#I know the snippets I’m throwing out are on the short side

[daffi-990]

WIP Wednesday ✍️

Tagged by @jesuisici33 . Thank you lovely ❤️

A continuation of the very first snippet I shared from The Lightning Amnesia Fic, which was also the very first thing I wrote for this fic as well. Now it’s at 28k and I’m close to finishing it 😳.

The rain has begun to pick up and Buck thinks briefly that during the rain of a lightning storm, his memories, his future with Eddie was wiped away so it’s only fitting that the rain is accompanying him to get that future back. He glances at the sky and is thankful that there is no lightning at play tonight. He’d still face the storm if there was. Nothing can keep him from the man who lives behind this front door.

He raises his hand to said front door and knocks, aware that it’s 11pm on a Tuesday and that Eddie is probably asleep. He waits for about a minute and then knocks again. There is so much nervous energy in his body that he starts bouncing on the balls of his feet, opting to knock again even though it’s been less than 30 seconds because fuck, he’s impatient. He remembers and he just needs to see Eddie right the fuck now.

The front light turns on, the door opens and Buck lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Eddie is standing there in his favourite pair of black sleep shorts and a white shirt. His eyes are still adjusting to the light, squinting at the brightness, his hair is tousled and Buck thinks he’s never looked more beautiful.

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice is low, and yeah, Buck definitely woke him up. “What are you doing here?”

There is so much Buck wants, needs, to say but right now there is only one thing on the tip of his tongue, clashing and clawing and wanting desperately to get out.

“I remember”

No pressure tagging: @callmenewbie @callaplums @captain-hen @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @eddiediaztho @fortheloveofbuddie @forthewolves @giddyupbuck @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @lover-of-mine @loserdiaz @monsterrae1 @rainbow-nerdss @spotsandsocks @thewolvesof1998 @try-set-me-on-fire @wikiangela @wildlife4life

[tellingoldstories]

Okay so, i'll take your chaos and your crooked in a heartbeat ended up being very much a Walsh/Abbot fic, but for a long time I was playing about with a Mohan/Abbot ending. Never going to write it now and it's a bit rough and ready, but please enjoy these snippets:

-

After Pittfest, two related, yet diametrically opposite things happen:

Number one: After the requisite two weeks of professional distance (see also: barely concealed rage) Emery corners him at shift change,

(“You’ve got to stop flirting with residents.” She tells him, joking. Also a little serious.

“Resident.” He corrects absentmindedly, because he likes precision and there’s exactly one person he’s currently trying it on with. “Besides, what if they want me to?” He adds, half facetious, more than half confident that the resident in question is flirting right back

She bites her lip, turning her head to the side to look at him. His daughter does the same thing when she’s trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem. “Just be careful, Jack.” She tells him, “God knows that school we send Hanna too is far too expensive for you to go losing your job.”

He chooses to ignore that. “How would you know if I was flirting anyway?”

She raises her eyebrows at him, “Other than the fact that I have eyes?” she asks, “I have the unique experience of having been on the receiving end of your charm.”

“Please,” he scoffs, “We got drunk and fucked in your terrible car a decade ago. I didn’t flirt with you nearly as well as I’m doing this…”)

And number two: gloriously, inevitably, Samira Mohan ends up in his bed

-

They’re lying in his bed dozing, sheets half covering them and legs tangled together. When the ring of his doorbell is followed immediately by a very familiar voice yelling out, “da-ad.”

“Shit.” He’s immediately fully awake, scrambling around for some semblance of clothing; dragging a pair of boxers up his hip and blindly reaching for the crutch he keeps leaning up against bedside table. Wordlessly, Samira hand him his shirt from where it’s clearly ended up on the floor by her side of the bed.

“Can you,” he presses a finger to his lips in the universal sign for stay quiet, looking slightly pained “just for a minute, please?”

She nods, looking slightly shellshocked but hiding a giggle in the back of her hand. She looks beautiful, even with (or perhaps because of) the mess her hair is in, smudged mascara visible under her eyes. It makes him slightly crazy; makes his heart flutter like he’s a teenager and he can’t help but press a kiss to the side of his mouth before levering himself up on the crutch and going to let Hanna in. Making doubly sure to close his bedroom door firmly on the way out.

As soon as he gets the deadbolt undone, Hanna streaks past him, immediately and unerringly moving towards her room and leaving him standing in the entranceway, looking at Emery.

“Forgot her Spanish homework,” she tells him as he opens up the door wider to welcome her into the apartment, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the hand he’s not using to support himself on his crutch as she swishes past him. She’s dressed in jeans, with an oversize shirt slung over a tank top - it’s about as casual as he ever sees her, so he assumes she’s got the day off. He turns towards her, intending to ask if she’s got anything planned, but stops short when he sees her repositioning his throw pillows to cover up for the fact that Samira’s bra is lying, completely unsubtly, in the middle of his couch. Because yeah, now that he thinks about it, they didn’t exactly make it all the way to his bed last night. Not the first time anyway.

He scrubs a hand across his face - knows he’s turning bright red in the face of her smirk – and has never been as grateful for anything in his life as he is for Hanna’ reappearance - Spanish homework clutched in her arms, unwittingly saving him from having to come up with some kind of response or explanation.

“Thank you.” He mouths at her over Hanna’s head as she gives him a goodbye hug

Emery shakes her head in a way that means don’t mention it, that means he’s very much going to be hearing about this later on.

-

“So,” Samira says, accepting the coffee he offers her with grateful hands. She’s chucked on one of his t-shirts, but hasn’t been bothered to put on anymore clothing than that. Just wrapped herself in his sheets and waited for him to come back, “that was your kid?”

For a moment his face bluescreens, “You knew I had one, right?” He asks, hesitant. Looking off to one side as if trying to recall any number of their conversations, “I’ve talked about her – to you, I mean.”

He has. Has mentioned her a couple of times in a casual offhand kind of way, smile on his face as talked about taking her camping or groaned about the price of Olivia Rodriquez tickets. Once she’d found him on the hospital roof - standing a little too close to the railing after a school bus had crashed and killed six kids coming home from a soccer tournament. That was the night she found out his daughter’s name was Hanna.

“You did,” she tells him gently, “besides, even if you hadn’t, you made the entire ER buy girl scout cookies my intern year, so I’d have to be even slower than Robby thinks I am to have missed that one.”

A flash of annoyance crossed his face, “you’re not slow,” he tells her seriously, “you’re thorough. Out of everyone, Robby should know the difference.” It sends a stupid thrill down her spine – the faith he has in her, the respect.

“Thank you,” she tells him, meaning it even as she feels her cheeks heat. She cast around for something to change the subject and ends up asking -  

“Her mom?” She knows he’s a widow – that his wife had died in some sort of accident a long time ago now – but she also knows what the hospital rumour says.  

“Emery,” then, correcting himself, “uh – Dr Walsh. From surgery.”

A point for the rumour-mill then. “You two used to date?” she asks instinctively and then cringes, “sorry -sorry, that’s none of my business.”

He puts his coffee cup on his bedside table, where it joins an empty glass of water, an industrial sized bottle of ibuprofen and a wood framed photo of a baby. “No, you’re fine.” He tells her – stretching his arms behind his back, “And - ah, no. It was a onetime thing. Or three times, one night, anyway.” he gives her a crooked half-smile, like she’s not already aware he’s incredibly thorough.

“And as for it being your business, I’d very much like for my life to become your business – if that’s something you want too?.”

-

-

Samira’s covering chairs so Santos, on a double shift, can catch twenty minutes of shuteye between patients. Spots a very harried woman sporting a lanyard and a familiar looking girl, cradling her elbow, sat towards the back of the room. Frowning, she pulls her tablet up and looks at the admin notes. There it is, in black and white, Hanna Abbot.

“Go and find out what Dr Abbot’s up to,” she tells the medical student who’s shadowing her, “Attending,” she adds when the kid looks at her blankly (it is, in fairness, only his second day) “Grey hair – slight MacGyver vibe.”

-

They’ve been going out about a year now. Keeping it quiet while she finishes up her residency, seeing each other as much as their busy schedules allow, to the point that she’s half living with him on the days he doesn’t have Hanna.

He corners her at shift change, him clocking in, her headed home. “Listen, he says. Ryan – he’s Emery’s husband – his mum’s sick, so they have to go over to England for a bit, starting next week. Hanna’s got school though, so she’s staying with me…”

“Oh.” Samira says, “Oh, okay. I can come clear my stuff out of your place after shift if-”

"That’s not what I meant. Christ. No I was wondering if you’d want to meet her, properly-” he blushes a little, “If the three of us are going to be spending some time in the same apartment.”

Her face splits into a smile.

[endwersed]

Snippet Sunday ☀

So! I'm currently working on the edits for my divorcee Derek/hot-for-older-men Stiles AU, and, whilst it unfortunately isn't as ready to post today as I had originally hoped, I do have a li'l snippet I can share until it is fully edited (fingers crossed, that'll be next weekend!) 🤗

-

“So, class,” Professor Boyd continues, “I’d like you all to meet – Mr Derek Hale.”

A man walks through the open doorway along with the introduction. Stiles’ jaw drops all the way down to the freaking floor.

What he was saying earlier, about his thing for older men? Well, this guy – this Mr Derek Hale – is every-fucking-thing that has made Stiles’ dick hard since pretty much he was old enough to know what to do with it.

Short, dark, soft-looking hair that is patched with spots of grey, his sharp jaw covered in a beard that is thick and coarse and close to being more salt than pepper. Even from where Stiles is sitting, even from this row way at the back of the room, he can still see the lines of age that show on his face, the faint wrinkles in his forehead, the creases around his pale eyes.

He is wearing a dark green sweater, tight across the strength of his broad shoulders, the fabric an expensive cashmere to Stiles’ inexperienced eye. Underneath it sits a crisp, white shirt, its starchy collar folded neatly along the line of his clavicle and a tie knotted snugly just below the prominence of his Adam’s apple. His legs are draped in the dark material of his slacks, skimming close enough to the muscle to reveal the definition of his thighs, and Stiles cannot fight back the thought that he kind of really wants to bury his face between them.

This guy is well into his forties, easily, and he is also, to put it bluntly, the middle-aged man of Stiles’ wettest fucking dreams.

