#Snippet verse

[anniebass]

It’s a big bed. A California King, funnily enough a few inches narrower than King, but longer — can't help being a size queen, Steve — and one of the first joint purchases they made, as Eddie insisted his previous bed was haunted, too many bodies, invisible stains, et cetera. Not that Steve much asked for details. Well, wasn’t exactly a joint purchase, Eddie wouldn’t allow him to chip in beyond the bedding, but, eh. Picked together. Comfy. Spacious, big enough to not touch at all; a touching sentiment, because it rarely occurs in their shared bed. There's always some point of contact, a hand, a foot nudging him, a leg swung over his. Innocently.

forgot to post this one, middle aged men engaging in corny pillow talk, from a standalone installment of middle aged man yaoi

[fabbyf1]

Well, besties...

I had originally planned on Beyoncé dropping this on AO3 without giving you any warning, but... where the hell is the fun in that? 🤠

The haters (me) said this series was dead, but @papayastri said "🔫 i refuse." and you know what? She was right. (She's always right.)

You heard it here first, chat.

Warming 7 is coming very soon.

Snippet under the cut!

CONTEXT: After a bad race in Jeddah, Charles crawled into Max's lap to comfort him.

“It is what it is,” Max said, shrugging again. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.” 

“Okay, chéri,” Charles said, smiling softly at him. He had figured he wouldn’t want to talk about it tonight, which is why he had planned a different activity. Charles slowly leaned down and kissed him, enjoying the way it made Max’s hands tighten around his waist. “Do you want to go to sleep?” 

“Mmm.” Max hummed against his mouth, kissing him again. 

“That wasn’t an answer, sleepy boy,” Charles whispered, smirking at him as he pulled back. 

“I don’t want to move yet,” Max said, sliding his hands back to his thighs. He looked down at them, and a small smile appeared on his face when he realized the sweatpants Charles was wearing belonged to him. “You’re a little thief, aren’t you?” Max teased, his hands large enough to wrap around the width of his thighs. 

Which still turned him on, even after all this time. 

“I believe this shirt is yours, too,” Charles pointed out, fluffing the collar of his white t-shirt. 

Max breathed in deeply, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips. “It looks better on you.”  

Charles leaned forward, nosing at the side of his jaw until his lips pressed against his ear. “I love having you wrapped around me,” he whispered, not-so-subtly grinding down against his lap. Max groaned at the contact, tightening his hold on his thighs and pressing up against him. 

He was playing right into Charles’ hands. 

“Baby,” Max breathed, hands sliding up the back of his shirt again. 

“Will you let me take care of you tonight?” Charles asked, leaning back to meet his eyes. 

“I’d let you do anything to me,” Max easily admitted, and Charles knew it was the truth. “What did you have in mind?” 

“I thought maybe I could sit on your cock for a little bit,” Charles said, smiling softly at him. “We can cuddle, or talk, or... whatever else you wanna do.” 

“Fuck, baby,” Max groaned, wrapping his strong arms around him. “That sounds perfect.” 

“Yeah?” Charles asked, beaming at him. “I was also thinking that...” 

“Go on,” Max urged, grinding against him again. 

“Well, if you were up for it...” Charles trailed off, still finding it hard to say the words out loud, especially when he was hard, and Max was staring at him so intently.

Max was so... mind-numbingly hot that it made Charles a bit stupid sometimes.

It made him forget all the languages in his head.

“I’m listening,” Max egged him on, grinning up at him and making Charles blush under the attention. 

They both knew what he was thinking, but Max wanted to hear him say it.

[hawkeykirsah]

Forgot to share this snip of a Married-Before-MW19 Ghoap AU I'm working on for WIP Wednesday, so have it for Snippet Sunday instead.

“Think you need to have your eyes checked,” Simon said, voice dropping a few notes. It was almost a low, rumbling purr. “Gotta look inna mirror if ya want to see somethin’ handsome.” “Dinnae talk pish,” John mumbled, feeling heat rise in his face. He was sure he was blushing. Simon smirked, and John kind of wanted to kiss it off his face. “English, MacTavish.” “Ye can understand me jus’ fine, ye bawbag.” Simon hummed in agreement, an amused glint in his eyes. He met John’s gaze and parted his lips to let smoke curl lazily out of his mouth on the exhale, “Maybe I just like watching you blush, Johnny.” Johnny. John’s breath hitched. Nobody called him Johnny. Fucking nobody because he’d deck anyone that did for sure. And here he was, not only allowing Simon to call him that without reprimand but even liking it. It just…sounded right when he said it.

[swaps55]

I wrote! Is it for Mezzo? No. It's for the ME3 story, but it's important, and leads into something that's been replaying itself in my head for probably two years now, heh.

Sam and Kaidan, welcome to the geth dreadnought.

~

The ship bucks again under another salvo, metal alloys groaning in slow, dying protest. Artificial gravity gives way while Kaidan is mid-stride. His stomach does a somersault, limb flailing as his armored boot fails to hit the deckplates, momentum sending him careening. Behind him, Shepard swears. Kaidan reaches for a steel support to catch himself - close enough, I can reach it - but a still-functioning geth unit opens fire. Three rounds from a pulse rifle glance off his shields, the kinetic energy altering his trajectory just enough his fingers brush nothing but air. Somewhere behind him a pistol fires – Shepard – and the pulse rifle falls silent.

His heartbeat ratchets up as he clears the catwalk and floats into the cavernous maw of the docking bay, an easy target with nowhere to go.

Tali calls from below him, where she’d managed to grab the same support Kaidan had missed. She snags him by the foot, stopping his motion with a jerk before slinging him up towards the commandeered fighter. He collides with the wing, grunting, but manages to slip along it to the open hatch and climb inside. Tali pushes off behind him, aimed right for his outstretched hand. He grabs her tight and pulls her inside, then sticks his head back out.  

“Shepard!”

Frantically, he scans the cargo bay until he spots the ride and white armor stripe. Shepard clings to a piece of debris on the level below with both arms.

The ship shudders again. Hard. Just like the Normandy in her death throes.

We don’t have much time.

“Shepard,” Kaidan calls out again. “Here!”

Shepard glances up, and for several beats refuses to move. But then he takes a deep breath and kicks off from his perch, straight as an arrow right to Kaidan.

