#and the incomplete snippets

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

CW: Drider Sex, Implied Somno, Implied noncon/rape, Forced Eggpreg, Unsuspecting, Aphrodisiacs, Breeding kink, Incubator Kink, Lactation

You thought you had scored big when you got to lay with a female drider. Their large breasts and dexterous bodies made for scandalous nights the stuff of legends. A check off the list for any adventurer looking to call themselves well versed in their sexual exploits.

You had smiled as the drider enraptured her body with yours, cock sure that you’d have much to brag about with your companions in the morning. That was until a sharp pain at your neck and darkness.

When you awoke, you found your belongings looted and a raging headache. The humiliation of have to trudge, naked, back to your adventuring party was more than enough to keep you quiet of what had actually happened. Their laughter and your embarrassment was what kept you distracted from the additional bloat to your middle. It was such a minute thing compared to everything else that had occurred.

It was only when you felt an ache within you that things took a turn. Your body began to feel hot. A growing need eclipsing all thought and your hole pulsing with arousal. You needed…something. It didn’t take long for you to strip for the nearest stranger you could find.

But that need didn’t go away. And neither did that weight in your middle.

You found yourself laying with your companions, becoming the whore of the party to be toyed with and used as they wished. You’d even rather be plugged with wooden recreations of the real thing than be left empty and dripping of the cum your body endlessly desired.

At last, on one fateful stop in a town, you find another drider. Male this time. The lust you’ve felt for months now clouds over your mind fully as you embrace the drider to fill you too. You hump and grind onto him as he hisses into your neck, but he doesn’t push you away.

Instead, claws dig into your shoulders as he whisks you away to the nearest bedroom. His body is as hot yours, almost like you’d melt into each other if you don’t fuck right now.

The sudden feeling of sheets against your body and the bottom half of a drider standing above you stalls you heat for just a moment. It’s then that you see the slimy cock extending beneath his spinnerets. You close your eyes and spread your legs furthest that you can. Your body needs no preparation for his inhuman cock to spear inside.

In one fluid motion, he thrusts inside like an animal. You barely register the growls he makes while the bedframe rattles against the walls. But you body is keening in response, something inside you is finally being fulfilled like nothing before.

He speaks to you, though you can barely understand a word. Something about how good of an incubator you’ve been, that it must’ve been so hard carrying “these” eggs with no one to fertilize them. You don’t understand. But it doesn’t matter. He thrusts once more inside and cums, filling you with enough cum to slosh as he grinds against you.

He pulls out then. You blush as he pushes your plug back inside to keep the cum from dribbling out. He gives you a kiss on the cheek and thanks you for being an excellent breeder before leaving.

You can’t make sense of it, but that ache is gone. Your normal again. Or so you think.

You return on you adventures, only to find with each passing week your middle grows. You try to excuse it away as weight gain – you had grown a newfound hunger since that drider – but it was harder to excuse the chest growth and sudden aching within.

Your party’s paladin was the one that gave you the news, but you still refused to believe it. It was you companions decision to stop and wait this out when it became clear you weren’t going to relax yourself.

You all rested at a remote inn, you pregnant belly large enough to prevent you from scootching your chair all the way in. You couldn’t wear your armor anymore. Now stuck wearing a borrowed shirt from barbarian orc and even the shirt was struggling contain your width.

When you all settled in for the night, the paladin offered some ointment for your breasts. He knew you were aching. Though tried to deny it, you didn’t stop him when he settled a hand under your shirt and began to rub. Your stubbornness had always made you refuse help. You couldn’t stop the groan of gratitude when ache turned dull, then gasped.

The dullness turned pleasurable. Looking down, you saw wet spots had formed were your nipples had been.

“Milk”, the paladin explains.

You don’t say a word as he lifts up your shirt and covers your breast with his mouth. The suction causes you to gasp and grab and his hair, unsure whether to pull him closer and push away.

The orc laughs at the sight, walking over with a leather canteen. He tugs on your other breast, filling the bottle while the paladin continues to suck.

“Might as well make use of your udders while we can.”

You blush and open your mouth to argue, but a fat palm grinds over your crotch and more milk spurts from your cumbersome breasts. “Breeder” is what the drider had called. You want to disagree with the word, but as your companions take turns fucking you, trading mouths over your sloshing breasts, all while your egg stuff belly jiggles and grows with each passing day, you find it hard to disagree.