There is no ring on that left hand, either. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

From her place next to him, Stiles can feel the searing heat of the side-eye that Lydia throws him the moment Derek steps into the room. If he cared even one lick about her judgement, he might be cowed into at least trying to hide the raging heart-eyes he probably has going on right about now.

Unfortunately for her, he lost any shame long, long ago – and that’s if he ever truly even had any in the first place.

She wouldn’t get it, anyway. Her taste in men has always been much more mainstream than Stiles’. Has been, barf, Scott, all the way since high school. She likes a nice boy her age, and she found that boy back when they were still stumbling their way through the awkward years of puberty. He is happy for them, of course, but that does not change the fact that his preferences have always taken him well, well beyond those years.

“Hello, everyone.”

The sound of Derek’s voice snaps every fibre of Stiles’ focus back up to the front of the class. The cadence of it isn’t as deep and as growly as his appearance might suggest, those thick eyebrows and that bushy beard, but it’s – nice. Really nice, actually. Stiles is, perhaps, more than a little bit interested in learning how it might pant and grunt and moan when a mouth is wrapped around his cock.

Pausing after just those two words, Derek slides a hand into the pocket of his pants, knuckles visible through the fabric as he rummages around. Eventually, he retrieves a long, rectangular box, flipping it open and pulling out –

Oh, fuck. Pulling out a pair of dark-framed glasses that he slips onto his face, sitting them low across the strong slope of his nose, peering over the top of them with that light, captivating gaze. Stiles thinks he may actually be fucking drooling. He dazedly ignores Lydia’s knee digging pointedly into the side of his thigh.

“Thank you for having me,” Derek carries on, both hands now tucked into his pockets. “As Professor Boyd said, my name is Derek Hale and I’m new to town. I hope you don’t all find me being here today as boring as I told your professor you definitely would.”

A light ripple of laughter filters around the class. Stiles is too entranced to join in with anything but a faint uptick at one corner of his mouth. Like anyone could find being in the presence of someone this freakishly hot boring. Stiles is growing less and less certain with each passing moment that he will even make it out of this class alive.

Stiles’ eyes are wide, his eyelashes fluttering ticklishly against the height of his cheekbones with his rapid blinks, and he leans forwards, pressing closer for more, more, as much as he can get. He rests the bend of his elbow against the solid plane of the table in front of him, his palm flat and open for him to lay his cheek against. It is the best position for gazing dreamily at the aging hunk gracing the next hour of his life, after all.

“I thought I’d start by talking about my years as an associate,” Derek says, light eyes sweeping slowly across the room. “I started with Pearson and Howe straight out of law school, and I –”

His words cut abruptly off. Quicker than a heartbeat, his entire body freezes, a visible tension in the square of his shoulders, a stunned-slack parting of his mouth as he stops, and stills, and stares out ahead of him, stares out at… something. It takes Stiles a few seconds of blinking confusion to figure out what the hell he is staring at, what the hell has made him react like some deer about to caught up in somebody’s bumper.

A grin spreads wickedly across Stiles’ mouth as soon as the realisation lands.

It’s him; it’s Stiles. He is what Derek is staring at, he is what has made Derek apparently lose control of his ability to speak, he is what has Derek gaping like a fish in front of a whole room of law students. Derek’s gaze is snagged with his and Stiles’ heart is kicking up into overdrive inside of his chest.

Lifting his face from his palm, he makes sure to hold Derek’s eye, sure and steady and still smiling stupidly. The room around him murmurs in confusion, and Professor Boyd has an eyebrow quirked that looks more amused than anything else, and Lydia is scoffing a quiet laugh beside him, but the only thing Stiles has the attention span for right now is Derek’s eyes, locked with his.

Heat pools around the flutter of his stomach. He bites his bottom lip and dares to throw out a wink. The tips of Derek’s ears burn brightly as he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Sorry,” Derek says, the word coming out low, a little choked, raw until the pointed clearing of his throat. “Sorry, I just, uh… I lost my train of thought there for a second. But anyway, uh – as I was saying.”

-

No pressure tags! @dear-massacre @heavensenthale @like-lazarus @myrrhhymns @renmackree

[mari-positas]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tags angels 🤍 @mrsmando @honeyedmiller @mermaidgirl30 @gasolinerainbowpuddles @thelightsandtheroses

here are snippets of some of the many wips i am actively working on. or trying to anyway.

the gold room - dbf!joel x stripper!reader

“Jesus Christ.” Joel stares at you, using every last ounce of strength he has in his entire body not to let his gaze wander past your chin. He’s trying not to look at the way your skintight, neon pink dress hugs every soft, heavenly curve of your body, how the matching rhinestone garter shimmers around your deliciously plush thigh. “Is it even legal for you to be fuckin’ workin’ here?” Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms and shift your weight from one seven inch heel to the other.  “You can dance at eighteen,” you inform him. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m twenty one, Mr. Miller. So with all due respect, chill the fuck out, okay?” “You went to college—“ “College is fucking expensive,” you interject with a shrug. “The job market is shit and I don’t plan on drowning in my student debt for the next ten years. Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Don’t stand there and judge me. Don’t act like what I do is so terrible when you have been paying good fucking money for girls like me to dance for you and sit in your lap all night long.” “That’s fuckin’ different. None of those girls are my best friend’s daughter.”

flutter - post outbreak! joel x pregnant!reader

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the stove, you crack a couple eggs into another, knowing the kid was on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast. “Morning!” Ellie pipes, the plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you. “Ellie,” you warn, walking over to the table. “Don’t—” “You’re bigger!” With a playful glare, you set her plate down along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks, you little jerk,” you say, feigning offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.” “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she starts to sputter. “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach—you didn’t look like this yesterday. You look great, just different.” She’s lucky your raging hormones decided to take the morning off.

chapter 10 for a safe haven

*this is just a short short snippet because it’s being heavily edited rn so i can post it soon!

He peels off his clothes, being careful not to further agitate his sore, inured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you sitting in bed under the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home.”

np tags! 🤍 @sugarcoated-lame @ozarkthedog @amanitacowboy @sp00kymulderr @ilovepedro @ezrasbirdie and anyone else who’d like to share their wips!

[rrrrinmaru]

rin's side stories: 01 - where rafayel debriefs the flammula

wc: 1.2k rating: G brief: after rafayel's first meeting with mc, he decides to debrief someone he can trust. someone who can't spill his secrets to anyone who can repeat them to mc. notes: gender neutral!mc, fluff, comedy, canon-compliant

“I was rather suave, wasn’t I?”

Silence answers him. The man doesn’t seem deterred—he flips over on his couch, back lying flat on the sofa as one leg crooks at the knee and dangles off the edge. 

“See, you might not have gotten a good view of the scene, but I appeared like a knight in shining armor, okay? Exactly like all those fairytales. Picture this, the setting sun, a golden glow sinking over the city like a blanket. The light dancing off the water surface, making everything look iridescent and magical. The soft splashes of you guys, adding to the ambience of the place. It’s quiet. It’s picturesque. Am I painting a good picture for you?”

The red flammula circles around its massive tank. The tank is perched on the reinforced glass table, large enough that it practically takes up all the space. There are small underwater plants swaying with the ripples sent up by the portable water filter attached to the side of the tank. Sand and gravel sit at the bottom, with a few coral stones tossed in to add color to the place. 

Inside, the flammula spits out a string of bubbles.

“You don’t get it. So there they were, helpless and shaking, like a seal pup in front of a great white. The setting sun set their hair alight, awash with that orange hue—I really need to paint this before I forget it—and they were just standing there. Their eyes darted around, begging for help, and there I was! Right in their line of sight; tall, handsome, elegant. Offering a comment about your tragic lifespans on land so they know I’m intelligent.”

The flammula hides behind a particularly big rock. On the couch, the figure splutters, sitting upright. 

“Dropping an information snippet about the lifespan of aquatic creatures is not boring. It caught their attention. And then I took the net from their loose grip, emboldened by the hopeful gaze in their eyes, and swooped you up in one quick snap of my wrist. Really, you need to be better at running away from nets in the water. Is this how you got caught the first time?”

A long string of bubbles. The flammula swims out just to brush its underbelly against the sand before swimming back up to where the plants are swaying with the ripples. 

“After catching you, I proceeded to tell her about your historic legend—”

The flammula winds itself around a long, dark green plant. It flops over, the plant wrapped around it, and pretends to go still.

A hand reaches over, one knuckle knocking in irritation at the side of the tank, right next to where the flammula is.

“A little respect would be deserved,” Rafayel huffs, throwing his head to the side. “I didn’t have to save you, you know. I could have let you live up to your exceedingly short lifespan with the rest of your brethren in that tiny pool, at the mercy of small land children with sticky fingers and unwashed hands.”

The flammula revives long enough to flap a fin at Rafayel and breathe out bubbles before it returns to playing dead. 

Rafayel rolls his eyes. “Anyway, they then told me that Hat Island was closed off because of Wanderer sightings. Not that it would have stopped me, if I had really wanted to go, but—hey! This means they were concerned about me, weren’t they?”

The flammula doesn’t respond. 

“I mean, I picked a random pamphlet out of that booth near the place just so I had something to do with my hands, but what a stroke of luck!”

Rafayel dips a hand in the water, far enough to gently poke the flammula with the tip of his index finger. “Look alive, comrade. I’m not done here.”

The flammula twists its body, slapping Rafayel’s index finger with its tail. 

“They didn’t say it just because I’m a civilian and they were doing their job,” Rafayel shoots back, sounding miffed. “Well, whatever. Let’s move past that to the next important installation of our interaction, wherein I, very handsomely, popped you into the small container they were holding on to.”

A flurry of bubbles rise in the tank. The flammula seems to have a lot to say, reviving once more just to swim accusingly around Rafayel’s hand and bump angrily into his open palm. 

“You were not going to die from air exposure. I barely held you out for less than a minute. I wasn’t going to just let you die like that. And you are really detracting from my entire experience, here. Regardless, after you were finally allowed to breathe again, they told me to go to Whitesand Bay. How cute,” Rafayel remarks, a smile pulling at his lips.