Just as Kaidan grabs his hand, the flash of a geth headlight silhouettes Shepard’s body in an eerie glow. Another geth unit – or the same one – seizes its opportunity and grabs hold of Shepard’s leg. Metal fingers clamp down hard on the armor plating and squeeze. A red flag pings in Kaidan’s medical HUD as Shepard cries out in pain. Suit breach – decompression imminent.

Copper burns the back of Kaidan’s throat. The geth’s momentum yanks Shepard hard to the left, nearly wrenching him out of Kaidan’s grasp. The actuators in his gauntlets whir as he puts every spare ounce of suit power he has into not letting go. Shepard flails, trying to shake the geth loose, but it just digs its fingers deeper into the fractured armor plating.

Shepard’s faceplate fogs, his heart rate shooting into the stratosphere.

“Shepard,” Kaidan cries, fighting with everything he has to hold onto that hand. “Need you to hold…still.”

But Shepard doesn’t even hear him, fighting like a wounded animal to shake loose of the geth.

“Shepard.”

This time Shepard looks up at him, eyes wide and white under the thin layer of condensation clinging to the inside of his faceplate.

“I’ve got you. Trust me.”

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

Shepard resistance goes slack, leaving him strung helplessly between Kaidan and the geth unit.  

Without the eezo-generated gravity, the gravity well feels oily and slippery, but Kaidan digs deep into it. His corona shines as he densifies a field in the palm of his open hand, and sucks in a breath.  

Don’t. Move.  

He slams the field home into the geth’s carapace, missing Shepard by millimeters. For a terrible moment the force of the blow almost tears Shepard from his grasp, but the geth bleats and lets go, spinning head over feet. Kaidan gasps and reels Shepard in, wrapping his other arm around Shepard’s waist. Tali does the rest, yanking them both inside and sealing the airlock.

“Legion, go, go, we’re secure! Go!”   

[yuesya]

“You need to eat me.”

The white-haired girl in front of him blinks, “That’s an odd way to start a conversation.”

Eligius briefly chokes at that uncaring, blasé response. “… I’m being serious here.”

“So you are.” Even so, the girl’s voice remains unperturbed, and her expression does not change. “Would your strange request have anything to do with the visitors who passed through recently?”

… That is a remarkably understated way of referring to the most recent Sarkaz travelers who’d visited Arkos. Travelers who’d come specifically in search of Miss Salome, too. From the heavy robes and tight wrappings that consisted their attire, from the necrosis-type Arts that they commanded, it had been obvious that they were Nachzehrers.

Nachzehrers –beings who were the very personification of war; gruesome, relentless warriors known to be devoted to the battlefield, who reveled in the slaughter.

But the standing policy of Arkos is that all visitors are welcome. Save for those who threaten the stability and wellbeing of the settlement itself, or commit crimes within its borders.

And so the Nachzehrers had been allowed to enter Arkos, just as so many others had been allowed before them, and no doubt far more would be allowed after in the future.

Eligius had regarded their Nachzehrer visitors with wariness and curiosity in the beginning. Which swiftly morphed into shock and outright alarm, when they had accosted Salome on one of her routine patrols around the mountains.

“You’re Herleva’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“My name is Naftali, a soldier who once served under Commander Herleva of the Withering Court. I apologize that it took so long for us to find you –I’ve come to bring you home.”

…

Salome had refused to leave with them.

… Much to the relief of many, Eligius included. Though their numbers were steadily increasing, it was undeniable that Salome was the heart of Arkos, and if she left, then in all likelihood they would end up scattering across the land once more. Misfits and travelers and wanderers with no place to belong, and no place to rest.

(No place to call home.)

…

Eligius had known that Salome was Sarkaz for a long time now, but he hadn’t realized that she was Nachzehrer Sarkaz. She certainly didn’t look the part; Nachzehrers were said to possess bodies that easily withered and rotted away like the necrosis Arts that they commanded, and Salome did not display any of those traits. She had a pair of distinctive Sarkaz horns sitting on her head, and that was it. Were it not for those curved horns, she probably could’ve passed as a Pythian girl with her pointed ears and long, snake-like tail covered in glittering white scales–

Or so Eligius had thought.

Because he’d seen it, the other day. Salome usually wore clothing that covered most of her skin, including a veil across her face, but he’d glimpsed her taking off her gloves –only to reveal blackened fingertips, eerily reminiscent of necrotic rot, which caused Eligius’ blood to run cold.

Was it because of her Nachzehrer blood? Was she –was she somehow rotting away? Was her Pythian blood not enough to offset the horrifying effects of her inheritance?

Wracking his brains and ruminating over what he’d overheard from the Nachzehrer visitors, there was only one potential solution that Eligius could think of. Through devouring the dead, Nachzehrers were able to add the strength of the fallen to their own, so–

“You need to eat me,” he repeats. Because if she doesn’t, if her situation worsens, then…

Salome arches an eyebrow. “Do you want to be eaten?”

…

… No. Of course not.

The day that Eligius had left Kazimierz, a broken husk of a knight who had failed his family and could no longer even properly swing a blade anymore… Eligius had thought that there no longer remained anything left for him to protect. Not that he even possessed the strength to protect anything, not as a disgraced, crippled knight driven out of his homeland.

Fate had led him to Arkos, eventually. He’d aimlessly followed a merchant caravan as a cheap hired hand, and somehow ended up staying in Arkos when a Sarkaz girl killed the head of the caravan. The man had a sexual proclivity aimed towards children, and had acted on those urges in Arkos –Salome had sliced the despicable merchant into bloody pieces for it.

Eligius had thought of his days as a knight in Kazimierz, of all the harsh training he’d undergone… only to be helpless in face of injustice and wrongdoing all the same. A knight must be honorable above all else. But what worth was there in honor when it was something that could be traded and bought by the monolithic corporations that ruled Kazimierz?

Arkos… is not perfect. The buildings are shabby and run-down, and the rooftops have a tendency to leak when it rains. There is no particular schedule for when merchants are passing through, and resources are always running tight. Sometimes, brash mercenaries end up causing trouble, even with the threat of Salome hanging over their heads.

But at some point, Arkos had grown to be precious to Eligius. The tenacity of the people that lived here, with all their storied pasts, and the young leader who never allowed the opinions of others to prevent her from doing what must be done.

Eligius is no longer a knight. With a body had been ravaged by vicious poisoning and missing his dominant sword arm, his days as a knight of glorious Kazimierz are long over.