[lovechai]

nsfw.

thinking about how alhaitham always seems too shy, too afraid when it comes to initiating physical intimacy with you. you were his first, and as he had no prior experience aside from those nights with you, he feels uncertain as to how he'll approach you. it's a wonder how you make it look so easy. you are usually so forthcoming with your wants and needs, and him, well, he really is a feeble scholar.

but god, when he finally does it, when he finally lets go of that rational thought holding him back, you could only think about how possible it is to want someone more than ever to the point that it drives you insane. if only you knew how you had already done that to him.

you look all too alluring sitting beside him in your comfy sweater and short skirt. that short skirt. how on teyvat could he focus on his book when the mere sight of you invites all of those obscene images? you're sitting there enjoying the new light novel you've gotten from inazuma while alhaitham is still on the first page, words and letters remaining foreign as he's already hard thinking of fucking you right there and then.

so, to your surprise, alhaitham shuts the book close and throws it on the coffee table. there's a look of concern on your face, but that is soon replaced with fluster when he suddenly slips a strong arm around your shoulders to bring himself closer. you feel his lips against your temple, his warm shaky breath sending shivers down your spine and to your core.

you should be saying anything, but your words die on your tongue when you feel his fingers lightly trail across from your stomach down to your skirt. his fingers easily find your clothed slit, and you could only gasp at him pressing at your dampness through the sheer material of your panties. it's embarrassing how you're already leaking from a few light touches, but fuck, you could never resist him, especially now that he's coming onto you like this.

light novel long forgotten, you grip at his thigh and spread out your legs a little further. and does he take that chance to move your panties to the side. a few strokes immediately leave you whining and feeling lightheaded.

"habibti," alhaitham whispers into your hair, and with that, he relishes in the way his middle finger slips into your wet cunt without any resistance. he gives it a few more thrusts before he slowly adds another finger that has you heaving.

his fingers are so long and thick they stretch you out, and he's pumping them inside you so good that you can't help but want for more.

"haitham, need you," you mewl, throwing your head back so you could get a glimpse of him.

and when he catches you looking at him through half-lidded eyes blown out from pleasure and lust, alhaitham doesn't think twice. he has to have you right now.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

An analysis of Alhaitham's egoism in relation to Kaveh

(Update: The essay this is taken from is now uploaded! It can be accessed here and here as as a pdf <3)

Max Stirner's anarchist egoism is speculated to be the basis of Alhaitham's personal egoism, therefore I will be drawing upon Stirner's 'The Unique and Its Property' for this analysis.

Property and power are key principles within this philosophy. The egoist recognises himself as an individual, separate from the general collective of “humanity”, in which concepts such as freedom and property are governed to and over the people, for then the individual is not considered as such, rather they are a part of “humanity”, rather than a whole individual (Stirner, 170). This thinking is demonstrated within Alhaitham’s Story Quest, where he dismantles Siraj’s Hivemind by targeting individuals that compromised the Hive and reminding them of their own beliefs and preferences – the individual in themselves is a whole, and is not a “part” of a system (Stirner, 170).

In this, the egoist governs himself by what he owns and what he wants to own: “ownness is my whole essence and existence, it is myself. I am free from what I am rid of, owner of what I have in my power, what I control. I am at all times and under every circumstance my own”(Stirner, 106). This relates to the concept of freedom, which, for an egoist exists according to having the power to be free of something, for example, being freed of hunger, thirst, or societal expectations (Stirner, 105). This is reflected within Alhaitham’s description: “He lives free – free from the searching eyes of ordinary people,” but also extends to the power to own.

As power is considered something which the egoist owns, property then becomes something which the egoist exerts power over, and in this, can property be made use of by the egoist – all the while, the property remains an independent vessel (Stirner, 162). This is seen within Alhaitham’s view on his vision, in that it is “no more than a useful tool”, as it can be used to serve his own needs, and that since it in his possession, he has obtained it with his own power, it makes no difference to check on it as he continues to retain that power.

In this sense then, Alhaitham has constructed his life around this form of egoism, in that anything he wants, he has, such as his job as the Scribe, his house, the interests he pursues, the people he enjoys. In order to maintain this way of life, he will deal with, or be rid of, anything he deems as "harmful".

With this, the egoist seeks satisfaction in themselves through the satisfaction of another. Ownership, in relation to another person, can become love, which like all things the egoist has power over, is ultimately theirs – as in their love for a person (Stirner, 187), which is given willingly by the egoist, for loving a person is done for the satisfaction that love brings: “But I love them with the awareness of egoism; I love them because love makes me happy, I love because love is natural to me, it pleases me,” (186).