The flammula scrapes its body against Rafayel’s fingers, nipping at his fingertips. 

“This level of aggression is seriously uncalled for,” Rafayel complains, poking the flammula’s tail. “I’m just trying to tell you about our meeting, and you’re acting like I tossed you into the middle of an oil spill. They told me to go visit Whitesand Bay, you know?”

He points outside the windows lining his wall, tempered glass from ceiling to floor, gesturing at the miles of paper white sand that stretch out before him. “How cute. Maybe I should invite them to walk with me at Whitesand Bay sometime.”

The flammula swings its tail, hitting Rafayel’s fingers. Once it gets the last word in, the flammula swims in a harried manner to the stone cave attached to the side of the tank, clearly ready to hide in there until Rafayel stops bothering it.

“You are no fun,” he tells the flammula, fishing his hand out of the water. There’s a brief flash and fire creeps up his skin, starting from his fingertips and crawling up his palms, the back of his hand, his wrist, his forearm—the flames lick at his elbow, and Rafayel shakes his arm out. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the flames disappear. Rafayel slips his dry palm into his pocket and stands, turning to eye the view from his window. The translucent curtains flutter in the seabreeze, carried in through one of the open windows, and Rafayel tilts his head back, slowly breathing it in. 

“I’ll pack the rest of them and send them to where they should be,” he says, eyes closed, face turned to soak in the moonlight filtering through the glass. “I’ll send you along with them, I suppose.”

Bubbles escape the stone cave. 

“I’m not in the business of raising dependents,” Rafayel comments, looking back to eye the tank speculatively. “If I do keep you around, historic part of Lemurian culture or not, know that I may or may not end up using you as a midnight snack if I’m feeling peckish.” 

No response. Another round of playing dead. 

“How interesting,” he murmurs, bending down to tap the glass. “Well, if I ever come up with a use for you, I’ll let you know. Maybe I can trick them into thinking we’re co-parenting you. Heaven knows you need to learn some manners, disobedient punk.”

The thought makes Rafayel smile. They wouldn’t get it; they would likely be confused at the concept of teaching a fish manners, but it’s as good an excuse as any to get them into Rafayel’s home.

==

© rrrrinmaru 2024 | no unauthorised publication or reproduction allowed

[xadensbiceps]

✨share something you are working on that makes you happy or you’re proud of✨

thank you to @essjaywrites, @violencelittlething, and @alexandia03 for the tags!

giving three snippets for three tags, because why not?

It Hits Different (Cause It's You)

I swallow, nodding, grateful for the unsolicited information. “Maybe there’s hope for the rest of us after graduation after all.”  Bodhi’s mouth tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.  Right. I’m the only one not related to Fen Riorson here.  “And the front lines?” Riorson’s gaze doesn’t shift this time as we make our way up another set of stairs towards the flight field. “No worse than we expected.” Well that’s not saying much.  “How was your visit with Violet?” Bodhi asks, unable to stop the corner of his mouth from tugging up in amusement.  I press my lips together to avoid laughing.  “Short,” Riorson snaps, crossing his arms and shooting Bodhi a familiar cut it out glare.  “Still haven’t kissed and made up then?” When he turns that glare on me, I throw up my hands in defense. “Hey, I’m on your side here. I think she should take you back. You’re both surprisingly more tolerable together than you are apart.”

It Hits Different (Cause It's You)

And even though I’m terrified to eventually hear her reaction, something in my chest eases at finally admitting what my mother and sister were really fighting for. Quinn’s never uttered a mean word about the Tyrrish separatists, not in front of me at least, but there’s a difference between her accepting what she thought they were and truly knowing what they were. Knowing that my family died fighting for such a noble cause. That they were braver than the Navarrian generals could ever dream of being when they burned Aretia to the fucking ground.  When I finally run out of words, I swallow around the aching dryness in my throat and level her with a rare, hesitant stare. The silence between us feels both heavy and so, so fragile. She stares down at her hands, searching for answers there that I haven’t provided. Additional puzzle pieces to make this all make sense. As the minutes stretch on, I continue to wait.  It’s not until I shift my weight, feet moving where they’ve grown uncomfortable from standing so still for so long, that Quinn finally looks up at me with wide, terrified green eyes. “We’re being attacked?” I nod, biting down on my lower lip so hard it might bleed. “And not by gryphons?”

Currently Untitled WIP

His lips barely leave mine as he presses our foreheads together and breathes with so much hope and reverence that it makes my heart skip a beat, “We’re having a baby?”  Gods, I love this man.  Warmth floods my chest as I press another, much quicker, kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know for sure yet, but…” My lips curl into a soft smile to match his own. “Maybe.” He kisses me and gathers me into his arms, and I let him. Let him hold me tight, those huge arms wrapped around my body like a warm blanket while I soak in every ounce of him.  A little while later, the two of us are panting and tangled in the sheets, and Garrick leans down to kiss my bare stomach, his lips trailing over the naked skin until I’m rolling my eyes and pushing his head away with a laugh. He settles back down next to me, resting his forehead against mine and staring deep into my eyes. “You’re not fucking with me, right? This is real?” I breathe a quiet laugh, intertwining my fingers with his. “I’m not fucking with you.”

Tagging: @saranova @theoppositequeens and anyone else who wants to share what you’re working on!

[bekolxeram]

Buck being Buck, of course he'll do something stupidly sweet to make sure Tommy won't spend the holidays alone. (Spoilers, he's asking everyone Tommy knows to keep him company.) Tommy being Tommy, of course he's already ordered a Christmas gift for Buck months ago. Here's what happens after Sal told Tommy a kid from the 118 tracked him down and begged him to stay in LA for the holidays instead of flying home. (Buck offered to pay for his entire family to fly to LA instead, Sal said "you're fucking crazy.") Please enjoy this tiny snippet of Bucktommy's continuing saga in my head.

"Dear Buck,

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I got you these because I remember you said — "

Tommy crumples the piece of paper he’s been writing on in his hand. It didn’t sound right. It sounded too much like he got out of his way to buy his ex a thoughtful gift, nearly 2 months after he walked out of the door and tore his heart into pieces. It takes a special kind of bastard to do that, to think that he still has the right to do that. Ev… Buck is an amazing guy and a total catch anyway, he’s probably seeing someone new already, exploring his new found freedom, enjoying the joy of fully being his true self. The last thing Tommy wants is to overstep his boundaries, or worse, to throw a wrench into his gradually stabilizing life.

He picks up another paper and starts over.

"Mr. Buckley,

Thank you for your thoughtful gesture. I would like to express my gratitude by gifting you these — "

This too joins the growing pile of paper balls on Tommy’s table. It may be the worst one so far, it reads more like an official diplomatic address between two countries on opposite sides of the Pacific Ocean. Who even calls him Mr. Buckley?

Staring at the box sitting on his kitchen island, Tommy seems to run out of idea even faster.

It’s about the size of a shoebox, it currently contains something Tommy ordered months in advance that would’ve been Buck’s Christmas gift. The package is wrapped up in simple matte gray with white snowflakes pattern throughout, adorned by a classic red ribbon tied into a bow. The only thing missing is a written message from the sender attached.

With an empty mind, Tommy starts writing again. This time, he lets his heart guide his pen.

"Dear Evan,

Thank you.

I can’t believe you did that for me, even after what I did to you.

I guess that’s just who you are, always caring, always considerate, always burning yourself to illuminate others.

You have a way to people’s heart, you know? Anyone would be lucky to have you.

And boy was I lucky. You almost made me believe I deserved a life with you.

But I also know once the initial excitement has passed, you’ll start seeing me for who I really am. Trust me, you’ll end up hating me. I’ve been there before.

I wish I was brave enough to stay, but I’m not an activist, I’m not a fighter, I’m just… broken. I spent most of my life hiding in the closet that I’ve hurt more people than I can count, I’ve hurt people I loved, I’ve hurt people you loved.

When you asked me to move in with you, even after… no, especially after you’d learned my history with Abby, I knew I had to walk away. No matter how much it hurt at the time, the thought of you despising me, being abhorred by my past, revolted by my cowardice, would quite literally kill me.

Maybe I should’ve cut things short earlier, and I’m sorry for being selfish, for being greedy. Every time I got to wake up next to you, to watch your beautiful face at peace in the land of dreams, I prayed for just one more morning like this. Every time I got to stay up with you, to hold you in my arms while you were diving deep into whatever obscure topic that perked your interest, I hoped for just another night basking in your presence.

Maybe I should’ve never accepted the invite to your sister’s wedding.

Maybe I should’ve never agreed to meet you at the café that morning.

Maybe I should’ve never asked you out to begin with.

But I did. I did all of that fully knowing my heart would be broken one way or another. And it was all my fault.

I don’t know what else to say except that I’m sorry.

Maybe I’ve always known deep down how it would end before it even started, but I guess I…

I loved you anyway."

Instead of adding to the pile of scrapped ideas, Tommy abruptly stands up, taking his heartfelt confession with him, and throws it into the fireplace.

He watches on as the searing hot flame engulfs the piece of paper, rendering his soul into tiny bits of black charcoal, which slowly dissipate into nothingness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Hey, you’re early. I haven’t finished packi… Oh." Buck says as he’s opening the door.

Surprisingly, the person standing in front of him isn’t the one he’s expecting.

"Evan Buckley?"

"Yes, I am him."

"You have a package delivery. Just sign here and you’re good to go." The mailman hands him a clip board with a confirmation form on it.

"And… done, thank you. Happy holidays." Bucks trades the signed receipt for the nicely wrapped box in the mailman’s hand.

"You too."

Buck doesn’t recall having ordered anything to be delivered lately. That’s when he notices the small envelope attached to the ribbon tied around the box. There’s a handwritten note inside, the handwriting oddly familiar. It says:

"Dear Buck,

I ordered these many months ago when you told me you were running out of space for photos on your fridge.

I just want to thank you for everything you’ve done. You don’t have to get me anything in return.

Think of it as a parting gift, one last piece from the past, before you move on to a much brighter future.

To new beginnings.

- T"

Buck closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm down his rippling emotions. He then carefully unties the ribbon to unwrap the gift box. Inside it, there’s a set of magnetic digital picture frames.