But even so, there must be a way that he could still protect what was important to him. Even if he wasn’t the one holding the sword himself.

Eligius squares his shoulders and looks towards Salome determinedly. He knows that he is not the only one who is willing to become her strength through being devoured by her, but it’s better that a useless cripple like him becomes the first to die, so that the others–

“You don’t look like you want to die,” Salome says. Then, turns around to pick up a… shovel? From behind her? “Here.”

Eligius falters, automatically accepting the dull shovel with his sole remaining hand, “What is this?”

“A shovel,” Salome responds. Fair, but that’s not what Eligius meant– “Seeing as you have enough time on your hands to be thinking about useless things, you can go work with the others on developing the terraced gardens first.”

Eligius gives a small start, “But you–”

“I’m not interested in cannibalism. Let me know once you’ve figured out how to grow potatoes properly here.”

With that said, Salome turns and walks away.

Leaving Eligius standing in the street by himself, holding a shovel.

…

… It’s nothing but a rusty shovel, given to him haphazardly by a girl who doesn’t even bother to toss a second glance back towards him as she departs. But for some reason, the shovel rests in his hand with a greater weight than the sword he’d once held during his knighthood ceremony, and there is a strange emotion welling up within his chest–

Eligius tightens his grip on the shovel, exhaling slowly.

[new-hyperfixation-every-month]

(SPOILERS FOR TLOU + CHARACTER DEATH)

tlou x tsv doodles wahoo

going back to my roots and drawing my most self indulgent au yet

[arathejedi394]

nobody asked for this snippet and nobody deserves it either

The pups start to settle. Steve is distracted by his hunger and weariness and the weight of his season blooming, however. As he's tucking in one of the two-year-olds, a draft comes through the nursery.

Steve looks up and sees the door open.

"Oh, no," he whispers.

He quickly runs outside. He sees small footprints heading towards the center of the village. Steve shuts the door behind him, making sure it latches, and then hastens in the wake of the footprints.

One of the five-year-olds has reached the edge of the party and is trying to sneak food. Steve runs up behind them and snatches them up.

"No!" they wail. "Mama!"

"You're going to get us both in so much trouble!" Steve snaps at the pup, who begins to cry.

Steve tries to get away before the noise attracts attention, but he never has good luck.

"Oh, gods, no," Peggy gasps as she sees them, "Steven! You ungrateful little wench, what do you think you're doing?!"

"I –” Steve tries to begin.

"The dragon is going to see you!" Jasper snaps, hurrying up to usher Steve away. "You'll ruin everything!"

"It's not my fault!" Steve says desperately.

"Liar!" Dolores accuses, snatching the wailing child from his arms. "I'll take the poor thing to their mama."

"They ran out!" Steve insists.

"Get back to the nursery!" Peggy snaps at him.

A shadow falls over Steve and the two irate Omegas. Steve turns slowly towards the fire and his eyes go wide.

The dragon stands before them, his face darkened around the eyes with black paint. He is still shirtless and now Steve can see that he is also barefoot; he wears only a heavy fur tasset and wide belt and braces on his forearms and calves. He stands head and shoulders above the Omegas and Steve barely sees Chief Alpha Garrett and Alpha Rumlow standing behind him, their eyes just barely on level with his shoulders.

Steve just blinks up at the dragon. The top of his head barely matches the dragon’s solar plexus.

"My apologies, good sir," Chief Alpha Garrett says as he hastens to stand between Steve and the dragon. "This child is an orphan, rescued from another pack. He's meant to be resting in our nursery with the other pups."

The dragon pushes Chief Alpha Garrett aside. Garrett stumbles from the force of the dragon's hand. Jasper and Peggy shrink away, their eyes wide. Steve is frozen where he stands, hands gripped close to his chest.

"There you are," the dragon murmurs in a deep, gravely voice. “Finally.”

Steve can only blink and gawk.

"My friend," Garrett starts.

The dragon throws up a hand, immediately causing Garrett to fall silent. The dragon takes another step nearer to Steve, coming so close that there's hardly a finger's length between them and Steve has to crane his neck to look up at him. The dragon stares down at him and somehow, Steve can see the fire reflected in his eyes.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you, little one?" the dragon says softly.

The dragon touches Steve's face with a gentle hand. Steve sucks in a gasp, his whole body shuddering at once. Not from fear or even arousal, but at the sheer heat emanating from the dragon's hand and how utterly chilled to the bone Steve is. He impulsively grabs the dragon's wrist, clinging to him to hold him in place. His eyes are wide as he looks up at the dragon.

"You can call me Bucky, sweet boy," the dragon says. "What is your name?"

Steve jolts; he starts to stammer, unsure how to respond as his brain starts whizzing with want and need and cold and so hungry just at being called sweet. No one has ever called him something so nice.

"What is his name?" the dragon – Bucky – says to Chief Alpha Garrettt.

"His name is not important," Garrettt says hastily. "Sir, I assure you, this is not the one you are looking for, this child is infertile, defective. He isn't truly an Omega."

"Did I ask what you think of him?" Bucky growls. "I asked what his name is."

"It's Steve," Steve whispers.

Bucky's eyes snap back to his. Steve is frozen in place still, heart hammering in surprise at the sound of his own voice. Bucky smiles, lips curling away from his teeth to show sharp fangs, longer and more pointed than any wolf's.

"What a pretty name for a pretty Omega, Steve," Bucky murmurs. 

Bucky takes Steve's hands, then. He lifts them and tucks his nose into Steve's wrists. He inhales deeply and Steve gasps, ears and cheeks flaming hot as his body responds with immediate need in his lower belly.

"It seems I've arrived just in time," Bucky says in nearly a growl. "Don't worry, my pet, it won't take long to reach my mountain. You should pack your things now."

"What?" Alpha Rumlow snaps as Steve’s eyes widen. "Barnes, you can't possibly be serious! Don't you see what he is!"

"I see that he is beautiful," Bucky says in an abrupt snarl as he twists around to look at Rumlow. "I see that he is perfect in every single way the gods could have intended. And I can damn well also see that he's fucking starving! Go fetch him something to eat!"

Rumlow gulps and looks to Garrett. Steve also looks to Garrett, positively mortified. Garrett clears his throat.

"My Lord," Garrett says with great humility, a tone Steve's never heard from him, and Bucky turns to look at him. "Not that I doubt your senses, but perhaps you are tired. You have been traveling a very long time, after all. Possibly the treasure you've been tracking is simply near Steve?"