In loving another comes sacrifice, which the egoist can give into without compromising himself, as he himself sets the “purchase price of [his love]” (187) according to the happiness attributed to the loved one, as in return, the egoist shall also receive happiness (186). To enjoy someone, in an egoist fashion, is to be able to sacrifice all possessions and ownerships without foregoing the sense of an individual, of “ownness”, as the egoist would then lose his objectivity:

“I can deny myself countless things to heighten his pleasure, and I can risk for him what would be dearest to me without him, my life, my welfare, my freedom. Indeed, it forms my pleasure and happiness to feast on his pleasure and happiness. But me, myself I do not sacrifice to him, but rather remain an egoist and—enjoy him. If I sacrifice to him everything I would keep without my love for him, that is very easy… But if I sacrifice others to one passion, I still do not…  sacrifice my particular worth, my ownness. Where this nasty incident occurs, love looks no better than any other passion that I blindly obey.” – The Unique and Its Property, 185

It is relevant to note that just as the egoist receives happiness from a loved one’s pleasure, so does an egoist suffer from a loved one’s despair. Just as the egoist would sacrifice something of their own to provide happiness for a loved one in order to exact their own happiness, so too would an egoist sacrifice something, or act, to eradicate the root problem of a loved one’s misery, as this, in turn, would then resolve their own misery:

“If I see the beloved suffering, I suffer with him, and I find no rest until I’ve tried everything to comfort and cheer him…. It doesn’t follow from this that the same thing causes suffering… his tooth gives him pain, but his pain gives me pain. But because I cannot bear the sorrowful crease on the beloved forehead, therefore, then for my sake, I kiss it away. If I didn’t love this person, he could go right on creasing his forehead, that wouldn’t trouble me; I’m only driving away my troubles. – The Unique and Its Property, 186

The phrasing of “driving away… troubles” is particular to note here, due to similar usages of language used within Alhaitham’s Character Stories, in relation to him acting in accordance with his self-governed rules and serving his own self-interest by: “[acting] on his own will and deals with anything that appears harmful in his eyes”.

Kaveh, however, interprets Alhaitham’s egoism as a detached, pragmatic view of humanity, in which the individual isolates themselves not only as a means of prioritisation, but by elevating oneself over others by refusal to intermingle and to cooperate for the benefit of others. Not only is this a harmful opposition to Kaveh’s view of individuals sharing their knowledge and talent in order to pursue a better society, but due to Kaveh’s experience of Alhaitham’s personal egoism, it is harmful to Kaveh personally. Kaveh refuses to prioritise himself over others because he has seen a negative consequence of egoism, in which he has been “cut to the quick” and it has ended one of the few stable relationships in his life.

By Kaveh seeing Alhaitham’s comment about his altruism as malicious, Alhaitham has elevated himself over Kaveh, since Alhaitham does not have the same struggles as him, and has trivialised Kaveh’s trauma. To Kaveh, Alhaitham’s prioritisation of the self actively harms others as it desensitises the self to the emotions of others. Therefore, Kaveh opposes the egoism which Alhaitham advocates for, since he interprets it through his own lived experience. Hence, by Alhaitham asserting egoism over Kaveh as a means of Kaveh prioritising himself, it only reinforces Kaveh to strive to consider the feelings of others, as well as to not prioritise his own way of thinking if it undermines someone else’s.

In actuality, Alhaitham’s frustrations with Kaveh lie in his belief that Kaveh’s talents are incongruous with his values, and that if Kaveh were to prioritise himself, he would save himself suffering and enable himself to discover his “true self”, unrestricted by others placing labels onto him.

This is a personal frustration which Alhaitham would not compromise himself to assert onto a person he was indifferent to, due to his belief of not getting involved with other’s fates. However, he has been observed to ‘subvert’ his own rules to accommodate Kaveh. Through egoism, it can be seen that rather than ‘subverting’ these rules, Alhaitham adheres to them as an egoist, since he sees Kaveh as his mirror, they offer each other a contrasting perspective he believes they need to have a complete, objective vision of the world.

This is necessary for Alhaitham to consider within his own life, and therefore has extended his house to Kaveh, in order to expand his scope of thinking, and to consider perspectives he otherwise would not entertain. Kaveh’s ideals, his beliefs, and his philosophies explicitly interest Alhaitham, in contradiction with Kaveh believing that Alhaitham is disdainful of his perspectives.

In this way, Alhaitham enjoys Kaveh. He willingly pays for some of Kaveh’s tabs; pays for crates of wine for the two of them; and goes out of his way to pursue interactions with Kaveh. Just as Alhaitham is to Kaveh, Kaveh is an old friend, as unchanged in his beliefs as he was in the past and thus is a constant: “the most unshakable part of one's past is a friend that will never change”’.

Alhaitham strives to act in accordance to his own egoism and therefore assesses what “appears harmful” to him, in relation to these rules, so as to be rid of them. This can be extended to Kaveh, as Kaveh falls under what ‘belongs’ to Alhaitham, in the sense that ownership equates to Alhaitham’s enjoyment.