While he’s debating what to do with this thoughtful gift from his ex, whether to put it up to use or not, he hears knocking on the door once again. Only this time, the right person is standing on the other side.

"Uncle Buck!😊"

(Inspired by this song, I do recommend listening to it while (re)reading)

Everything I've written exists in the same universe and timeline btw. If you've read my ficlet set in next March, you'll know it's not that sad. Anyway I hope I'd be able to turn all my headcanon in to a long series one day. (Sorry for the long addendum, I tried putting everything in tags but Tumblr stopped showing this post in the tags)

[jsmelodies]

Since this is the last Wednesday before Nesta week, I decided to post a small snippet of everything I have planned. Hope you enjoy! (putting it under a cut because it's long)

Princess

“He claimed you would not care for me beyond my death,” Cassian said.

“And you believed him.”

Pity entered his eyes, just for a moment. “Nesta. Let’s not talk of this. I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, anyways.”

“No,” she said, shoving off of him. “You can’t just say that and brush it off like it’s nothing. You can’t…Do you really think I would just forget you?”

Cassian didn’t respond, and a line fractured down the center of her heart. Nodding, Nesta turned away, wiping at her eyes as she went to the other side of the tent.

“Well, you haven’t exactly told me otherwise, have you?” he spoke, at long last. At her silence, he continued, “You haven’t. I get it. Trust me, I do. You have a kingdom to think of, and bigger things to worry about than whatever this is,” and if Nesta turned around, she had a feeling she’d find him gesturing broadly between the two of them. “That’s why I never brought this up. You think I don’t know that you’ll marry Eris, and not need me anymore? I know! I’ve known every single time you’ve offered me false condolences, pretending that everything is fine. Every fucking time I’ve asked you if you needed help. I’ve known that you don’t need me, not truly, for much longer than I care to admit.”

She shook her head. Slowly, at first, then more insistent, finally daring to turn and face him again. “You’re wrong,” she said, in a short breath. “You’re wrong. I’ve needed you for years. I still do.”

“Don’t,” he said, firm, “Lie to me. Do whatever else you want to me, but don’t lie.”

Brat!Nesta

“What makes you think you can manhandle me, you brute?”

“I swear I will throw you over my shoulder if you don’t start walking,” he snarled.

The April air was cool against her bare shoulders, so different from the stuffy atmosphere inside the bar. Cassian’s hand was lodged firmly in the small of her back, leading her to the curb where taxis and cars were pulling up.

“Our Uber will be here in a minute or two,” he said.

“I was having fun with him, you know,” she said, ignoring what he’d said. “And I don’t belong to you. It’s my birthday, I can fuck whoever I want.”

His mouth lifted, just barely. “Sure.”

“He was perfectly decent–”

“Oh, really?” Cassian said, scoffing. “You think he can fuck you like I can? You think you would have left his bed satisfied?”

Nesta smirked, giving Cassian a once over. “He did promise to keep me screaming all night.”

He didn’t seem to buy it, not for a second. In fact, he released his hold on her entirely, taking a step back. “Fine, then,” he said, with a cruel smile. “Go back inside. See how we compare. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”

Modern Angst

“No, Nesta. Tonight was supposed to be about you, not your father.” Instead of responding to him, Nesta just pursed her lips and let her head fall back to where it had been on his chest. “You’re avoiding this. I can tell this is bothering you, and you’re avoiding it.”

“It’s fine, Cassian. I’ll just tell a story about how he got me a doll or something.”

“Did he do that?”

Nesta snorted. “Only once, I think. And it was because he missed an entire weekend of dance recitals, and thought that he could buy my forgiveness.” After a pause, she said, “I actually think I’ll leave that last part out.”

“Nesta.”

“Cassian. Please stop overthinking this. I’m telling you because I need to plan for a speech, that’s all. Feyre will throw a fit if I’m not there.”

Cassian was about to open his mouth to argue yet again for the existence of boundaries, but Nesta stopped him before he could even start.

“Can we just watch the movie, please?” she asked.

Good Place AU

Rhys walked them through town, pointing out the various attractions he’d installed for their convenience. He pointed out restaurants, frozen yogurt stores, and bookstores, all available for their convenience. Elain’s eyes widened in wonder, while Nesta and Feyre both looked at it with a degree of skepticism.

Then, breaking off from the main part of town, they entered into a residential looking area. 

“Now, since we’re aware of just how much the three of you love each other, we couldn’t possibly separate you here. We’ve designed this specifically so you can spend your entire eternity together. Neat, right?”

“Right,” Nesta muttered. Feyre shot her a dirty look. 

“In fact, we’ve even made a street just for you three. We’ve set you up right next to each other, so you never have to be far apart. And here,” he said, as they got to the first of the houses, “is what we’ve prepared for Nesta. Well? Would you like to come forward?”

[ecco2ecco]

Sharing fics I'm currently working on (ship, title and snippet!)

Trevon X CeeDee, Little Lamb

Trevon and CeeDee are beautiful and this is a ship that just makes sense to me idk! Inspired by that clip of them in the club after a loss.]

*This wasn't new. They had fucked before. Emotions are high during the season and Trevon was so beautiful. In the off season? Well, it was hard to stay just friends with Trevon. CeeDee doesn't believe in accidents, not like this. *

CeeDee X Trevon X Micah, Puppy pile

They all came into the league within a 2/3 year span and are all close friends, Trevon X Micah is already a thing that I'm invested in and I’m stuck on Trevon X CeeDee so this is the best of both worlds ig. I just wanted to explore what that would feel like, seeing people you really care about get injured within 30 minutes of each and being helpless while knowing you just have to keep playing. Set after the first Giants game. I’m really happy that Micah’s back and I hope that Trevon will be back soon too ! The season is over for them but I love seeing them play together regardless.

*It's Trevon clutching at his calf and CeeDee's blood is ringing in his ears, then Micah desperately gripping his ankle at the end of the game. Trevon came back, Micah didn't.

The rest of the game rushes by him and suddenly he's in the tunnel, being pushed along by the swarm of bodies all moving towards the locker room...It's Trevon reaching for his hand in the dark of the tunnel, his mouth is moving but CeeDee can't make out what he's saying above the glaring noise of the pissed off giant's home crowd leaving the stadium. He pulls Trevon into his side and squeezes his hand three times, hard. I'm okay, I'm okay.*

CeeDee X Dak, Baby bird

A ship I’m surprised isn’t bigger, it’s the typical QB X Star receiver ship that is almost always popular. CeeDee loves Dak even when he's being bratty, that's his work husband. Set after the Baltimore loss, where CeeDee had that sideline outburst.

*He comes to before the sun's up, before his alarm, before Dak even. It's hot as shit; his shorts are too tight, the comforter too thick, Dak's body, pressed up against him, radiating too much heat. He needs to piss.

He does it now, moves his hand down Dak's side, from his rib cage to his hip, and then he firmly palms Dak over his sweatpants, already half-hard in his grip.

"Mhmm," Dak makes a quiet sound of pleasure, but otherwise seems to still be asleep, and CeeDee's just about to sneak his hand past his waistband, make it skin to skin, when Dak's alarm starts to ring. "Babe, turn that off."

For someone who usually gets up so early in the morning, who's so averse to touching normally, Dak's sure whiny and clingy when he wakes. He pulls CeeDee even further into him, throws a leg over CeeDee's knees, buries his face in CeeDee's locs. CeeDee grins, snags the front of Dak's t-shirt between his teeth. He's never seen him like this; CeeDee wants to make it so that no one else ever will.

"You gotta let go of me, though," CeeDee says, still smiling, stupid large with it, and that's what Dak first sees when he pulls back his head with a squint. "Are you gonna let go of me, Dak?"*

Lamar X Odell, Summer ends all the time

Set in the aftermath of the AFC Championship game. I really wanted to explore Odell and Lamar’s relationship and how it felt for Lamar knowing that Odell was being traded to Miami and that they were one and done. A ship I feel like has so much potential because it’s focus is a relationship that meant a lot to both people invovlved even though it only last one season. Odell, you are greatly missed in Blatimore!!

*It's the easiest thing to book a flight to Miami and run to Odell.

Odell is the sun and so it makes sense to Lamar that he'd end up in Miami. He'd known that he wouldn't stay in Baltimore the moment they lost the AFC championship but he'd hoped that he would. He thought that he'd stay for him.

He remembers seeing the new house for the first time, when he'd gone to see him in Miami. Home was where Odell was, he thought, Odell was home. He's embarrassed at how soon he fell into that, one season together and Odell held the world.*

Lamar X Derrick, Just like heaven

I just love them together. They have so much respect, admiration and love/care for each other already and I really wanted to represent that in a fic. Derrick fits in with the Ravens so seamlessly and it seems like he was always meant to end up with them. Derrick, you are a Baltimore Raven and we love you.

*Lamar walks into the house to music.

And not just any music. He’d been raised around enough music to recognize Stevie Wonder.

Kicking off his shoes, Lamar heads towards where the music is coming from. It leads him to the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway to take in the scene in front of him. Derrick is standing at the counter, chopping at something on a cutting board. He’s wearing a pair of black sweats and a faded Alabama sweatshirt that's obviously well worn and well loved. His locs are pulled away from his face and Lamar's breath sticks in his throat. He’s swaying to the music, singing under his breath.

The song fades out and transitions into the next one, a song that Lamar has heard quite a lot actually. He hears Derrick hum it sometimes, when they walk back to the locker room after practice. He hears it in his head now sometimes before he goes to sleep. He's not sure what that means.*

Lamar X Derrick, Isn't this supposed to be what dreams are made of?

Set after the loss to the Eagles, sigh. I wanted to explore Lamar’s anxiety about not making in back to the AFC Championship game at the very least this and letting everyone down in the process.

*He couldn't sleep after the game. Lying in Derrick's arms, awake and bothered, before twisting away from them. The wood of the bedroom floor is cool as he pads across it, into the hallway and through the house.

When he gets outside, he's there for hours.