"It sounds like you doubt my senses," Bucky snaps. "Do you think I would be able to follow a scent trail across ten thousand miles and then not be able to pinpoint it once it is right under my nose?!"

Steve looks hopelessly to Peggy, silently begging her to explain to him what's happening. Peggy doesn't even notice him.

"You're tired," Garrett tries again.

Bucky growls at him. Garrett shuts his mouth with a snap, his face going red. He looks like an Alpha pup that's been snapped at with his sire's Alpha voice. Steve is amazed.

Bucky turns his gaze back on Steve. He tucks both of Steve's hands into one of his, easily covering both with his large palm, and once again brushes a gentle hand against Steve's cheek. Steve gulps.

"I'll have them give you something to tide you over for the flight home," he says. "I can imagine you will have no fond memories of this place, yes?"

"Um," Steve whispers, his voice barely leaving his throat.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Bucky asks.

"I –” Steve begins. "I'm –”

He stops again, just shaking his head. Bucky cups his chin. Steve feels the cold all over the rest of his body and then he feels a strong urge to dive into Bucky's arms. He's sure it will feel like in his dreams. Bucky puts out heat like a fire. And of course, he does. He's a dragon.

"Yes, baby?" Bucky prompts.

Steve shakes his head jerkily. "I don't understand," he croaks out.

"What don't you understand?" Bucky asks calmly.

Steve blinks several times. He glances over at Chief Alpha Garrett, but he's never gotten help from him before and has no idea why he anticipates it now. He looks back to Bucky, who is frowning.

"Do you have a chosen Alpha already?" Bucky asks, his voice nearly begging for Steve to answer no.

"Of course not," Steve blurts. "Why –? Why are you asking that?"

Bucky relaxes into a smile and he chuckles. He steps even nearer and Steve sucks in a breath. Bucky bends low at the waist and tucks his forehead against Steve's. Steve struggles to control his breathing, but now all he can smell is Bucky; a rich, sweet smoke and enticing Alpha musk and sweat. Steve feels lightheaded.

"I would hate for my treasure to be promised to another Alpha," Bucky murmurs to him. "That would be… Unpleasant."

"Treasure?" Steve repeats in a whisper.

"Yes," Bucky answers. "Your pack chief tells me that your people call their treasures their mates instead."

Steve's eyes go very wide. 

"No," he whispers. "No, no, I'm dreaming. This is a cruel, awful dream!"

"It's not a dream, honey," Bucky says quickly, his hand now moving around Steve's back, enveloping him in such warmth. "I'm here, I'm really here, baby, I promise."

Steve just shakes his head. Bucky frowns down at him.

"My Lord," Garrett cuts in. "I'm very sorry to tell you this, but Steven – Steven is a runt, he cannot be mated!"

"Did anyone ask you?" Bucky snarls at Garrett, flashing his teeth at him as his eyes glow orange. "Is this how you've treated my treasure all these years? Starving him, insulting him, demeaning him!"

"Certainly not!" Garrett answers with some aggression, though it seems childish in the face of Bucky's. "He is our nursery-maid, we keep him well and we care for him like one of our own!"

Steve feels tears pricking at his eyes. So this is how Garrett will save the pack from losing the opportunity to have dragons born into it. Convincing the dragon that Steve is some abandoned child from far away rather than born in the same village as everyone else.

Bucky whips around, ignoring Garrett, and he lets out a soft coo as he looks into Steve's eyes. Steve sucks in a shaking breath, trying to control himself.

"Don't cry, my sweet, don't cry," Bucky whispers to him. "I'm going to take you away from these horrible people, you'll never hear a harsh word spoken against you ever again."

Steve shakes his head with a jerk. Bucky frowns and he draws Steve in closer, pressing him against his chest with firm hands at the small of his back, and Steve feels so warm.

"Why do you shake your head like that, darling?" Bucky asks, stroking Steve's cheek. "What's wrong? Do you not want to leave?"

"Of course I do," Steve admits in a hoarse voice. "But – But my chief is right! I'm just a runt, I can't be mated!"

"That's a filthy lie," Bucky says, a growl nearing his voice. "I'll take you to my mountain and show you just how easy it will be for me to bond with you. I can prove it tonight."

"You can't!" Steve insists.

"I can," Bucky says, now actually growling. "What other disgusting lies have they been feeding you? Is that all they've been feeding you? Where's that damn brat with your meal?" he adds, turning around.

Rumlow is still standing behind them.

"I told you to get him something to eat," Bucky growls.

Rumlow jerks and hurries off, like a little mouse. Steve shakes his head.

"Please, lord, you must be making a mistake!" Garrett tries again. "Surely there are other, better Omegas –”

"If I hear you say one more word about my treasure I will cook you where you stand," Bucky snarls at Garrett, smoke even trailing from his lips.

Garrett backs off. He looks defeated.

"He's right!" Steve tries desperately. "You – You must be looking for a different Omega! I can't be your mate!"

Bucky fixes him with a gentle look. Steve feels very brittle all over, like the second Bucky puts him down he will simply shatter into a million pieces.

"I have been tracking your scent for three years," Bucky says softly. "I know exactly who my treasure is, and it's you."

Steve shakes his head. Three years, he thinks. He’d only just presented three years ago. How could Bucky have picked up the scent of your first heat. cups his cheek and touches their foreheads together again.

"My sweet boy," Bucky murmurs, "you've been so badly mistreated. I'm so sorry it took me so long to find you, precious."

"I –” Steve whispers uselessly.

"Your scent is like cinnamon and vanilla and allspice," Bucky murmurs to him. "When you're sad or frightened, it turns into a scent like vodka, like it is now. When you're happy, it's rich and spicy. When you're needy, it's so sweet. I know exactly who you are, Stevie."

Steve blinks away tears. Bucky's hands go to Steve's waist and then he's lifting Steve off his feet. Steve's stomach flips upside down and then he's being tucked into Bucky's firm chest, a beautiful heat wrapping around him and settling into his very blood. Steve shivers anyway. His stomach grumbles in hunger.

"Rumlow!" Bucky calls out. "Hurry up!"

Bucky carries Steve in his arms up to the bonfire, to a bench in front of a large, polished table. Rumlow puts a plate of rabbit stew and bread down in front of Bucky and backs off. Steve looks down at it in awe, not even touching it.

