of surprise, interest and amusement as this little angry tawtute snarls curses at their commander. Neteyam, too, looks slightly entertained.

"Dismissed," he calls to his warriors. 

They all wander off, taking their sweet time to cast glances back at you, muttering excitedly between themselves. Neteyam stands awkwardly, trying to hide a smile.

"I'm going to go," he says decidedly. "I'll see you later bro. Good luck."

Aonung nods tightly, before his gaze flicks back down to you, glaring up at him with all your might. This fucking skxawng is going to be the death of you. He obviously wasn't going to be the first one to speak, so you took a deep breath.

[emmathecasualauthor]

Hmmmm you temped me with many of them, but I shall ask about "Do not go gentle" for the WIP ask game!

Hello!! Thank you for the ask!

"Do not go Gentle is a jily longfic I've been working on semi-secretly. It follows from the summer before seventh year and after. It's an... ambitious project haha. I'm still in the outlining/characterization process with a handful of scenes written, but I'll share a snippet! I might have shared this somewhere so apologies if you've read it before!!

As if being summoned, James bursts into the room, and when he sees Lily, he bounds toward her, wrapping his arms around her tightly.  “Where were you?” he asks fiercely. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago!”  “I nearly had to stupefy him, the poor thing,” Sirius says in the background. “He had half a mind to go looking for you.”

Wip tag game!

[goblins-in-a-teapot]

OW Fanfic snippet

Working title: Devour the Sun

it's a ✨Time Buddies✨ shipfic (or whatever the hell its called) umm...

Tags, i guess? Hatchling has a name, Gypsum. Gabbro has a sun hat...oh, and it's written in first person

TW: descriptive mental/emotional breakdown

Context: this is a year to a year and a half before hatchlings first launch.

Some quick notes for those who read this, I was having a bit of trouble with how this should go. When I typically write, it's in third person, and wanting to try something a little different, I went with the dreaded first person. So, I guess enjoy?

Cicada song hung in the air in that soothing summer way and the pleasant breeze carried the sweet smell of vine flowers, relieving some of that humid air discomfort. It was an absolutely gorgeous sunny day, a perfect day for a sapwine ceremony. My ceremony. 

…and I am terrified…

Everything about today felt like too much, too loud, too sweet, too hot, and far too bright. The only place calm enough was in use by the little ones for their daily lesson. I really should talk about this— who would be willing to listen, though? Gossen would but they worry too much. That meant Riebeck was out, and Hal… Hal would be the worse choice, honestly. There was Gabbro. They would listen to my woes, but it felt wrong to burden them with my problems. Maybe visiting them would be a good distraction— or I could pretend it’s not there and wait for the inevitable meltdown that was right around the bend… 

— – -

It took a while to find them, of course. I had looked in every one of their favorite hiding spots. Nothing. What was that old saying, ‘The first place you find the thing is the last place you look’? Something like that. Such a dumb adage. Anyway, I found them. They were in the last place I wanted to go, so of course that’s where they would be. The Grove. A terrible place to be in a terrible, terrible state of mind. 

Thankfully, they’re only a stone’s toss away from the entrance. They appeared to be napping, lounging against the trunk of an ancient pine, nestled between two large roots that crept out from the ground long ago. The brim of their sun hat angled just right to block out the sun. Their right foot tucked under the opposite knee, and their hands folded over their stomach. 

A perfect picture of peace. 

Why am I here– to ruin Gabbro’s day? 

Nausea came in like a wave and I realized how sweaty my palms had gotten. Breathe, don’t forget to breathe. Take a step– don’t just stand here— move! MOVE! Gabbro is my friend, I shouldn’t be this afraid to talk to them—–

I can’t do this… not to them… not to anyone…

It’s heavy. 

It’s all so damn heavy. 

“Gypsum?” Gabbro’s voice cut through the undertow and forced me to catch my breath. They’re cool as a cucumber but there seemed to be a hint of worry in there somewhere, “Hey bud, long time no see,” they said and waved me over to join them. 