Derrick finds him outside the french doors, and without stepping out he reaches for Lamar's hand "Babe, it's mid November. Get inside. Now"

Lamar knows that he's only acting like this because he's concerned, because as new as whatever this is between them, Derrick knows how prone he is to sickness. How his body seemed primed for illness. He ignores the warmth that thought fills him with. He stands still on the porch for a moment before letting Derrick pull him back into the house. Derrick locks the french doors behind them before gently grabbing onto Lamar's forearms, "Lamar, you're shivering"

Lamar hadn't noticed until Derrick said it, like Derrick saying it made it corporeal and fact. Derrick leads him to the couch before grabbing a faded Alabama sweatshirt that's hanging over the back of the armchair they share most nights. Lamar pulls it on.*

Davante X Aaron, Come to me ready

An exploration of Davante and Aaron’s relationship pre/post trade to the Raiders and pre/post trade to the Jets. I’m just in love with their relationship. The love and care they have for each other shines through whenever the speak about each other and I’m obssessed with that. Davante, you lead with your heart and I admire that. Never change.

*Aaron was the first man Davante ever slept with. If Davante closes his eyes, it's easier to remember it. He can feel every draft in the room, cold air on exposed skin. Aaron’s fingers are focused points of heat. A great quarterback dictates not just the play, but the game itself. Sets the clock, controls the tempo, flings the ball free of gravity’s pull. He tells every human on the field where to be, tells the wind how to blow, tells the sun when to shine. Aaron told him once that Brett told him that, one of the only times Davante had heard him talk about him. He didn't like to talk about Brett.*

Davante X Aaron, Letter to God (1983)

Aaron’s relationship with his family was a big topic of conversation this year with the autobiography on his being published and I wanted to write about that as well as how Davante would fit into all that.

*At the very start of this, he had the definition of that word. Estrangement, estranged. And that is, becoming a stranger and becoming a foreigner and, in a sense, becoming strange.

Aaron tried to explain it to Davante once. Davante was still so young then, all of 25 and he'd turned to face him in bed one night, asking him, "Why don't you talk to your family anymore?"

Explain that when he first made the decision to stop talking to his parents, he didn’t even have a word for it. He had done a lot of thinking about neglect and abuse until he knew that that’s what had happened to him, but Aaron didn’t realize that when he said, “Don’t call me, I’ll call you,” to his parents that he was implicitly or explicitly making a choice to separate himself from them. To create this invisible wall, burnt bridges and all that they could never cross unless he wanted them to. He didn't know if he would ever want them to. He had never met anyone who had done that, that he knew of. He'd never heard anyone talk about it. It seemed an impossibility. It’s such a strange thing when you take an action and it’s not till years later that you can name it. He can name it because he feels it oh so keenly.*

Davante X Aaron X Garrett, How did I fall so fast?

Inspired by a post Aaron made on his instagram of him with Garrett with both Davante and Garrett tagged and it was captioned, ‘Always love my 17s’. And I was floored, those are his 17s, his receivers. And knowing how mcuh Davante has meant to and still means to him, what does that mean about him and Garrett? What does it mean for Davante and Garrett? There’s so much to explore witht these three especially since Davante is with the Jets now.

*The fact that Davante already knows and understands what he is only beginning to. That Davante has seen Aaron so naked and so outside of himself in a way that Garrett hasn't, not yet. It would be easy to be consumed by jealousy if Davante wasn't so kind, and wasn't so willing to explain Aaron to Garrett in ways only he knew how.

Davante lays at the side of them when Garrett fucks Aaron sometimes. Fully clothed, he usually does��nt join on. He says that he just likes to watch sometimes. He doesn't like to be touched much when he's in that mood, something that Garrett learned as the summer went on. But he loves to touch. A hand pulling Aaron's head away from the pillow, encouraging him to be louder, his hands gripping Garret's ass and hips as if guiding his movements. Teaching him how Aaron likes to be fucked all over again.

And when he does get to fuck Davante, its a religious experience , as close to heaven as Garrett is ever going to get. He understands why Aaron loves him, and why he's quickly falling for him too. His legs pressed tightly against Garrett's ribs pulling him in closer with a heel pressed into Garrett's lower back. His twists strawn over the pillow and his mouth wet and open, gasping. Garrett runs his fingers over the memory all the time now.*

Stefon after leaving the Bills, Fear and Loathing in Buffalo (Big Exit)

I wanted to write a fic about Stef leaving Buffalo entirely from his perspective because a) I think its more interesting that way because you can examine his emotions more closely and explore his mindsets at the time b) I'm way more interested in his perspective lol. It’s also a postmortem on his and Josh’s relationship and its gradual decay as well as an exploration of the new relationships he cultivates in Houston. Get well soon Stef, I would give you my ACL if I could.

*He's been in Houston for months now and the heat still feels still and sticky, sitting on top of him. This must be what hell feels like, he says to the media when it's his time for press after preseason practice. It's a rare day off in the seemingly endless grind of training camp so he's home, trying to keep himself busy doing anything.

He's in the closet, trying to put away all the clothes and shoes that he's been putting off going through since he moved. It's unlike him, this meandering laziness but he finds himself behaving and acting in ways that both surprise and nauseate him lately. He feels himself being mere facsimile of himself, putting on the act of Stefon Diggs. It's strange, he didn't feel like this when he left Minnesota. But Buffalo was different. Better. He has a little more to miss.*

Caleb X Rome, Sunday's Girl

Caleb and Rome are adorable and I wanted to write about them. I think that Caleb is a little more complex/complicated than people realize and I want to look at at that through the prism of manhood, gender and what that means to him. A thought experiment!

*It’s in the months, almost year afterwards that he finds himself living on a newly wrought emotional fault line that he hadn't known was there before. He'd seen his buzzed hair in the mirror one night after practice and had thought back to his long curly hair the year before and suddenly he couldn't remember why he had cut it. When he went weeks then months without a haircut and when he was finally asked about it in an interview, “Are you planning on growing out? How long?”

“Yeah”, he said smiling, “pretty long”

He keeps the beard, he thinks he looks better with it than not.

His first NFL game was hard. As hard as he expected and a little more than that. The offensive line folding in on itself and him having no chance to breathe, no chance to compose himself.

After his first game, he looked at his hands with his nails a bright orange and resisted the urge to claw at his arms with them. Resisted the urge to pull the nails off entirely, logically knowing that it would hurt and that he would bleed terribly but not caring because at least people would stop talking about them. That's all they wanted to talk about. How this generation was so 'different' and how womanly his hands looked. His stomach clenched at the thought of it. Sitting on the floor of his living room he closes his eyes against the feeling.*

Malik X Jayden, Landslide

Malik and Jayden. Their relationship is everything to me and I wanted to write about them, and the idea of young love and the naivity that comes with it. It’s essentialy an exploration of their coming of age, particularly Malik’s while being separated from someone who means the world to you.

*They were in Jayden's hotel room after the draft. The draft had happened hours before but the sound of the crowd in Detroit was still roaring in Malik's mind.

NFC East, “three hours on a train ride, 45 flight!”, they had yelled as they hugged backstage.

Malik tucked his chin into the crook Jayden’s neck, sliding his eyes shut, as the cool breeze from the open window swept over them. It was quiet in the room, with the only sound being Jayden’s breathing, and the only movement being Jayden’s chest rising and then steadily falling, only to repeat again. But Malik didn’t mind. These moments were rare, hard to get. He was lucky he was experiencing them at all, and he’d appreciate them with his whole heart, mind and soul, while they were here.

Jayden was stretched out on the bed, the duvets pulled up high, his eyes closed. Even then, the duvets didn’t cover his shoulders to accommodate Malik wanting to press his forehead to the curve of his bicep. Malik cherished those little things, the way Jayden kept him in his mind, even when he was capable of taking care of himself. Malik would miss this. He wanted it to last forever.*

I just wanted to share what I was working on despite not being done with any of these yet 🙂‍↕️

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

birthday countdown 2024, day 7: bodyswap snippet

it's my birthday next week! and while i'd love to have a new fic to share with you on the day, the fact is i don't have anything ready to post, unless you count the short little notfics i throw out now and then—and if i shine one of those up, it's more of a present for my ao3 subscribers than for y'all.

but i do have a lot of works in progress, so i thought i'd share a couple snippets from my wips here on tumblr!

today, i have for you a bit of mihawk pov from the shuggy bodyswap fic, tentatively titled let's exchange the experience:

Mihawk set the flat of Yoru under Buggy’s chin and lifted, and this pressure he could not use his powers to get away from.  He raised his head up, staring at Mihawk without a trace of fear in his eyes.  He was defiant, and furious, and… amused? Mihawk knew those eyes. Those weren’t Buggy the Clown’s eyes.

(about 1k below the cut)

Bad enough to be associated with Buggy the Clown on paper.  Worse still for the posters, newspapers, and gossip to suggest he was subordinate to that clown.  And to be surrounded by his garish aesthetic at every turn—well, that was beyond words.  It was too awful to be described.  But somehow, being forced to participate in that ridiculous treasure hunt… that was the worst thing yet.

Fortunately, his co-conspirator in this little operation seemed to be fully in agreement with Mihawk.  It was with no small amount of pleasure that he watched Crocodile shove the clown face-first into the carpet, the heel of his shoe grinding down on Buggy’s skull and forcing his nose down and out of sight.

Mihawk briefly fantasized about leaving them like this, about smothering the thorn in his side until it was no longer his problem.  Alas, it wasn’t to be.  As trying as Buggy was—and he was very, very trying—he did have his uses.  When Crocodile lifted his leg to get a better angle for the next round of attacks, Mihawk interceded.

“Remember,” he said, the blade of Yoru all that separated Crocodile’s ire from Buggy’s body, “he still has a purpose to serve.”

Crocodile chewed on his cigar furiously for a moment. “You sure about that?” he asked.  They could still hear the ecstatic cheering echoing from across the island; Buggy’s loyal followers, inspired by his ridiculous declaration of intent to acquire the One Piece.  Almost certainly the biggest waste of time and money Buggy could have thought of for Cross Guild—and with the numbers on his side, there was no way they were getting out of it.  “If I haven’t reached my limit by now, I don’t know where it is.”

“We’ll know when he’s outlived his usefulness,” Mihawk said, staring Crocodile in the eye, “when both of us are too furious to hold back.”

“’Ppreciate… your restraint…” Buggy mumbled around a mouthful of bloody carpet, struggling to get to his knees.