Bucky picks up the bread and offers it to him. Steve's hands tremble as he takes it. He hesitates, however. He knows once Bucky leaves, he will be in so much trouble for taking advantage of this situation. He might be denied food for weeks. They might finally banish him.

Steve has a sudden thought. So what if Bucky is confused by who his mate really is? If he can hold up the pretense long enough for Bucky to take him away, perhaps he'll be allowed to serve in Bucky's household once he finds his true mate.

Steve digs into the bread with abandon. It's so delicious he can't help but groan in appreciation. He can feel every eye of his packmates on him, staring with hatred. He doesn't care. He hates them, too.

"There, pet," Bucky says. "You have some supper and then we can collect your things and leave."

"I don't have anything that belongs to me," Steve tells Bucky, his mouth partially full still. "Not even these clothes, really."

"Don't you have a nest?" Bucky asks.

Steve swallows, feeling shame grip his belly.

"Runts don't nest," he tells Bucky.

"Ridiculous," Bucky answers, however. "I can smell it on you, you've been nesting for weeks, your heat is barely a day away."

"Runts don't have heats," Steve insists, mortified.

Bucky suddenly presses his face into Steve's neck, making him drop the bread as he gasps. Bucky growls softly and Steve feels himself shiver internally.

"You're going into heat, sweetling," Bucky says firmly. "Whether these pieces of shit say you can or not."

Steve, trembling, picks up the bread. He resumes eating it, not wanting to really answer Bucky. He quickly finishes it, but his stomach growls still.

"Here," Bucky says, picking up the plate of stew.

Steve looks at it for a moment, surprised. 

"What are you waiting for?" Bucky prompts.

Steve goes to take it, but his hands are shaking so badly he nearly spills all of it. He whines and draws back, pressing into a Bucky's chest and hiding his face.

"Aw, baby, it's alright," Bucky murmurs. "Here."

Bucky puts the plate down, but lifts a spoon and tucks it into the rich stew. He raises it and holds it near Steve's face. Steve slowly lifts his head, then glances at Bucky, eyes wide again.

"Go on," Bucky encourages him.

Steve looks back to the spoon, then grasps Bucky's wrist and opens his mouth, leaning in. Bucky tucks the spoon past his lips and Steve closes them, taking the portion of stew from the spoon and beginning to chew. He moans again, his mouth overwhelmed by the rich flavor of it.

"You sure are hungry," Bucky says with a chuckle.

Steve swallows quickly. "I can stop," he whispers.

"No, no, you don't have to," Bucky answers, cupping Steve's chin again. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean like that. I just meant you must like the stew."

Steve glances at Bucky's face, then away and nods. Bucky leans in and rests his forehead against his temple.

“Eat your stew,” Bucky says softly. “Then, you can get anything that is yours and we can go.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing is mine,” he repeats.

Bucky casts a glance over at Alpha Garrett, his lips pressed thinly together. “Well,” he says. “You will want for nothing from now on.”

Steve looks down into the bowl, not sure how to answer. He just eats.

When the bowl is empty, Bucky stands up, still holding Steve.

“Bring me a thick cloak,” he tells Garrett. “We will be leaving now.”

“Please, my lord,” Garrett tries one more time, “at least speak with our unmated Omegas one more time, perhaps –”

“I have found my treasure and I will leave with him,” Bucky snaps. “Bring me a cloak.”

Garrett deflates. If Steve weren’t so worried about what will happen to him once Bucky realizes he can’t be his mate, he’d laugh. Garrett waves to someone, who hurries off. They return with a large, thick cloak a moment later, which Bucky takes.

“Wrap in this, my sweet,” he says. “Then I will pick you up and we’ll leave.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for morning?” Steve asks.

“My home isn’t far by wing,” Bucky says with a smile. “Five or six hours. Get some sleep if you’d like.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he quickly dons the cloak. People begin to back up and Bucky moves into a more open space among the tables. He shakes himself, then cracks his neck. Steve watches, his mouth open in awe, as Bucky exhales a heavy plume of smoke from his nose. His body then begins to shift. A wolf shifts in just a tremble of the body, but Bucky shifts with a roar and a quake that shakes everyone from their footing. His body stretches and extends, his limbs become black and scaled, wings unfold behind him, a massive tail whips out and wolves jump out of the way in fright. The dragon lands on his front feet and growls, looking around.

Steve takes in a deep breath as Bucky approaches, his eyes glowing a light blue. He huffs out smoke and bumps his muzzle into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve reaches out and puts a hand on his snout. Heat comes from him, even more than when he wore skin. Bucky’s gaze meets his and Steve feels almost pinned.

“And you said you couldn’t be my treasure,” Bucky says in a deep voice.

It resonates from inside his chest. Steve almost jumps back.

“Only another dragon or my treasure could hear me like this,” Bucky then says. “Put up your hood, then hold still, little one.”

Bucky rears up onto his hind legs again. Steve quickly puts up his hood and closes his cloak, just in time for Bucky to grab Steve with his claws and launch from the ground. 

Steve shouts as they cut into the air. He clings to Bucky’s claws, afraid of falling and the cold, but heat still seeps from Bucky’s limb into Steve, and his claws are cinched tight around him. 

Below them, the dim ground speeds by. In seconds, Steve sees the lights of the neighboring village pass underneath, and they’re passing it and then another village.

Steve ducks his head against the biting wind, holding onto Bucky’s large claws. His heart is pounding in his ribs, then he laughs, exhilarated.

He feels Bucky rumbling and figures he’s laughing, too.

[sodamnbored]

Did they ever actually specify who named Jason in any of the books? I can’t remember, but I thought it was just a sort of vague mention of why he was named Jason, as opposed to a concrete “Dad named you because / Mom named you because” kind of explanation?

So now I’m thinking, wouldn’t it be super cute and bolster the only ever implied sibling bonding if it was Thalia that had chosen his name?

Like, loads of older siblings get the opportunity to weigh in on picking baby names for younger siblings anyway. And if we can presume that Thalia had a similar situation to Annabeth in that her mortal parent was fully aware of their godly hookup and was very open about that with their kid and Beryl told Thalia lots of stories about the mythology, or like Piper she got interested in the stories and dug around on her own.

Then Thalia is like, what, seven or so years older than Jason? Totally old enough to have ideas and comprehend at least simple story ideas, but still young enough to work off the easy little kid logic to solve problems.