Alhaitham wants to have Kaveh in his life due to the alternate perspective which Kaveh offers him, thus expanding his horizons and granting him knowledge he otherwise would not obtain. As well as this, Kaveh is seen to be considered part of Alhaitham’s way of life that he wants to protect. In line with Stirner’s egoism, it follows that as Alhaitham enjoys Kaveh, as in, ‘owns’ the contentment Kaveh elicits, he therefore is affected by Kaveh’s self-inflicted grievances. Therefore, Alhaitham sees Kaveh’s altruism at the expense of his own wellbeing as something “harmful” to be dealt with, as this not only causes Kaveh inward misery, but also detriments Kaveh finding his “true self” (Alhaitham Character Story 3), which the egoist pursues above all else.

[monstrsball]

Iwaizumi doesn't know what to think when he finds his boyfriend in the entry way of their apartment, soaked from head to toe and clutching his jacket to his chest.

"I'm home." Suga says with a sheepish grin while he clumsily tries to get his shoes off without using his hands.

“You’re soaked,” Iwaizumi frowns, pushing his wet bangs back out of his face and eyeing the barely noticeable trembling of his shoulders. “Why aren’t you-”

Suga’s jacket meows.

Suga frowns down at the jacket in his arms. “You were supposed to let me do the talking first.” He says lightheartedly, his words are met with another slightly more indignant meow.

“Koushi, we talked about this.” Iwaizumi says.

“It’s raining, Hajime. The poor thing was soaked, I couldn’t just leave her out there.” Suga says, his tone soft. “Can we just keep her here for tonight? Until it stops raining? And then I’ll take her to the shelter.”

Iwaizumi wants to stand firm but his resolve slowly melts away when he looks at the cat again. She’s shivering just as much as Suga, the now soaked jacket likely not helping her keep warm. She’s nuzzling into his chest in search of warmth and it tugs at Iwaizumi’s heartstrings. 

He glances back at the door to the balcony. Still raining. 

“Okay,” Iwaizumi relents. “She can stay for tonight. Until it stops raining.” 

He has a nagging feeling that ‘for tonight’ is going to turn into indefinitely but the pure joy lighting up Suga’s face distracts him from this fleeting thought. 

“Yeah, yeah. You need to get out of those clothes.” Iwaizumi reaches out to take the cat from Suga’s arms. She's oddly compliant for a stray. “I’ll dry her off and get her some food and water. I think we have some canned tuna in the cabinet.”

“Ooh,” Suga whistles, gently depositing the little tabby into Iwaizumi’s open arms. “You hear that, baby? He’s spoiling you.” He coos. 

“It’s the only thing we have,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, readjusting his grip once he has the cat safely in his arms. She nuzzles into the newfound warmth immediately.

[amethystpath-writes]

Bread and Eggs

(NOT A PR0MPT)

******

It started with the ringing of Villain’s phone. He wasn’t surprised to see Hero’s name pop up. He admired the too-small circle with her picture on it. It was impossible to tell by looking at the emblem, but Villain knew it was a picture from their first date.

To think it had been five years ago...

Villain’s picture on Hero’s phone had been a more recent photo, one from their engagement. An image of him kneeling with the classic black velvety case. It was warm the day of their engagement- Villain didn’t dare propose on a cold day; it would have led to an obvious refusal.

He used to joke that warmth was the only reason Hero even liked him. “You scorn me constantly,” Villain would tease. “You only like me because of the heat I so generously produce.”

“As if you have any control over it! You can’t help that you’re so warm, but it is definitely a plus,” she would ultimately agree.

Now, they were married- and, oh, hadn’t it been a dream? Looking for homes, buying a home, getting groceries, coming home to one another, holding each other at the end of the day. It was all Villain wanted in life, and for so long, it seemed impossible. Yet, here they were; her joyful face was beaming at his under the name ‘Love of my life’.

Answering the phone, Villain jokingly began, “Yes, honey, I remembered to get the bread and eggs.”

The voice that answered wasn’t Hero’s.

***

[sorushing]

Day 3!! - Braids

this was a quick attempt because I wasn’t happy with the art I did for this day at all :(

Hiccup guided Zephyr’s hands in her brother’s hair.

“Not too tight. That’ll hurt, Zeph.” He gently chastised.

Zephyr scrunched up her face, but obliged as the continued the small plait at the back of her brother’s hair.

Then, finally: “All done!” She proclaimed, a third plait in the back of her brother’s hair not completed; more haphazard than her parent’s.

“Good job, kiddo.” He patted her head as she scooted over, before palming her unbraided hair into her father’s hand.

“Didn’t your mother just -“ how had he not noticed that?

“I tried redoing it, but it won’t work.”

“Zeph.” He sighed, and tried to look disappointed. He failed when she stared at him with big blue eyes.

“What’s all this about - Oh, Zephyr. You’re a bit too little to do your hair.” Astrid said when she saw the scene.

“I know.” Zephyr pouted.

“It’s fine. The kids were very into doing their hair today.” He smiled at her.

“Says the man who looks like he was dragged through the undergrowths by a wild hog.”

“Do I?” He said in mock offence.