Mihawk had Yoru’s edge against his neck in an instant.  “Don’t sass me, clown,” he said, walking a slow circle around him, until he was at Buggy’s back and by Crocodile’s side.  “I’m not advocating for your life here—just against your death.”

“The nuances are beyond his comprehension, I suspect,” Crocodile muttered under his breath, giving one last kick to the clown that knocked him flat on his stomach again.  “But you’re right,” he said, acknowledging Mihawk’s point.  “It’s too early to give in to such petty impulses.  And besides… if I’m to have any hope of my plans coming to fruition, this childish little venture may provide a decent smokescreen.”

Buggy made another muffled comment, but he seemed to have given up on trying to stand.  His shoulders shook as he sniffled—ugh, was he going to start crying again?  The emotionality repulsed Mihawk, but he wasn’t about to withdraw.  Not until he was certain the clown had conceded—and what had become clear today was that, so long as he was making smart comments, he hadn’t fully given up.  Buggy’s shoulders went stiff, then spasmed, and Mihawk realized he’d given the clown too much credit.  It was only a sneeze.

On the far side of the room, the former senior officers of Buggy’s Delivery, now occupying reduced positions in Cross Guild, went silent.  They exchanged indecipherable looks, then turned as one to stare at Buggy.

Buggy pushed himself up on his elbows, saying, “Oh, ow, that smarts.  Did things really need to come to this?  Surely…” He turned his head and froze, that bulbous nose not half an inch from Yoru’s blade.  His eyes flicked up to meet Mihawk’s, and there was something wrong about them.  “Surely, Hawkeyes, we could have come to some kind of an understanding without things getting… violent.”

“You’re the one undermining the understanding we already had in place, clown,” Crocodile griped, stepping forward and squatting down to talk to Buggy on his level.  Raising his golden hook to press against Buggy’s cheek, he slid it back into his hair and got the hook thoroughly tangled there.  He yanked, to pull Buggy’s head back, and said, “How quickly you forget—” before his words fell away.

Because Buggy’s head had not been pulled back; his hair was still tangled around Crocodile’s hook, but it was a free-floating piece, chopped free by Buggy’s Devil Fruit powers.  And his eyes…

Mihawk set the flat of Yoru under Buggy’s chin and lifted, and this pressure he could not use his powers to get away from.  He raised his head up, staring at Mihawk without a trace of fear in his eyes.  He was defiant, and furious, and… amused?

Mihawk knew those eyes.

Those weren’t Buggy the Clown’s eyes.

“I was wrong,” he said to Crocodile, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him away from the impossible thing before them.  “You should have killed him.”

“Oh?”  Crocodile glanced between Mihawk and the blue-haired man on the floor.  “Why the change of heart, Hawkeyes?”

“That isn’t Buggy the Clown,” he said.

They watched as the man carefully got to his knees and turned to face them.  He sat before Mihawk and Crocodile in a casual, sprawling posture that still managed to radiate unbelievable power.  His jaw shifted, and without breaking eye contact he spat out a broken tooth.  “Gee,” the man with Red-Haired Shanks’ fearless eyes asked, voice almost cheery, “what gave me away?”

[moranasgrave]

plug!connie gets jealous at a party and teaches you a lesson.

ok this is just a little plug connie drabble because i’ve been wanting to write about him for a while. i literally left my other notes at home with all my other characters sooo after this i’ll release a snippet of a chapter in my Eren story that will be “premiering” august 18th. kinda late i know but it’ll be worth it i want to have 10+ chapters written so i can release 2-3 at a time because i know how it feels to wait for something your reading especially on wattpad LMAO.

CONTENT! WARNING! 18+ MINORS DNI! NSFW CONTENT!

Fem black reader ofc, Choking,raw sex, angry sex, weed, alcohol, mild violence,fluff, bad language,and idk this won’t be proofread lmao.

Connie knew he fucked up. Tonight was Eren big summer bash party at his parents mansion. It was always the craziest party of the year, and the best spot for dealers to find knew customers for the year.

You how ever were livid with connie. You seen a girl texting his instagram on his phone saying “yea tmr at 3 is coo” while you guys were cuddling on the couch. You didn’t think he would cheat on you but something about it made you feel weird. Girls always hit him up begging to match with him. It made you feel, territorial.

Connie was gorgeous, those piercing hazel eyes and that flashy smile. Especially when he had his diamond bottom grillz in, fresh hair cut and that pretty bone structure. He also had that charm, he knew just the right thing to say to make you melt in his arms.

Right now though, you didn’t care how he looked. You were pissed off because he acts so nonchalant about girls messaging him like it’s no big deal. What if he actually takes the offer one day.

Whatever you didn’t care as you angrily got dress into your hot pink tube top dress. Cutely ruffled at the bottom looking like a miniskirt attached to a dress. Your black stocking that you were angrily taking a razor to. A black my chemical romance zip up hoodie left open. Finally those hot pink leg warmers with your cute little black mary jane flats.

Your hair in two low pig tail puffs with a side part, your favorite hair style. The obnoxiously huge black juciy couture bag filled with singles and a variety of perfume and makeup.

Connie wearing black cargo shorts with the studded black and silver belt you got him for his birthday. “stop trying to turn me emo”, he said laughing at the gift. “i’m notttt but you would look sooo hot if you were though”, you say with a suggestive smile.

He pairs those with a plain black zip up and some black converse. Silver rings bearing his veiny calloused fingers, and that NY cap tilted to the side like he always does. It made you even more mad that he chose to look sexy right now.

You guys get in the uber there because yall know yall will just end up sleeping over at erens like every year. The whole car ride you feel connie’s eyes burning the back of your head, because you turned away from him. He puts a hand on your thigh and lets out a big sigh. He knows tonight is going to be ridiculous.

As soon as you guys arrive at the huge front doors connie spins you around holding you by your waist. “Can you drop the fucking attitude already, i’m not tryna have you pissed at me all night over dumb shit.” You look at him with an amused expression on your face. “kiss my ass connie, you do you i’ll do me”, you say coldly. Before he can even respond your already strutting inside the doors.

‘This girl is about to get handled in a second’ connie thinks to himself.

You find sasha and basically knock her over as you run and jump into her arms. She already has shots lined up for you so you start going ham. Throwing back shots like it was water. Connie meets up with eren and jean to find out whose buying so he can make his deals.

A couple hours into the party you’re already pretty drunk. You decided to go and dance your heart out on the huge dance floor in the living room. The entire night you’ve been mean mugging connie when he would make eye contact with you. To make him mad you were even twerking all over sasha and mikasa, sasha catching all of it smoothly of course and mikasa looking nervously at connie trying not to make as much contact.

As you danced all over the floor alone sipping on a margarita sasha made you, a guy approach’s you.

He starts dancing closely around you until he suddenly grabs your waist. You push his hands off quickly slurring a weak ‘i have a boyfriend’ as you try and ignore him and continue to dance.

Connie who was on the couch smoking a blunt notices this and gets up from his seat. “Fuck off before i kick your ass i’m in a bad mood”, he says glaring at the guy.

You’ve seen connie get mad before but never anything too extreme. He usually knew how to keep a level head in situations like this. But tonight, you acted a fool and he wasn’t gonna let that slide.

The guy steps in connie’s face and says “or what exactly? i’m just tryna have a little fun man.”

You stop dancing and finally notice the two men are getting a little too close for comfort. this can’t be good. You go to tell connie that your okay but then you see connie’s arm raise and punch the shit out of that guy. He gets on top of the guy and just starts wailing on him. Eren and jean quickly run over to grab him off.

Connie’s face is flushed red, his eyes are low and he’s sweating. He pushed as jean and eren off and looks at you with his glossed over eyes bearing into your soul.

You run over to him shoes in hand as you took them off like two hours ago. “Connie what the fuck dude you didn’t have to beat him that bad and you know it”, you say aggravated because now everyone’s attention is on you two. “Shut the fuck up and come on we’re fucking going to bed Y/n”, he grabs your hand forcefully towards the door.

You pull back defiantly, “You go, IM not ready to sleep yet THANKS”. You start to head back to the dance floor when you feel his big hand wrap around your throat from behind. He leans down to your ear tightening his grip some. “We’re going upstairs and fixing that fucking attitude of yours before i snap”, he grits through his teeth.

You nod your head reluctantly, secretly getting excited about it. You been waiting for him to finally take you upstairs, you just refused to ask him. Everyone watches as you guides you upstairs still holding the back of your neck. “Take a picture or something you fucking FREAKS”, connie yells behind his shoulder.

The second you step into the room connie shut the door and locks it. He walks over to you picking you up and tossing you on the bed. You let out a small yelp and before you can protest he flips you over on the edge of the bed.

He slides your panties clean off ripping up your dress to show your exposed bottom half. He leans over top of you getting close to your ear again. “You’re gonna learn to listen to me y/n, you know i only want your crazy ass”, he rasps under his breath. You can feel his bulge twitching against your ass.

He leans back and slides his pants down to his ankles along with his boxers. He guides his dick towards your entrance, moaning softly as he rubs against your clit. You’re already soaking wet, the sounds of him mushing against you are loud. He slides in causing both of you to let out a moan. He starts pumping in and out of you slowly, the drugs in your system heightening your sensitivity.

He picks up his pace and now the room is filled with loud slapping and moaning as he reaches deeper and deeper inside you. He grabs your hair forcing you to stand up against him. He takes his phone from the side of the bed and starts recording you guys from the front. Your makeup is already running, eyes squeezed shut trying to focus on your orgasm. He slides out and flips you again into missionary position.

He flips the camera backwards zooming in on your face. Hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, mascara running down your eyes and your plump glossy lips parted from all the panting your doing. “god you’re so fucking sexy”, he says in between moans. He ends the recording and starts to go even faster making you arch your back off the bed in pleasure.

You feel the knot unfold quickly in your stomach and your filled with complete bliss as you both cum together. He flops on top of you with all his weight, out of breath and in a daze. He lifts his head up and gives you sweet kisses from your neck to your cheek then to your lips. The kiss being sloppy and filled with passion as if he’d been waiting all day to do this.