So she’d have been old enough to notice Beryl beginning to get anxious, beginning to get a little paranoid. She’d hear her mom talking about them being in danger, especially her baby brother to be, and all because Juno was mad at her brother before he’d even arrived.

And she could be reading stories and suddenly the answer presents itself and it’s so simple. And she asks to call the baby Jason because Juno liked and protected the original Jason from the Argonauts story. Therefore little kid logic demands that Juno likes Jason, so if they make her brother Jason, Juno won’t be mad at him anymore when he arrives and will like him too. Problem solved.

It would’ve been the very first time she ever protected her baby brother and she probably didn’t even know how much it had protected him from an angry god. And he hadn’t even been born yet.

[quintessenceofdust88]

❤️❤️❤️ Make myself write Monday ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you sm for the tag @typicalopposite !! I'll post a little snippet of Buck finding out he's pregnant in the Little Blobs' verse cause it's my current obsession:

--

"What's got you pouting so early in the morning, Buckaroo?" Hen's voice as she places a steaming coffee mug in front of him gets Buck out of his misery-filled thoughts, and though he appreciates the gesture, he doesn't drink it. He's still feeling nauseous. Or guilty. Or both.

You see, there was a reason why everybody called Buck a human golden retriever. It was usually so rare for him to be in a mood, but lately... Lately he had been one walking short fuse, like that morning.

He and Tommy had gotten married about a month before, and been together for eighteen months (and yes, they were still counting from their first kiss, basically ignoring the month they had stayed broken up). Still, it was a rare occurrence for their shifts to align so perfectly that they could get ready for work together in the morning, and usually those moments would make Buck giddy with the domesticity of it all. Not that day, apparently.

Buck wasn't sure what had gotten him in such a pissy mood. Maybe it was the fact he had woken up tired even though he had slept like a rock all night, and that had been happening annoyingly often as of late. Maybe it was the fact he had barely managed to swallow a granola bar for breakfast, and even that hadn't sat well on his stomach because he was too nauseous (again, an annoyingly often occurence lately). Maybe it was the fact that, despite all of that, Tommy was clearly in a good mood, which was making Buck's mood even worse (and yes, he realized that was probably very selfish and childish of him).

And for no reason at all, he simply snapped at Tommy for the leftover fruit he had left in the blender (which, sure, could be a little annoying, but not *that* annoying). Buck knew right away that his "Damn, Tommy, how hard is it to keep things clean?! It's like living in a frat house again!" had been uncalled for. Tommy had looked at him in surprise, muttered a "Sorry, Evan" and turned his back to Buck, apparently laser-focused on washing the blender. Buck knew right then that he should apologize, but he was still too pissy to do it, and their goodbyes had been frosty when they left for their respective stations.

And that's where Hen had caught him, staring at the void and wondering if he should text Tommy and let him know how sorry he was or wait to do it in person once their 48-hour shifts were over.

Before Buck knew it, he had spilled out all of that to Hen, kind of expecting her to call him out for being an idiot to his husband, but instead, Hen hummed thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I can't help but notice you *have* been moody lately, Buck. Far too moody for a newlywed, if you ask me" She teased lightly, and Buck gave her a half-hearted smile.

"Well, to be honest I have nothing to complain in that department. Tommy's been just as awesome now that we're married as he was before. I think even more, because he's not even complaining about my bitchiness and the fact I have slept on top of him every single time we've sat to watch a movie together for the last three weeks"

"Wait, you?!" Hen asked, her eyebrows going up. "Evan 'ball of energy' Buckley..."

"Buckley-Kinard" He corrected eagerly, his smile widening despite himself at that.

"My bad" Hen chuckled. "Evan 'ball of energy' Buckley-Kinard, falling asleep during movie nights? Don't you usually drive him crazy by researching fun facts about the movie?"

"Yeah!" Buck agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "But lately, I don't know, I... I thought maybe I was tired from wedding planning, but..."

"Morning, you two!" Bobby's voice interrupted Buck, and the two of them turned to greet their captain.

tbc

np tagging @bidisasterevankinard @peppermintquartz and whoever else wants to join in!! ❤️

[ditzyredrobin]

One of my favorite snippets from my Shrike!Tim fic that just makes my little fangirl heart sing! I’m so excited and hope to share it soon. 💜

-

“Tim.”

Tim froze, like a jolt of electricity running down his spine, eyes locked with Dick’s electric blue. He was trying to trying to process the name—his name.

He couldn’t remember the last time had called him by that name. It was his name, yes, but he didn’t use it. Tim had died years ago, peeling away to leave only Shrike. But coming from Dick’s lips, his eyes are hot, the breath catching in his chest.

“What?”

Dick’s eyes are soft and fond, “I called you Tim,” he repeats slowly sending the same jolt through his body. “Or is there something else you want me to call you? Timothy, maybe? It’s your legal name. Timmers? Timbo?”

His breath hitches painful in his chest and it feels like he can’t breath. A finger stripeless hand reaches out to brush his knee, and Tim flinches. Dick frowns and retreats back into his own space

“Why are you calling me that?” There was a panicked edge to his voice, hoarse with emotion.

“Because it’s you.”

[prince-liest]

First draft of 666 #11 is complete! +^+

[thatmexisaurusrex]

🍽🍽! Angst pleases me lol

Make Me Write Monday

@kinard-buckley also asked for this, so I thought I would just answer this in one ask hehe

This is technically a Denial-Verse Side Story I'm hoping to finish it and post it at some point. I'd say this happens after A Surprise Visit and before The Fire is Inside the House. And 😂 okay, so it's a little more than three sentences, but I've got them, so I might as well show them, right? Enjoy! 🥰

*****

“I think I just had the worst shift of my life,” Tommy said as he dropped his duffle next to the door, a little – a little shocked by what had just happened to him on that shift.

Evan was at the table. He was setting up his table for dinner. In his messy apron and a smudge of sauce on his face. And all Tommy wanted was to sink into his usual chair and lean on Evan’s shoulder and try to piece together what the fuck had just happened to him.

Because he didn’t know how to comprehend it.

He hadn’t been able to his entire shift. His drive back to Evan’s place.

“Tell me about it. You should have seen the bullshit that Gerrard had us do. What he ordered us to do almost got the victim killed. It was – what the fuck is wrong with that guy, right?” asked Evan, and Tommy knew Evan didn’t mean it like this, he really knew, but it felt like Evan was glossing over what Tommy had just said.

And.