Astrid just shook her head with a snort and sat next to them, busying herself with her husband’s hair with a comb she’d whipped out of nowhere.

They remained there for a good while, in each others hair, miraculously long until finally some sort of disaster struck that warranted Hiccup having to rise and rush out -

“I didn’t finish Dad’s hair.” Zephyr said disappointedly as the chief rushed out with a tangled mess on the side of his head.

[ladye-zelda]

Ok, let’s play a game —

Send me a number between 1 and 30 and I’ll share a fic with that corresponding number

[clockwork-ashes]

i think it would be super interesting if eris fell in love with someone from the hewn city. like, eris is already going there for his meetings with keir, and for his alliance with the night court, and i love the idea of eris being with someone who’s a little vicious

[nani-nonny]

*winds up my fist like an old timey cartoon*

When I get these finals finished, these fics are going to be written

I have nothing to share *wink*

Nothing except maybe this future snippet for WDS :D (136 words)

;) ~

Hueso’s expression softened and he grabbed a pinch of salt, “I never thought I’d see the day you would have a kid. Just yesterday you were running around with your brothers laughing without a care.”

Hueso hands Leonardo a new bottle and adds, “Now, I’ve hardly seen you smile all day.”

Leonardo tapped Hueso’s bottle with his before taking a quick sip, “A lot happened.”

“So I’ve heard, Pepino.”

Leonardo stops the raised bottle from touching his lips, a wave of some type of grief or relief washing over him and he sets his bottle down. His fingers tighten around his bottle as he asks, “How much do you know?”

“From the look on your face, not enough.”

Leonardo sighs. “I…,” he tries to begin but remains silent as he tries to find the next words.

[stealingdeansgender]

(post 15x18)

Dean can barely open his eyes against the Bunker’s lights, so his room stays dark for much longer than it ever has. He had considered wasting away in his room all day, and maybe forever, if it weren’t for the fact that there’s an urgent world-ending trail on their asses. Again. This time, it’s with the wrath of a nosy fucking asshole God setting them up like puppets. It makes him completely ill to think about it, Chuck watching him waste away in that room in the wake of Castiel’s obliteration.

Why does this sound like a goodbye?, he’d said, already afraid. Don’t do this.

If Dean tries to open his eyes and stare at the crack in the door, light feebly shining from the Bunker’s hallway, he sees too much of himself. He sees the sliver of hope he’d had when Castiel returned the last time. He sees the tears gathering in the angel’s eyes, hears the crack in his voice as he said ‘You changed me, Dean’, and fuck – Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard Cas’ voice sound so fragile and open. 

I love you.

Don’t do this. 

I love you.

Don’t do this. 

Castiel sacrificed himself, and Dean’s voice was strangled in his throat before he even knew how to respond. 

If Dean were a younger man, still caught under the thumb of his father, he imagines that John would come through the door and throw some water on him to wake him up. Tug on his ear. Tell him that death happens, kid, there ain’t no way around it, in that haunted way he always did. John Winchester has no fucking room to judge him, he realizes in this blurry headspace, because he spent his entire life chasing down revenge for Mary’s death. Destroying everything in his wake, leading their childhoods on with loose threads.

Dean thinks he finally understands his anger, as much as he resents it; he understands Sam’s burning rage, hurt, sobs that he thought Dean couldn’t hear (but of course he could, Dean always knows, he raised the damn kid right through every tantrum and heartbreak). 

But then again – he doesn’t think John would offer him any mercy for wanting to say I love you back.

(Does he? Does he? 

In the name of the absent Father, the prodigal Son, and the Unholy Spirits, of fucking course he does.)

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

yay another snippet! this one is 's3/post canon roy meets s1 trent. oops'

[urwendii]

mairon and maedhros: we didn't do anything. we swear it on our combined 14 fingers.

eönwë, tired(tm): don't.

[messier-47]

Fanfic snippet that I lost all motivation to complete I'm so mad!

whatever. I'll post it here for y'all to enjoy though I forewarn that the end abruptly cuts off perhaps I'll get back to writing this eventually but rn i wanna have fun with something else.

Tags: Madara POV, Post-Konoha, Izuna-Lives, Murder-Mystery, Supernatural, uneditted, unbeta'd, unfinished

Title: still waters run deep

It was raining.

There was a fist pounding on the front door.

“Hashirama!” Madara called out impatiently, “Hashirama stop kissing your wife and open your goddamn door!”

Giving his friend a moment to answer, finally sensing his friend’s chakra signature migrate from deeper within the home to the front entrance way, Madara repositioned the bundle of scrolls in his arms, covered in an oilskin to keep dry under the summer downpour. On again, off again came down the rainshowers, him having caught a meer moment of respite to get from the Hokage Tower to his friend’s house where Hashirama had strangely hadn’t come in for work.