— – - – —

thats it for now folks

[dcawritings]

*throws this snippet of a oneshot I’m working on for The Color of Your Eyes fic at everyone*

WOE, INTIMATE SUN AND ROBOT!READER BE UPON YE

For context since the main fic hasn’t been written or posted: the reader has recently learned that they are actually a highly-advanced prototype animatronic made by Fazco and they haven’t taken the news all that well. Sun, hoping to offer them some comfort, wants to show them that they can still feel loved

“What new secret part are you about to reveal to me…?” you say, tone a mix of humor and exhaustion as Sun gently manhandles your wrist. “Because I’m surprised a knife hasn’t popped out at this point. Or a laser. A laser would be a little cool though…”

The animatronic doesn’t say anything in an immediate reply, instead simply taking your hand in his and turning it over so he can touch a single fingertip to the center of your inner wrist. For a few moments it looks as if he’s trying to take your pulse, but that is quickly corrected when the seam of a square hatch reveals itself and opens with a soft *click*.

Ah. Yet another access panel you didn’t know about. Lovely.

Despite not tilting his faceplate up, you know that Sun’s eyes are trained on you again. Gentle. He’s waiting for you to pull your hand away, to see if you’ll let him continue.

Your heart — or the part of your code or hardware that simulates one — is beating rapidly. You feel… nervous? But in a way you recognize; in a way that is so wonderfully *human*.

“I figured you had one o’ these somewhere,” Sun murmurs, tone so soft and subdued in a stark contrast to the static grin of his faceplate. He traces a fingertip around the open panel, dipping into the space. You can see wires, thin and thick, multicolored in ways you assume are important. Do they control your fingers? Are they like muscles?

The animatronic continues in a soft near-whisper as his finger gently presses against the bundle of wires, “The folks in Parts n’ Service call this a ‘universal access port’. Everybody’s got one, starlight— even me n’ Moonie, ‘cept ours are out of the central processors behind our faceplate.”

You watch as he seems to find whatever he’s looking for; a cord half-hidden amongst the rest, one that seems clipped into place and with a blunt-looking end that kinda reminds you of an old analogue audio jack, except it’s a bit wider and with the golden protrusion on one side. There’s a hole on the other side, as if it’s meant to have a complimentary part connected.

It… takes a few seconds of Sun watching you, waiting for some sort of response before the realization finally hits.

“Are you… able to… connect yours with…. mine?”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Sun murmurs, a gentle flicker of the lights in his eyes assuring you of his honesty. “It won’t be nearly as overwhelmin’ as what I was doing before. When we connect with this, we’ll have access to each other’s systems.” A moment passes, and he makes a soft noise akin to a human clearing their throat. ”This is actually how most of the others here… well… how they…”

Sun tries and fails to finish the sentence, but it doesn’t take a scientist to know where he’s going with it. His gentle fumbling for words in the middle of the moment is a comfort, a warmth that embraces your thoughts like a beloved old blanket.

“You mean to tell me,” you say, words little more than an amused huff. “That *this* is how y’all fuck?”

Sun’s rays immediately retract almost entirely into his faceplate at the sound of the word. His voice glitches for a moment as he babbles out some kind of answer, “I— No! I mean— yes! But— Language!”

[blackbloodteeth]

Thank you for the snippet tag @silluuuu, it's so good to do this again!!

So much talk about SoMa dancing lately, that's where my brain went (but ofc with my usual variant braincell). Had a lot of fun writing this, so anyone anticipating the AU Stein list, don't worry if that ends up showing up tomorrow hahaha

————

One slow, quiet breath at a time. An exchange of glances, an awkward swallow, and finally a twitch of a smirk as he directs her casually.

"Just have one on the shoulder and the other on the hip."

Maka gets a last fidget in before following through with it, the light weight of a hand now resting on his left shoulder, another hesitantly against his side, and the other two hands… directly into his. His hands.

"This is so weird," she growls with his own voice, the discomfort written plain as day in those sharp teeth that he usually pulls back in halfhearted scowls.

"You're the one who wanted to do this." His fingers settle against hers, meeting again at his blood-red shade of uncertainty, his eyes under her particular look of eyebrow scrunching because… "This body-exchange stuff is apparently good for partnerships."

"I know, I'm the one who told you that, I just…"

Her head (his head) glances down again. He'd chosen a loose t-shirt for this, all things considering with the fact he was one of those weapons with four arms or whatever.

Yeah. He gets it.

"…I'm not used to having this many fingers!"