And they had been talking about Gerrard for weeks. Weeks. Weeks of an endless barrage of trauma and bad choices on the part of Vincent that seemed to seep into the very fabric of Tommy and Evan’s lives.

Tommy didn’t fault Evan for talking about the man so much. There was bound to be a lot happening that wasn’t good at the 118 at the moment. Tommy understood too well what it was like to be under Gerrard’s leadership.

Evan should talk about it.

Work through his feelings.

Be heard and know that he wasn’t overreacting. That his responses to this man were realistic. His, Chimney’s, Hen’s, Eddie’s, Ravi’s – all of them were correct in their anger and appalment against the man.

But.

But it was also straining.

It was a death of a thousand cuts that was slowly making all of them more and more raw and stressed out. No one did well working under traumatic conditions, after all.

And Tommy felt horrible, but he was so tired. And he knew how bad Evan had it right now. But Tommy wanted to talk about what happened to him.

He just wanted a moment to talk about his worst shift ever.

And this wasn’t as if he didn’t want Evan to talk about his day, but they had been talking about Evan’s terrible days for weeks on end, and Tommy just wanted one day.

One day about Tommy’s horrible day.

Which was terrible. And selfish. And cruel. But Tommy couldn’t help but say, “Evan, I just told you I had the worst shift of my life.”

“And I was talking about my shift too,” said Evan slowly as he sat down at the table, “Because we both talk about our shifts at dinner.”

And.

Yes.

That was sort of true.

“Sometimes, we talk about my shift,” said Tommy as he walked to the table and leaned on one of the chairs, “Sometimes. But we always talk about your day.”

Which was probably unfair to say.

But it was true.

They always talked about Evan’s day. And that was okay. Evan needed that now more than ever. Evan was having a lot of terrible days. But – but Tommy had a terrible day today.

And it hurt that Evan wasn’t seeing that he needed this right now.

Evan furrowed his brow.

“Last dinner we talked about you saving a cat from a tree,” Evan pointed out, as if he had to be right.

Or maybe.

Maybe Evan was just confused by the idea that it hadn’t been exactly equal the last few weeks.

“No, that was four dinners ago,” said Tommy clearly.

Because.

It really was.

“That can’t be right.”

Tommy.

Tommy didn’t understand why this was the sticking point.

“That’s what you really want to focus on right now?” asked Tommy, a little – a little exasperated.

Which wasn’t usually where Tommy lived as a person, but well, he didn’t have the patience he usually did. And that really did feel like the wrong place for Evan to focus on at the moment.

“I – I didn’t mean it as like, the most important part of this discussion. I’m just – did we really not talk about your day the last three dinners?” asked Evan, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah. Evan. We didn’t,” said Tommy softly, “And that’s – that’s okay. But. But that’s not really the point I’m trying to make here.”

“What other point could you be making?” asked Evan, and – and it wasn’t defensive, but it felt defensive, “Should I not be talking about my days? Because they’ve all been terrible. I’m sorry that all of my days have been terrible. I don’t mean to take over the conversation, but it’s hard to not talk about all the things Gerrard does.”

Tommy rubbed his face as he tried to not read that as defensive. Because Evan wasn’t like that. Tommy knew that.

But this was.

Tommy didn’t have the spoons for this.

“You know what? I’m not that hungry anymore,” said Tommy as he – as he walked over to the door and picked up his duffel.

“What?” said Evan, and Tommy immediately heard Evan stand up, “You’re just leaving?”

Tommy took a deep breath in.

A deep breath out.

He turned to Evan, who – who looked pissed. And hurt. And scared.

And.

Fuck.

“Evan, I had the worst shift of my life today. I really did. I do not have the patience. I do not have it in me. I need some space to think without saying something I don’t mean to you right now. I’m going home today. I’m not abandoning you. I’m not leaving you. I just need some space to think,” said Tommy clearly.

“So, you’re running away from the conversation?” asked Evan, and okay, that hit a nerve.

“My mom almost died because she refused to be treated by me, I – ” Tommy started to say, started to yell, and –

And he could see the regret in Evan’s eyes.

The instant regret.

And Tommy regretted yelling that at him. At just springing it like that.

Tommy didn’t yell.

He wasn’t that person.

He needed to not be like this to Evan. He needed space.

“ – I love you, Evan. I need some space,” said Tommy.

And he knew Evan was saying something behind him.

But Tommy couldn’t.

He needed to not be there right now.

He needed to be alone.

He needed to make himself a priority, just this one time.

So, Tommy left Evan’s loft.

[loquarocoeur]

happy halloween! trick or treat?

Considering I'm running out of things I'm willing to share with you, I will be creative, and you get three things yours verse lestappen fought about this week:

How to pronounce 'anemone'. They looked it up and were in fact both wrong

Whether they should name their hypothetical future daughter Emilia or Charlotte (after each other) They eventually settled on simply having two hypothetical daughters

Who's turn it is to be the man of the house and remove the spider from the bathroom wall. They ended up calling the concierge, who was not very impressed, but did indeed remove the spider

[yuesya]

“A shipment to Arkos, you said?”

“Yup! Logistics wants this delivered before the end of the week.” The young lady types rapidly into the keypad fixed to the wall, and the doors slide open –revealing the warehouse to be stacked high with giant boxes of various medical supplies. Bagpipe cranes her head back, surveying the contents of the storage room. 

“… All of these?” 

“Mhm. It would’ve been included as part of the regular shipment last month, but the guys over in the Medical Department changed something about the new formula that they’re developing, so these got delayed,” the girl explains. “Sorry for the trouble, Ms. Bagpipe.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Arkos… it’s a familiar name, although Bagpipe has yet to go and pay a visit there in person. It seems that she’ll finally be getting the opportunity now.

Arkos is not quite a city, exactly. It’s more of a collective –a gathering of various disparate individuals; a hub of mercenaries and traders alike, in addition to a small regular population that calls Arkos home. The small settlement is located in one of the more treacherous parts of the rugged terrain between Leithanien and Ursus, making it an excellent resting stop for any travelers.

But on the flipside: Arkos is located on dangerous terrain, and one must wonder how anyone had even thought to establish a settlement there in the first place. In a way, it’s genius, but it’s also insanity. Because Arkos is not a mobile city; if a Catastrophe ever came their way, then…

Well. Bagpipe assumes that there must be some manner of precautionary measures set in place. She’s never known Doctor Kal’tsit to invest in a sinking ship, after all, and the agreements signed between Rhodes Island and Arkos would not have been possible in the first place if the Director had not truly seen something in it.