That wasn’t too odd. There was too much to do in their fledgling village of Konoha, most of the time both Hashirama and Madara spent their days running around to keep it all afloat, about a dozen city building projects currently underway and in need of at least some direction for it all to be completed cohesively. It was a pain in the ass and Madara sometimes thought it’d be better if there should be a singular person to take control of all the infrastructure decisions, especially when both Konoha Founders found themselves adrift at sea with no clue how to navigate the construction of a village that’s suppose to house more people than they were every prepared for.

The front door opened but only for Hashirama’s face to peer out, Madara’s friend oddly keeping himself hidden within his house.

“Hello!” he greeted, “What do you need?”

Rolling his eyes and ignoring his friend’s strangeness (were he and his wife having a moment? Whatever, it’s not like he hadn’t caught the Hokage and his wife before), Madara shoulder checked the door and bullied his way inside Hashirama’s residence. Luckily, it didn’t seem like he’d caught the other in another amorous mood since his clothes were still on and his wife wasn’t in the house judging by her chakra signature (however…what is that?), moving to the kitchen to dump the workload he shared.

“The new terms of the Haruno Trade Deal just came in this morning,” he quickly explained before going to open his friend’s cupboards to pour himself a cup of tea. Mito always had good tea in stock. “The Aburame have finalized the plot of land in which they want their compound, down at the southern lot and the Nara-Yamanaka-Akimichi all have brought up some rather interesting proposals as to how Konoha’s government could be set up. Took the liberty to have Hikaku take some notes which I think we’ll need to have a discussion cause they brought up some points that-”

“Uh, Madara,” Hashirama voiced, something nervous about his tone as he smiled at his long-time friend, “I thank you for bringing this all to me but I’m actually rather busy.”

Which was code for: get the fuck out my house.

Except Mito wasn’t around and there weren’t romantic flower petals in the hall or scented candles, which made the bro-code negligible.

He raised a brow, now actually noticing that something seemed a bit off about his friend. Hashirama was nervous but not distressed. He didn’t want Madara around but there wasn’t…hmmm how should he explain it? Something was troubling Hashirama but wasn’t bringing his concerns to either his best friend or his wife. Something concerning enough to push Madara out, probably wanting to get back to whatever he was dealing with immediately.

“Sure,” Madara said, fixing the cuff of his sleeves, a way for shinobi in deep cover would ask, ‘Status. Threat assessment.’ “The village isn’t gonna build itself. Try stopping by the Tower within the week.”

Hashirama’s eyes went wide upon seeing Madara’s shinobi signs, so startled that his eyes instinctively darted towards the living room.

That was a sure sign that something was off. Hashirama was a better shinobi than that, for his eyes to instantly betray him if the situation was tense enough for such juvenile mistakes.

Madara immediately turned and strode towards the living room, deeming whatever Hashirama wanted to hide not a subject matter that deserves his respect for privacy.

“No, wait! No!” Hashirama cried out, darting around the table to grab hold of him.

Too late.

Coming around the corner, Madara didn’t have to try hard to find what his friend was hiding. Because the person Hashirama was trying to hide stood tall and still in the middle of the room; the door to the outside garden open and like fate did the rain fall harder, like a calling card to the person who stared back at the Uchiha.

Tall.

Pale.

Young, so very young. Madara could hardly believe his eyes how young the other looked.

Wearing a set of broken armor, chipped blue paint barely clinging on now that the rust and dirt had eaten most of it. A familiar fur mantle over a set of thin shoulders, clumps of fur missing and tinted gray from grime.

Happuri missing, leaving nothing about the other’s face hidden behind a vernacular of a fierce warrior.

Not while the other’s skin was so pale that it tinted gray.

His lips a sickly color of blue and Madara would have run to fetch a blanket if foreknowledge didn’t freeze him in his place, staring at this impossible vision of Tobirama Senju standing in Hashirama’s livingroom looking just as he did five years ago.

Hashirama came into his peripheral vision, something raw and so defeated in his expression for him to realize that this was real.

This was not a genjutsu.

Or a hallucination.

“You should have just left,” Hashirama softly said, knowing that Madara wouldn’t be able to leave this alone now that he knew.

Because it’s been five years since Tobirama was last reported as missing.

***

Five years ago, the clans of Senju and Uchiha were at an impasse. There had been no headway to the war their forefathers had forced upon them and peace seemed unlikely.

The stuff of dreams.

Madara couldn’t remember the exact date in which a certain Senju stopped showing up to the Senju-Uchiha skirmishes and battles. There was no way for him to assern when, there was no need for a roll call and not every confrontation had every big name player coming out to the field (hell, even Izuna couldn’t be able to stay at Madara’s side, sometimes missions or other priorities calling him away). All he knew was that one day upon Hashirama and him throwing themselves into the firefight, his then counterpart would not bring up his usual drivel for peace, but an inquiry as to if the Uchiha had reports of Tobirama’s whereabouts.