Soul snorts, looking back over the shoulder of her tank top he's wearing and catching a glimpse of feathers that he gives a small shake of. "Yeah, and I'm not used to being half-chicken, but here we ar-"

The joints connecting to his back reflexively jolt when Maka uses his nearest hand to wack the side of his head, forcing a startled squawk out of him while he swats said hand away. "Peace treaty, peace treaty!"

"Oh, right," she mutters with an uncanny inflection that he's still not entirely used to. He lets out a huff as he straightens back out, tucking the weird feather-arms back in as they both return to position, a brief moment passing to test out the feel of her legs before he picks things right back up.

"Okay, you remember how we normally dance, right? Just try to apply that with my muscle memory and that'll get us somewhere, probably."

"So… like this?"

And back down to the floor of their apartment's living room as he watches her shuffle his feet around back and forth, almost in a way that impressed him for how quickly she picked it up right until about a minute later where Maka intentionally steps on his foot – not enough for it to hurt, but sure's hell enough to make his shoulders immediately slump with a glare sent right at the goofy grin she's giving him.

Soul snorts again. "You gonna lead us to a long night?"

"Maybe," Maka hums.

[rochenn]

🐌 💥:D <3

Hiiii! :D

🐌 What is one of your smallest writing goals?

Dude that's the fuckin. The story where Asajj gets to kill Dooku. Yeah. Ideally that thing should be very pretty and very below 2k when I get it done BUT IT'S SO DAUNTING but also she deserves to put a knife in him as soon as possible y'know

💥 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

OH HAHAHA! YES!! OHHHH I've got some ENTERTAINMENT simmering on low heat for Rifle. Or at least it's entertainment to me. I feel very evil when thinking about it. It's not written out beyond bullet points yet, as it will only be relevant from MAYBE chapter 6 on at the absolute soonest, so there's no snippet! But man. Maaaan I'm having fun. Frothing at the mouth to introduce certain characters and circumstances and unveil dynamics. Half of the draw of the Long Clone Wars AU is that I'm like a funky circus magician and you, the audience, know there's a coin somewhere up my sleeve. The question is just what I've done to the coin and where I'll make it appear. With the coins representing various characters. Probably not always the characters you expect, but ones you will know nonetheless. It's a blast

(Also still insane about the various Dooku projects. Especially the forward time travel and the getting captured by the 212th thing)

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

NEED THE JILY PROFESSORS FIC SO BAD

it's possibly my next multi-chapter undertaking!! i've got several chapters written and i'm having a great time with it. there are also ✨flashbacks✨ which is something i don't think i've done in this fandom yet? in general, the style/narrative is a bit different than what i usually write for jily. here's a snippet of a flashback:

“Where are you going?” he asks, and there’s something wounded in it, something that stops her for half a second before she crushes it down. “Somewhere else,” she says, eyes shut tight. “I want to be alone.” “Okay.” He nods like this makes perfect sense. “Let’s be alone, then.” “Potter.” She sighs, already exhausted and having absolutely no energy for whatever this is. “You’re really drunk.” “Why’d you leave?” he asks, stubborn and steady. She watches him tentatively, already half-preparing some excuse, but he beats her to it. “You were sitting on the couch with Macdonald and then you weren’t. Why?” Lily stiffens, feeling uncomfortably exposed. In all the parties she's managed to escape, no one’s ever noticed her leave before. Not once.

ask me about a wip

[in-my-loki-feels]

PREZDOKIIIIIIIIIII (any) 😌

You're making me choose?? 😆 I think I've talked about (or shared) all but the last on the list so here you go!

PrezDoki meets Lokius

The chronological finale of the Bad Things 'verse! Following the events of Like You Mean It, canon proceeded as usual for our Lokius pair, leaving Mobius alone and Loki in the tree. Mobius gets curious about whatever happened to the timeline he left at the mercy of a President Loki variant, and can't quite believe what he finds (PrezDoki living their lives) so he drops in to see for himself. Prez really doesn't like this.