He rolls on the side of you and grabs his phone. He guides you to lay on top of him nuzzled in between his neck and shoulder. He goes to the video and posts it to his story. His main story. With your face covered with the heart eyes emoji of course. He writes ‘don’t bother hittin my dm this is my only girl 😏’.

He puts his phone back down and pulls you closer to his chest. “I…I love you y/n and i’ll never cheat on you i promise baby, don’t ever think otherwise again”, he whispers into your ear. Your still kind of out of it but you manage to mutter “I love you too connie”, before your eyes flutter shut.

He turns the light off with his phone and wraps the blanket around the two of you.

‘I love her but she is a trip’ he thinks to himself before he drifts to sleep, ignoring all the dms he’s getting on instagram.

[nani-nonny]

*light bulb* I’m bored and I have an idea :)))

Seeking Answers Through A Scroll

Mikey’s cheat sheet and guide on how to stop an apocalypse short :D

Summary: Mikey seeks answers through “occult” means, in other words, he speaks to the dead utilizing the Hamato scrolls as the base hoping for answers on how to avoid the Krang to save his family. Little does he know, he gets a cheat sheet guide of sorts on how to defeat them.

Intro Snippet

Word Count: 600+

Mikey leans in, his beak pressing against one end of the scroll like a microphone. He taps the end once, then twice for good measure, hoping to get the ancestors’ attention. In a whisper, he sheepishly greets, “Hello? Anyone there?”

Silence.

Mikey taps the scroll again then peeks into the end as if searching through the rolled paper would reveal the ancestors he consults.

“Guys? I have a question,” he tries again.

Still nothing.

Groaning, Mikey falls back against his shell. “Come on!” He slams the end of the scroll on the cement floor asking, “Is this thing on?”

He rolls over to his side, bringing the scroll to his face again as his mouth quivers. “Please! We really need your help this time!”

A sudden knock on the metallic door alerts Mikey, making the box turtle squeal in response and sharply sit up.

“Yo, Mikey, come on! We have a meeting,” Leo’s voice reminds. He raises a suspicious brow at Mikey gripping tightly to the Hamato scroll. “What d’ya got that for?”

Mikey shakes it for Leo to see as he crosses his legs, bracing his free hand on his knee. He sighs, “Just asking for help…”

Leo rolls his eyes, “Like those old geezers can help.” Leo walks away, reminding once again, “Let’s go, Dad’s not gonna wait any longer.”

Mikey nods despite knowing Leo won’t see as he agrees in defeat, “Okay… I’m coming.” His fingers gently slide against the thin paper, mouth pouting with upset. He whispers in defeat, “Why aren’t you showing…? This didn’t happen last time…”

He knocks one more time, hoping it would bring forth the ancestors he spoke with last time. He brings it to his tympanum, hoping it was just a connection issue and their volume was too low—like how the shows would be louder than the commercials when he watched TV.

“Hello…?” He tries again, and waits a full minute before he finally gives up.

With a sigh, he slowly rises to his feet. Now what? He promised Dad that he had a great idea on how to rescue those stranded people without being spotted by the Krang. He promised Leo that he could help. If he can’t help, and if he can’t kick his powers into pizzazz mode, then what can he do?

Is he just supposed to walk into that meeting and tell them he forgot? He’d be a joke. It wouldn’t be fair to Leo, or Raph, or Donnie, or Dad…

He sets the scroll on the nearest table, turning it when it started to roll off and watching it to ensure it wouldn’t fall then.

But when the scroll suddenly releases a knocking sound, he flinches. He throws his body at the scroll, tackling it to the ground and landing painfully on the cement elbows first. And like music to his ears, the scroll speaks.

“Hell-lo! This thing on?”

Mikey’s exhale comes out like a short laugh of disbelief. A smile stretches across his face as he grips the scroll with both hands, his mood skyrocketing immediately. He laughs triumphantly, almost uncontrollably on the floor as he confirms to the ancestor, “Y-Yes! Hi—Hello! I’m here!”

As surprising and unexpected as ever, the ancestor speaks from the scroll with a chipper voice, “Hyello, my faithful audience, coming to you live from the Hamato scroll! How are we feeling tonight?”

Teary-eyed, Mikey nods gratefully before realizing the ancestor from the scroll won’t see his response and saying aloud, “I’m here, yes! Thank you! I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Anything for my biggest fan!” The ancestor teases and it’s like music to Mikey’s ears. “Now, what’s the problem I need to solve?”

[pansmione2244]

a little snippet from the pansmione fic I'm writing right now! this takes place somewhere in chapter 6

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55439254/chapters/140672632

“Hey” Hermione offered softly. Pansy was taking off her makeup at her vanity, sitting only in a bra and silk pajama shorts. 

“Hey honey, what’s up? It’s late.”

Hermione closed the door behind her. “I guess, uh,” she paused sheepishly, “do you really think I was the prettiest girl in the room?”

Pansy smiled and shrugged, meeting Hermione’s eye in the reflection of the mirror. “I do.” She said it with a nonchalance Hermione couldn’t read. She didn’t know why she cared so much. When Hermione didn’t respond after a few seconds, Pansy continued, “Honey, you’re, like, exactly my type, I don’t know why it’s so surprising.”

Hermione’s heart pounded so hard she was sure Pansy could hear it. “Really? What do you mean?” Her voice was weak and wavered as she asked.

“Come on, hon, you’re exactly the kind of girl I’d go for. Emotionally, I mean, you’re smart, and kind, and strong, and physically?” Pansy looked down for a second, seeming to wonder whether she should say what she wanted to. “Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous.”

There was that ‘sweetheart’ again. Hermione was sure her legs would give out if she tried to move. She took shallow breaths, trying not to show Pansy her nerves. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, I don’t think I’m anything special.”

Pansy looked at her. She stood up slowly, walking over to her, careful to not break eye contact. She stood close to Hermione before speaking again.

“Darling, you are beautiful.” Hermione sucked in a breath at the new endearment. That’s just how Pansy talked, it didn’t mean anything. Pansy tucked a strand of Hermione’s hair behind her ear, whispering softly. “I mean look at you, big brown eyes, lush curls, soft in allll the right places.” She drew each word out as she spoke, and Hermione couldn’t steady her breathing. “You are perfect, sweetheart.” She paused, and her face fell slightly, replaced with something like masked disappointment. “But you aren’t interested in women, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

Hermione stayed still, paralyzed by the choices she had. A couple of seconds passed, and Pansy tilted her head, a resigned smile and understanding eyes flickering between Hermione and the door.

“Do I have to be gay to kiss you again?” Hermione could barely believe she asked such a question. Pansy’s air of confidence was restored at that, a small smirk playing on her lips.

“I suppose not.” She had closed the space between them, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s waist, but she didn’t lean in. Hermione brought her hands up to rest on Pansy’s chest. Her skin was warm to the touch, and Hermione could feel her heartbeat thumping beneath her palm. She was comforted a little knowing that she wasn’t the only one who was nervous. Closing her eyes and throwing caution to the wind, she leaned in.

The kiss was just as soft as the first one. Pansy had let one hand fall to the small of Hermione’s back and the other to rest on the side of her jaw, her fingers sliding into Hermione’s thick curls. She opened her mouth slightly to let Pansy’s tongue slide in. It was warm and her lips glistened under the light of the lamp illuminating the room. Pansy’s tongue sliding over her own had felt nothing like the kisses she was familiar with. It wasn’t messy or aggressive; they weren’t battling for dominance. Pansy’s teeth grazed her bottom lip, biting down softly, and Hermione couldn’t help but let out a heavy breath. Pansy breathed in harshly, seemingly emboldened by the reaction, pushing her fingers deeper into Hermione’s hair as she kissed her. Her hand moved down Hermione’s back, resting on the curve of her ass. She pulled away.

“Is this okay, sweetheart? Are you sure this is okay?” Hermione nodded, swallowing hard. “Honey, I need you to be sure enough to say it out loud.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She took a deep breath. “I want this,” she whispered. Pansy looked unsure, mentally weighing what to do next.

“Granger,” she said finally. Hermione frowned. “Hermione. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you want right now, I can’t do this to you.” Pansy pulled her hands away, slowly, like it took a great deal of effort. They stayed silent for what felt like hours.

“I’ve thought about it sober,” Hermione whispered. “I’ve thought about kissing you.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve thought about touching you. About you touching me. About having my mouth on your tits.” Pansy drew in a sharp breath at her admission. 

“Is that what you want?” Pansy’s hands returned to her hip and jaw, pulling her in. Her mouth moved to Hermione’s neck, leaving warm, wet kisses up to her ear.

“Yes,” Hermione breathed. “Please.” 

Pansy groaned softly into her ear. 

“You’re perfect, sweetheart.” She guided Hermione backwards until her legs rested against her mattress. “Tell me if I do something you don’t like, okay?” Hermione shivered. 

“Okay.”

...hope you like! full chapters will be posted on ao3, let me know what you think

[louiseolivier]

WIP

This was supposed to be 10 pages of fluff. It is now up to 30 pages of meandering. The plan was to post this by the end of June, write a short piece about Tommy finding out about the Buck baby, then a longer story about the Buckley parents, and then a LONG one where Tevan goes to Tommy's hometown for his mother's funeral. Lol, and all before season 8 starts. #imafool. Please enjoy this snippet because only god knows when the rest will see the light of day.

Wednesday he met Maddie with Jee and Mara for Drag Story Hour at a nearby library and then took them to a soft serve ice cream parlor next door. They had $2 mini ice cream cones. Maddie tried to protest, and she had a point that it was barely 11AM, but they were so cute! Including ice cream, they were just five inches tall. Buck bought them each two and took a dozen pictures. He picked out the best one of all three girls and texted it to Hen, Karen, and Chim. 

The rest of the day was dedicated to meal prep and laundry. He got lucky, Tommy had some downtime that day, so he could tell him about story time, the ice cream, and a documentary Buck had half-watched before Tommy had to go out on a call. All in all, it was a pretty good day.

So he should have known Thursday would turn into a shit show.

“Buckley!” Chimney called to him as soon as he passed the threshold. With his fists on his hips, he had what could only be described as an angry dad face. He threw a thumb over his shoulder, towards the changing room and said, “With me!”

Ravi came around the corner and vocalized as he passed, “Ohhh, you’re in trouble.” 