According to the rumors, the first homes in Arkos had been built by their elusive founder and leader herself. Weary travelers had been allowed a place to rest, and none were turned away on basis of race or occupation, gradually leading to a motley collection of individuals who gathered together in the area as time passed.

… And at the same time, there were also rumors that those who dared to cause trouble in Arkos with any ill intentions were all met with violent, bloody ends, without exception. Also courtesy of their great and powerful leader.

Bagpipe is curious as to what the leader of Arkos is really like. Kal’tsit is the only one in Rhodes Island who’s ever met them in person before, and she’s very tight-lipped on the subject, which only adds to the mystery of it all.

[mythrilpencil]

Another spoilery late-plot scene from my WIP with Edge; takes place a few plot points before Rage Against the Void.

Word Count: 967

Lesson One: People First

———

The chamber was coming down. Fast.

Now that the Shard was dislodged from its circuit high above, all of the aether it had been channeling through the supports flanking every wall dispersed in an instant. Metal screeched and stone growled as gravity pulled against the ancient structure.

“Get the Shard!” Ayaan called out over the din.

Edge and Ayaan ran. For a human, Ayaan was fast. But Edge was faster. Trained on the Shard, he dashed across the chamber, dancing across the giant slabs of stone even as cracks snaked through them and the flat floor became a shifting obstacle course. Some went sideways. Some  fell into the depths below. Some jolted upwards, no longer weighed down by circuitry beneath them.

The Shard hit the floor with a crack and a pulse of loose aether. The storm it held within its crystal shell started to flicker through the cracks. 

Almost there…almost—

A metal pillar fell behind Edge. Ayaan shouted.

Edge glanced behind him. Then slid to a stop.

Ayaan was several slabs behind him. And was now pinned beneath a metal pillar.

Edge called out, “Ayaan!”

Another crack of stone and screech of metal pierced the air as another pillar fell. This one grazing the slab that the Shard had fallen to. That slab started to tilt.

Edge glanced back and forth between Ayaan and the Shard. 

Ayaan looked up from trying to pry himself free. From this distance, only the barest glint of his gold eyes pierced the churning dust. “What are you waiting for!?” he shouted, waving a free hand out at Edge, “Get the Shard and get out of here!”

Edge looked back at the Shard. Another crack split its crystal shell; another wisp of angry aether licked through the air like a snake finally freed from a cage. 

What would Zenith do?

In Edge’s moment of hesitation, the slabs between him and Ayaan collapsed. Ayaan’s slab started to tilt, weighed down by the metal pillar and teetering on the frail support beam underneath. 

Edge tore his focus away from the Shard. 

Lesson one: people first.

Edge raced across his slab and jumped. From slab fragment to slab fragment he leaped.

But that still didn’t get him close enough to Ayaan.

He was running out of time.

Help me out here, Sparkles, Edge demanded, You said I teleported before; how do I do it again?

<<All I know is you traveled as an Aether Stream, which is how I noticed you in the first place. I’m interested to see how you do it consciously.>>

Edge growled. Real helpful.

All he perceived from the void in his mind was an equivalent of a shrug. Fine then.

Edge scanned everything around him. The ground kept shifting and shaking as more and more slabs collapsed. 

His scans picked up on flows of aether, released by the now-defunct circuitry in the metal pillars. An angry storm of waves flowed outwards from the Shard. Some magnetized towards Edge’s core. And the more he noticed those waves, the more aether followed them towards him.

Edge focused on that aether flow, and focused on Ayaan prying himself free from the metal pillar. The aether traced his focus like metal wires tracing Vidya’s will, snaking between him and Ayaan.

“Traveled as an Aether Stream”, huh?

Edge mentally pulled on that aether flow, dipped into the void in his subconscious, and directed the flow of his own aether in his systems outwards. His core’s thrumming crescendoed.

GO!

He jumped forward, and for the space between seconds he didn’t exist.

Then he landed on the edge of Ayaan’s slab.

Ayaan’s head snapped up. “Wh—How—!?”

Edge didn’t answer; he just started shoving at the metal pillar pinning Ayaan in place.

“Edge! What are you doing!?” Ayaan demanded.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Edge snapped back, grimacing as he kicked and kicked against the pillar. Slowly it started budging. But it wasn’t budging fast enough.

Edge summoned his crossbow and started shooting at the weak points in the pillar. The metal warped and bent. Finally it started to bend away from Ayaan.

But the shocks of Edge’s efforts rocked the slab. Stone grated against stone as the slab tilted past a critical angle. And started slipping.

Ayaan pushed against Edge’s leg. “What are you doing, you idiot?! Go get the Shard!”

“No!” Edge bent over and shoved at the pillar.

“Listen! I’m done for! Go—”

“No! No one is dying here! Not in my unit, not on my watch!”

Edge shouted as he finally shoved the pillar away. The metal screamed against his effort, but its screams faded beneath the din as it rolled off the tilting slab.

The slab rocked. Edge barely kept his balance enough to grab Ayaan before they both could fall.

Edge snapped his focus to the Aether Streams again. He latched onto the closest flow, and pulled his own aether and on the faint signal he could sense from Ayaan towards it. 

Out. They needed out. Somewhere higher up, somewhere safer.

There! A ledge about halfway up the wall, where a bridge across this chamber once connected. The aether flow Edge had latched onto snaked up towards the ledge like a stray current in a river.

Edge pulled Ayaan up, and despite the cry of pain from his core, he leapt upwards as he connected with the current.

They both landed on the ledge, collapsed against the stable stone. 

Ayaan levered himself up to his elbows first, gasping. “What—How? Why?”

Everything in Edge’s systems, down to the finest micro fracture, screamed as his frame shook and his core raggedly pulsed. Damage reports and overload warnings pelted his subconscious. He gasped for breath. But between gasps he squinted at Ayaan and repeated Zenith’s words, “Lesson one…people first.”

———

For this week’s prompt courtesy of @flashfictionfridayofficial!

Tagging: @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

[ianthewife]

on my unemployed walk thinking about what a fucking cool location the Glottage Drowned is, both during the wild insanity of the Wither Tide and also in the aftermath of it, like can you picture a whole city just lying in ruin like a floating corpse, im literally daydreaming about it with the sweetest smile