Back then, he’d given off a simple, truthful answer of no, no Uchiha had seen hide nor hair of the infamous Senju Heir and he thought that was that.

But after the battle, he’d become completely aware that it wasn’t over.

The Senju started swarming out in hoards, combing through every inch of Fire Country from the very borders to the heart of Uchiha land! All in the search for the apparently missing Senju Heir.

Madara had done his own investigation, privately asking his own shinobi for any hints but no one knew anything. Not even Izuna’s spy network could get even a whisper of a singular entity with such recognizable features and a name worth that of a price. No one claimed him for hostage or bargain. No one claimed to have killed him or have discovered a body.

He’d simply vanished off the face of the earth.

Until now and Madara had a sinking suspicion as to what’d happened.

Hashirama too, would have the same conclusion.

Tobirama Senju sat before them both in perfect senza, his expression about as placid as still waters and nothing about him screamed the other was alive.

Cause he wasn’t.

What sat before them was a ghost. A yurei.

And someone who drowned to become one.

It was obvious how the young man died. The spirit was soaked. Literally dripping with water from an unending source. Hashirama had fetched a few towels for the spirit to sit on but the towels were soon drenched.

But…how could Tobirama, one of the strongest and fiercest suiton-natured shinobi Madara had ever come across, drown? It wasn’t unimaginable to have been an accident. However…it didn’t seem much of an accident to see the ring of bruises around the spirit’s throat. Someone had strangled him underwater until he drowned.

[humapuma]

This was inspired by a SuperBat post I cannot find. Please tag the original if you know who it is!

Steve tugged at his tie, though not enough to loosen it. He was still on the clock for another few minutes, so he searched the area for his target. There were at least a dozen other people searching for the same person and Steve wanted to get to him first.

Thankful for his enhanced hearing, he spun around and walked back toward the entrance, his recorder at the ready.

“Mr. Barnes,” he called, holding the device up. The brunette man turned to look at him and Steve had to shake off the way his avid eyes traveled up and down Steve’s body. “Mr. Barnes, a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

Barnes visibly tensed but kept his smile light. He was a professional; he’d been in the public eye for nearly his entire life, so Steve wasn’t surprised.

“Shoot,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you, sir,” Steve said, smiling. “Are you on a date tonight?”

Barnes cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. “No, not tonight.”

Even though he hated doing these puff pieces, it was work. Ever since coming out of the ice, he’d struggled to find meaning outside of the Avengers, which his teammates noticed. This, though, it kept him busy… something he desperately needed.

“Is that woman just a friend?” Steve asked but, before Barnes could even open his mouth to answer, loud voices surrounded them.

“What’s her name?” Another reporter asked. “Is it serious?”

“Mr. Barnes!”

“What about those rumors that you’ve been seeing a man?”

“What do you say to the rumors that you’re dating Iron Man?”

That last question caught Steve’s attention and he glanced over to find out who had asked it. Ah, he thought to himself as he recognized her. He’d never learned her name but knew she worked at one of those gossip magazines.

Not that he could judge her, since he was working on the exact same story.

“I’ve heard those rumors,” Barnes said and Steve turned back to him. “But I gotta say, if I were going to date a superhero, it wouldn’t be Iron Man. No offense, Tony Stark.” He chuckled at the addition.

“Who would you date?” Someone shouted and Steve held his recorder up higher.

“If I were going to date one of the Avengers,” Barnes said, drawing it out as if he were thinking hard about it.

Steve wondered who he’d rather date – Black Widow? Captain Marvel? No, more like, The Wasp.

Barnes finally finished, “It would probably be Captain America.”

Steve’s face reddened and his breath hitched but he forced himself to maintain his gaze. “Mr. Barnes,” he said, feeling shock at the strength in his voice, “can you elaborate on your desire to date Captain America?”

Barnes laughed. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “whichever one of you convinces Captain America to join me for a date – let’s say, this Saturday night at my place – I’ll give you an exclusive interview about it.”

With that, he waved and turned away, ignoring the camera flashes and screaming questions.

All Steve could do was smile.

[hawnks]

The computer thing sucks! That must be so annoying (luckily for me, my 6-years-old-laptop with missing keys works pretty well!)

Anyway, yes you can play a bard! I think you can play pretty much all dnd classes. And tav is the suggested name for your character but it's not a title or anything in the game (I think, but I'm still in act 1).

And yeah, I love to kingdom come I have read it quite a few times! The sharing oranges thing and the childhood friends pining were amazing! (And the sharing bed scene was to die for) Moreover, Shinsou was just amazing and swoon-worthy (though your Shinsou in the emotions-through-touch-quirk one was really good too).

Have a good day/night!