“Seriously?” Buck said to Ravi’s back. “That’s not helpful.”

Cautiously, he entered the changing room. Chim stood, phone in hand, with his arms folded over his chest. Buck let out a nervous laugh and said, “Hey, man, what’s up?”

Chimney held out his phone with the picture of everyone with their ice cream cones. Buck cooed, “Aren’t they cute? The place is pretty cool. They have, like, 15 ice cream options and 30 toppings. They had butterscotch dip, Chim. I ended up getting four. Hey, did you know that the soft serve machine was patented in 1926 and that that company makes the soft serve machines for McDonald's to this day?!” 

Buck was on a roll and was about to tell Chimney about preventing ice crystals when he cut Buck off and said, “Stop taking!.” He was still holding out his phone and shook it for emphasis. “And do you know what happened after that?”

“Ah, no?”

“Your sister, my wife, received a call from Hen and had to sit through a 20-minute dressing down. Now Maddie’s upset, I’m angry, and since Hen took the day off, I’ve decided to blame you.”

“Me? I took them to the library, which is educational, and then I took them out for some baby-sized ice cream. Which by the way, could have been educational if they had listened to me read the article I found!”

Chimney deflated in front of him and sat heavily on a bench. “I know,” he said wearily, “but the Wilsons have a no sweets before dinner rule, and your little treat happened before noon.”

&&&& I'll throw in some Tevan being cute &&&&

Buck pressed the doorbell with his elbow and waited with a coffee in each hand. The emerald green door swung open to a sweaty, shirtless Tommy on the other side. “Evan!” His brow creased in confusion, but his grin meant Tommy was happy to see him. He looked to have been in the middle of a workout, and Buck’s brain short-circuited as he watched a bead of sweat run down the side of Tommy's face. God, he wanted to lick it off.

“F-for you,” Buck said, and handed him a tall Americano with 4 Splendas. If it was hot, Tommy liked it sweet and black. If cold, his go-to was a sugar-free white chocolate mocha with an extra shot. 

Tommy moved close, held Buck by the chin, and firmly kissed him. “Thank you. Did you just come by to bring me coffee?”

Buck swayed towards Tommy when he pulled back, and Tommy had to steady him with a hand on his bicep. “Partially. Your place is on the way to the airport, and I left my toothbrush here. I had to use my finger last night and this morning. Sorry. I interrupted your workout.” Buck said gesturing to his sweaty tank and glistening skin.

“I was pretty much done,” Tommy told him and pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt. 

Buck took a shuddering breath and felt his dick twitch when Tommy then used the shirt to mop up his pits. “I can’t stay,” Buck said, hating how his voice cracked.

“This doing it for ya, huh?” Tommy gave him a cheeky smirk and turned, heading for the bathroom. 

As inadvisable as it probably was, Buck followed. “Pretty much everything you do does it for me.”

[charlesjosephwrites]

Find the Word Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @oh-no-another-idea!

My words were despite, choice, jump, and bone, so here are some snippets from The Magician and Ms. Psychic.

despite

“Magician!” A squeaky voice rose above the blaring alarm. “Put that back!” I gritted my teeth as I turned towards Hermes, ready to sling some harsh words his way, but something about his appearance made the words fizzle out in my throat. Without his helmet or his track suit, it took me a couple seconds to register the fact that it really was Hermes. He wore a t-shirt and shorts despite the chilly weather outside like half the other dumbass teen boys out on their field trips. If it wasn’t for the domino mask covering his eyes and the usual overly confident grin plastered on his face, I may have thought I had the wrong annoying kid. “What the fuck?” I exhaled sharply. “Can’t you take like two seconds to get dressed properly?”

choice

“The whole point it to get in and out of there before anyone can even think of getting in our way,” Max said. “Why should we waste our time worrying about Ms. Psychic?” “She’s my nemesis.” “And?” “I can’t just not involve her in a scheme.” “Why not?” “Because!” I stomped my foot. “She’s my nemesis!” Max narrowed his eyes at me. I got the feeling he had a lot of choice words to toss my way, but for once he managed to hold himself back. “Listen,” he exhaled sharply. “If you can shut your mouth and cooperate we can get this over with faster, and you can go back to letting all your weird rules get in your way.”

jump

“H… hey, I get it.” I had to jump to the side to avoid getting smacked right in the face by someone’s flying shoe. “I’m not very popular right now, but…” My voice cracked. “I… I’m trying to—” “Magician.” The crowd parted to let Hermes through. He marched right up to me, and his cheeks took on a faint shade of red as he shoved an accusatory finger right in my face. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here.” “I… I know.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

bone

A bead of sweat worked its way down Mayor Redwood's forehead. ”I wasn't—“ ”Shush.” I yoinked him closer by his necktie. “I've had enough of your bullshit.” I tapped the point of my knife against his nose. “Though if you give me a good enough apology I won't throw all your bones out the window.” “I... I'm sorry.” His gaze flickered to my knife. “It's part of my job to make sure the public doesn't panic, so—” ”Sometimes people need to panic,” I countered. “You ever think about that, Tommy?” He hesitated. “I... I suppose I haven’t” I hummed, sitting up straighter. “There's a new supervillain in town. People should be freaking out.”

I'll tag @space-writes, @willtheweaver, @eli-writes-sometimes, @ahordeofwasps, and anyone else who sees this and wants an excuse to share some snippets from their wips!

Your words are miracle, wind, pitch, and house.

[on-softs]

Maxiel Bachelorette AU Snippet

Since I'm never going to finish it, I'm just throwing up the first scene of the Maxiel bachelorette AU I started writing. Enjoy!

Max doesn’t actually meet him on the first night. He only sees him for a second, through the doorway of the mansion, which is done up in this sort of Italian only it is not Italian way, American-Italian, maybe, with all this wood framing and tile.

The doorways in this house are massive, excessive, meant to be peered through. Max first sees him when he’s outside meeting her– Heidi– in the big, exploding garden that’s the front walk. The driveway and walk are both still wet from it raining earlier. Max had been so dizzy with nerves after the first impression that he’d been worried about tripping up the front steps on his way in. His dress shoes are still wet, and so are the shoulders of his tuxedo, though the wetness has spread and seeped by now. His armpits are wet for other reasons. He should not take off his jacket, tonight, even though the producers said they may not go to sleep until four or five this morning. It all depends on Heidi, of course. He should already be thinking about how to get his one on one time with her. Jos had jabbed a finger at the video clip on his laptop and said: Look at him. The ones who don’t get one on one time the first night are as good as worthless. They complain and are dead weight. 

Max takes a sip of his drink, which is something mixed served in these short, thick-plastic tumblers made to look like cut glass. There are non-alcoholic options on the sideboard, but a producer in a black t-shirt keeps stocking all the mixed drinks on a tray in the middle of the table, so Max has obligingly kept drinking them. All the producers are wearing black t-shirts. When he turns his eyes to the side over the rim of his cup, the other contestants are watching the guy having his introductory conversation with Heidi, so he feels fine to keep staring along, too. They can’t hear anything, this far away. It’s all been hard to make out. Some of the guys have started chatting with each other, sometimes speculating about what could be going on, but it’s become a sort of sport, this waiting on the couch for the next new man to come in, greeting him, then going back to watching. Sometimes, it’s as long as twenty or thirty minutes between the new contestants because of hair and makeup. 

A doctor from the east coast of America, but not New York, with dark hair and veneers, tried to talk to him earlier, when Max had first come in, still rattling with nervousness. He hadn’t really remembered what Heidi’s face looked like, when he saw it up close. Not even after studying her Instagram photos for several weeks, before. He hardly remembered what he’d said. 

“Where’re you from, man?” the doctor asked, politely extending his hand in a– Max quickly adapted his own open hand for the fist bump. 

“The Netherlands,” says Max. The doctor made a surprised face, maybe at the accent. 

“Oh, I heard about you. Dutch, huh? Little boy with his finger in the dike?” 

It took Max a second to know what he was talking about, what kind of joke this is. 

“That’s what they call me,” he said, graciously. 

“You were on Love is Blind, right? Oh, or, is it bad to talk about that here? I don’t know what’s a faux pas with the reality TV people. I’m just a guy.” 

“Yes, a while ago. Just for a little bit.” 

Max mostly remembers the brutality of the body work, before that one. His shoulders needed to read, said Dad. All for two stupid episodes, which he could hardly watch when Dad played them back on the house TV, later, so they could go over them together. Twenty thousand more Instagram followers. He knew the people who make this show know he was on Love is Blind, too, of course, but he wasn’t really sure whether or not they could talk about it, either. That hadn’t been in the paperwork. 

“Seems like that show would suit you,” said the man. It took Max another beat to understand that he was being insulted. “Nah, I kid, I kid,” the man says quickly. 

Max laughed, like he was hearing a funny joke, and it wasn’t even a fake laugh, or a bland one, but as real as he could make it. He was proud of how it sounded. Guys like to joke, says Dad. They don’t care if you get upset or not. The ones who try and get you upset will be off the show soon, anyways. 

Then a bulky guy with slick hair appeared at the threshold of the room and the producers needed quiet to compose a suitably upset reaction shot, so they’d thankfully stopped talking. 

I don’t even need to say it, but don’t make buddies, Dad had said. That seemed easy so far. 

The guy outside talking to Heidi isn’t a buddy. Max isn’t even sure why he stands out, at all. He’s shockingly good looking as the rest of them. Dark, curly hair, long on top and short on the sides. Nose a bit too big, but then again, Max hasn’t fixed his own, either. That sort of thing tends to be obvious on camera. Max blinks as the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a corny shark-tooth necklace and hands it to Heidi. Maybe he’s a surfer. He can only see the scooped back of Heidi’s dress so he’s not sure what she thinks of it, until she reaches up to give him a ginger hug, which the man reciprocates, hands resting chivalrously on her upper back. His hands are tan as the rest of him. 

“We’re moving to the pool table room,” someone says, nearby. A producer. Max suddenly realizes a lot of the guys have already left the couch room. The producer’s got an iPad clutched to her chest and an Airpod in one ear, looking busy. 

“Do you need anything?” she asks. 

“Ah, no,” says Max, and gets up.