Somehow, it would end with Lokius reunited so everyone gets their happy ending, because that's how I roll! 😂

Here's a snippet because I really want to share this one but it's barely half-written:

Loki was half-dozing in the late afternoon heat when he felt it. A prickle of unease, the sense of being watched. His eyes snapped open behind his sunglasses and he looked around as best he could without moving. No immediate threats he could see. The boys were wrestling in the yard. Don stood by the grill, spatula in one hand, watching them with a smile. The threat was elsewhere.  Loki split away from himself, leaving a decoy appearing to doze in the lawn chair as he crept away, scanning the other yards. His heart stopped when he saw a familiar brown-suited figure standing across the street, seemingly watching them. Then rage consumed him.  How dare he? How dare he wait this long and then show up to finish what the TVA had started. Loki kept himself invisible until he’d gotten closer, then dropped the spell so he could see Mobius’ eyes widen with surprise just before he was slammed into the tree. Loki pinned him with a forearm across his chest and a knife at his throat.  “Finally come to get your revenge?” he snarled. “Did you think if you waited long enough, my defenses might lower enough to be caught?”  Mobius had his hands raised but there was no TemPad in sight. Nor were there any TVA hunters, but that didn’t mean they weren’t around here somewhere. He suddenly thought of the idyllic scene he’d left unattended.  “I’ll ensure your death is a slow one if you’ve sent your hunters after that family.”  “I’m not here to fight,” Mobius said, “and I didn’t bring any hunters.”  It sounded like the truth, but Loki couldn't trust him. He examined Mobius, noting the differences since he’d last seen him.  There was no variant, for starters. It made Loki’s skin prickle—the other Loki could have also cloaked himself—but Mobius didn’t seem nervous, or like he was trying to stall or distract Loki. He looked tired, with dark smudges beneath his eyes. It was strange to look at him now, when Loki was so accustomed to Don’s face. Even as similar as they were, there were distinct differences, most notable the way they looked at Loki. Don’s eyes were always warm, occasionally exasperated but still carrying fondness.  Mobius’ eyes had a haunted look to them, a hollowness.

Thank you for the ask. <3 From this list.

[kaiwewi]

Hello, I hope you have a nice day. I came across your stories from Fame and Flourish.

Needless to say I absolutely loved everything about this series. I love the eccentricity of the villain and the fact that they’re still caring too. I can’t exactly relate but I understand the hero’s struggle.

It’s so refreshing to see such a good relationship between a hero and a villain.

I wonder if you have other stories about them in store? Will you make Villain actually meet Hero’s family?

If you don’t plan on doing that I understand and I hope you’ll have fun writing whatever you want to write.

Hey there!! Hope you're having a great day as well 😃 So sweet of you to message. Makes me happy that you're enjoying this story and those characters so much ^^

And, yes actually!! There are a bunch of half-finished stories sitting somewhere on my computer (plus several pages in my notebook of concept notes, scene outlines, and rough dialogue snippets) featuring these two. Some scenes are almost done, mostly written out but in need of editing; others are still very much in the early concept stage or still live entirely within my head.

But there is a lot. Even though I haven't posted as much as I have for some other projects, Fame and Flourish is definitely among the stories I've been most invested in. The characters are very dear to me and I've always wanted to revisit their story at some point (which might as well be now). Thank you, for reminding me! 💚

Villain meeting Hero's family is among the things I plan on exploring. Further items on the agenda are: some background information for both characters (there's a scene in first person narration of the day Villain manifested their powers, which I was planning on working into another snippet miniseries, perhaps during the visit to Hero's family's place, where Hero and Villain talk about powers and trauma ... though I might change that scene to third person narration, not sure yet); scenes of Villain interacting with their (very much existing and really lovely) friends; scenes from during Hero's and Villain's team up (in particular, one from Hero's pov of another vulnerable key moment that shaped their view of who Villain is as a person); more scenes from the beginning of their acquaintance, where Villain is actually 'working' and not merely dropping by to just chat; something more introspective from Villain's pov; another scene from Villain's pov of their last conversation with Hero a couple weeks prior to the events in Favours Among Frenemies; and maybe scenes featuring Vigilante too (I've got a half-finished spin-off snippet featuring two of the city's other villains ... bonding over one of Vigilante's little power-fantasy 'punishment' games. Really tame though; sounds much worse than it is. Basically, it's Vigilante accidentally, or not so accidentally, who knows, playing matchmaker xD)

Lots of stuff, really. Hard to choose what to work on first 😅 Is there anything in particular (from the above list or otherwise) you'd be especially interested in reading? Can't promise that's where I'll start, but I sure wouldn't mind some feedback/input 😉