I am rooting for your six year old computer she can do it I BELIEVE IN HER💪

[heartofspells]

(i thought this would be finished by now, but it’s not, so oh well. have a snippet instead)

Is this a follow-up to one of my Cruel Summer Fest fics written instead from Sirius’ POV? Possibly. yes Is it inspired by another song (but not t swift)? Maybe. yes 

Here, have some!

"Why didn't you tell us?" asks Sirius after a while, and Remus releases as sigh, like he'd been waiting, anticipating.

"Dunno," he mumbles, one arm reaching up and pushing under his head, cradling it in his elbow. Sirius doesn't have to see it to know those brown waves of his are spilling over his skin like sunlit waterfalls. "S'not really an easily accepted thing yet, is it? People are still…unkind. Judgmental. Suppose I was trying to avoid that."

Sirius hums a little. "We wouldn't have judged. You know that."

"I know," comes the soft reply. "I don't know why I never said. Think I was scared. I shouldn't have been."

Sirius sits with those words for a while, puzzling over them, sorting through them in the jumbled chaos that's his own head. They make a terrifying sort of sense.

"Think I might be too."

"What?"

Sirius chews on the inside of his cheek. "Bent." Then he huffs, the sound turning to a long sigh. "Gay. Think I might be gay."

Remus is silent for a time, and Sirius resists the urge to squirm. "Why didn't you tell us?" he echoes eventually, tone light, almost teasing. It eases something in Sirius from saying the words, finally.

"Dunno," mutters Sirius. "Think I'm still…figuring it out."

Remus doesn't say anything in response, and they remain still for a long time. Sirius stares intently upwards, eyes fixed on the red draping fabric, trying to sort it all out in his head, though he thinks maybe he's already reached where he needs to be. Then he feels the light brush of skin over his own, fingers wrapping around his forearm. Remus still doesn't speak, but there's the squeeze of pressure that doesn't relent for several seconds, and something about it relaxes Sirius completely. He falls asleep in Remus' bed that night.

Things go back to normal after that, or as normal as they ever are for the foursome of friends that seem to constantly search out chaos and calamity with every breath they take. Remus pushes Sirius to study and Sirius ignores him. Sirius drags Remus outside for sunlight and fresh air. Remus grumbles under his breath. Everything is good and right.

Except…

Except Sirius can't stop thinking about it. He stares at his homework and sees that hand disappearing down the front of Remus' trousers. He throws a roll at James across the dinner table and he hears that deep, gruff, enticed voice echoing through his ears. He lays in bed at night when the rest of the school is quiet except for snores and mumbled words filled with heavy sleep and he pictures those lust-blown eyes fixed on him, imagines those kiss-swollen, red lips speaking his name in whispers and gasps, needful pleas falling from a lazy, wet tongue Sirius wants to suck between his teeth.

Sirius spends a lot more time with his hand shoved down his own trousers until he's forced to admit maybe this isn't just idle curiosity, but something. But he never speaks to it, never makes comment. He watches Remus disappear with a bloke here, another there. It's never many, but at some point, they always seem to change while Sirius remains the same, telling himself he's not pining after one of his best friends, but pining all the same.

At the beginning of their last year, Remus finally lets it out, stops hiding it away from those surrounding them. He seems happier for it, and while a few people make comments, most don't seem to care. James and Sirius shut the mouths of those that do.

Remus becomes more vocal about who he's seeing. They invade their gatherings, those intimate times when Sirius had once been able to stare at Remus nearly unhindered. That changes. Sirius learns to control himself, just a little. Eventually, he settles into his own stuff sneaking around, finding his own bits of fun and exploration, but he always circles back round to brown waves and brown eyes and chapped, half-raw lips from where Remus gnaws on them while reading.

The first true boyfriend – a word that still sounds a bit odd in Sirius' head – Remus has lasts for two months. Sirius sits around and watches them, studying the bloke closely, searching out flaws. There are many. Sirius keeps a list. He never shows it to Remus. And eventually, they part ways. That's when it happens, that thought surging up for the first time.

This is it.

Sirius can already feel the other's skin under his fingertips. He can taste the sweetness of his tongue in his mouth, can smell the citrus shampoo Remus uses from his nose pressing into those soft, flowing waves. Sirius is already living it clearly, his name filling his own ears even as Remus' tumbles from his parted, anxious lips. It's going to happen. Now Remus will finally look up and see all that Sirius is carefully trying to hide away. He'll find those secrets, uproot them, shine his light on them, dazzle Sirius until he's blind with it.

But he doesn't.

Sirius waits patiently, and then impatiently. He waits until Remus doesn't show for dinner one night, and when Sirius and the others finally stumble across him, he's otherwise engaged in the dark corner of a corridor, another tongue that doesn't belong to Sirius searching out the secrets of his throat.