#but! the silver lining is i have now been reminded to work on this wip. so maybe it'll get 10 words added by the end of the year. we'll see

[scorpioriesling]

Dangerous Woman (pt 2)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warnings: ehh… none

Summary: Now that Eris is finally ready to confront his feelings, will reader do the same?

SR’s Note: My apologies for the wait! I have so many WIPs, requests, multi-part series, etc. right now. I appreciate your patience & continued support <3 Tags: @lilah-asteria @infintyfandoms @peachcontour-blog

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The soda water is a relief to your pounding headache as the morning progresses, a constant reminder of the night before and just how much alcohol you’d consumed. If not for the headache, the state you were in would surely give it away; smeared makeup, ratty ponytail, the works. Thankfully, you’d rested in your own bed last night, Eris being the gentleman he is escorted you home after your… well…

That in itself was a reminder.

You couldn’t help but smile just a little bit, even though you knew today you’d have to face up to what had happened. It wasn’t the part about wondering if Eris would return his feelings — he’d all but laid them out on a silver tray for you last night. However, would said feelings change when he found out how you’d manipulated him into thinking you were someone else for a sexual experience? Well, yes. That part was rather terrifying.

Usually you’d feel heavier than a ton of bricks trying to drag yourself from bed, but this morning it’s the hope in your heart lulling you to the shower and quickly to your vanity to allot extra time for your primping before work. You knew you’d see him today, you had to be sure you were ready and obviously looked your best. Not that you’d been out drinking and, well, having sex with him the night prior.

Your burgundy milkmaid dress was simplistic but flattering, dipping low enough but not too low to anger the High Lord. Tying a ribbon to match in your curled ponytail and touching up your lip gloss once more, you set off for the Autumn Palace.

ﾟ:* ✧

“These need to be filed immediately.” Beron’s voice was flat as he plopped another hefty stack of papers onto your desk in the East Wing of the Palace. He only so much as glanced at you, making to move from your office without so much as further instruction. You nod quickly, the Lady of Autumn catching your eye from the doorway as she followed him out.

“Thank you,” she mouthed. You nodded your head politely at her, earning you a kind smile in return, one that reminded you so much of her oldest son. Speaking of…

The clock on the wall read half past three, and you hadn’t seen him all day. Usually you’d at least see him during your lunch hour as you’d stroll through the gardens, sitting under an oak tree for a quick chat or catch him passing your office a few times a day. Come to think of it, he didn’t have much need to be in the East Wing, but you’d at least find him passing by your office once if not twice a day.

Sighing, you move quick work of the record keeping, signing and dating the records and filing them into the correct folder drawers lining the walls. You tried to focus on your work, you only had thirty minutes before you were to leave, but you hoped to finish early and maybe find Eris somewhere. He had to be around, where else would he go?

Your mind wandered to last night, the way his hands felt on you, his lips, how beautiful he looked bathed in the moonlight…

You stop yourself, halting from filing a record in an incorrect folder. You shake your head, ponytail swinging side to side. Let’s just get through this, you think, turning back to your work.

ﾟ:* ✧

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when you shove the last file away, and you practically race from the office, locking it hastily and bounding down the long marble hallway toward the central courtyard. Your eyes dance from left to right, no one in sight inside or beyond the windows. All that is heard are the pattering of your maroon flats as you continue your hasty path toward the West Wing — the family chambers. If he wasn’t in the East Wing, the gardens, the offices, even the central courtyard, he must be in the West Wing.

You skid to a halt when you hear a conversation becoming louder and louder, the High Lord of Autumn’s familiar angry tone increasing in volume as you continue down the hallway. The last thing you need is to be caught, especially near the family’s quarters after hours. You make a split second decision, veering right down an unfamiliar hallway and pushing through the large wooden door at the end of it.

Your eyes squint at the afternoon sun blinding your vision, and taking a deep breath, your nose furrows at the pasture smell you’ve come upon. Taking in your surroundings, you realize you’ve left the palace, running right outside to the horse stables in the back. You glance around, noticing the large barn in front of you and not a soul in sight. Taking a few exasperated steps inside, into the shaded barn, you let out a loud sigh and sag your shoulders.

“What the FUCK!” You shout, a soft neigh coming from a stall in the distance. You bury your face in your palms, the weight of the day finally sinking in and your longing feeling all too heavy. You didn’t want to wait, you’d waited too long for this, been a coward too many times over to keep waiting. Now it was simply because you couldn’t find the male-

“Y/N?” A soft voice from behind you questions. You immediately straighten, your arms falling to your sides at the recognition. You turn slowly, heavy footsteps drawing nearer by the second.

“Y/N, are you,” Eris’s fingers lightly grace your exposed shoulder and you literally jump at the contact, causing him to retract immediately. His eyes search yours, his face the portrait of concern at your unusual attitude towards him.

“My Gods, Y/N — are you alright?” He asks softly. You face him, your mouth only opens to speak and you close it, unsure what to say.

“I… um…” You try. He reaches for you again, but thinks better of it, curling his fingers into a fist and dropping his hand.

“My dearest friend have I,” he swallows, unfurling his fingers to twist the silver ring on his index finger nervously. “Have I done something wrong?” He asks. Your eyes widen, and you take his hands in yours. His gaze flicks toward the contact, but your focused on his face.

“No! Oh Gods no Eris, never,” you assure. His whisky irises meet yours again, brow furrowed in uncertainty as his thumbs delicately trace across the backs of your palms.

“Well then, what has you so upset?” He asks. His tone, the honestly in it just breaks your heart in two. You knew this would be hard, but standing before him, before your Eris, the male you’d loved so long… admitting your truth would be the hardest thing you’d ever done.

But, it had to be done.

“I… I didn’t see you. Today.” You begin. He smiles a little, the corner of his mouth tilting upward as his gaze fixates on your delicate fingers still sitting in his.

“…I didn’t know you’d been looking for me.” He says after a moment’s pause.

“I was,” You continue. “I had… a matter. To discuss, with you I mean.” You stammer. His eyes drift toward yours once more, gazing at you through his half lids.

“Mhm… and that matter was?” He prods. You sigh, pulling your hands from his grasp and turning from him. You pace, taking a few steps and then turning back toward him once more.

“What’s so important you can’t talk to me about? Come now, we’ve been friends for…” he tilts his head. “Well, forever, anyway.” He shrugs. You meet his gaze again, and he scoffs looking away. “Unless you came to tell me you dropped the male you’ve courted, I can only await the day-“

“I never courted a male, Eris.” It comes out more forcefully than you’d like, but it has him peering at you once more in confusion.

“What are you talking about.” His voice has dropped an octave. He doesn’t ask — he demands. Heat creeps up your neck, all the words in your head feeling like the milky substance of the Cauldron, bubbling, bubbling…

Bubbling over.

“I never had a male to begin with Eris, I only said that because I was doing things to try and get your attention, because every time I would think I was getting close with you, you’d shut me out so I made it up-“

“Stop.” His voice halts your rambling. The short red locks of his hair fall to his forehand as he shakes his head slowly, eyes downcast toward the ground below. “Just… stop.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep it from trembling. You were sure he was going to banish you from speaking to him ever again, and you hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

“Eris, I… there’s more-“

“I slept with someone last night.” He interjects. You raise your eyebrows at his interruption, and his apologetic gaze meets yours after what feels like an eternity. “I went to a brothel. And I slept with another female.”

You only stare blankly at him. “Eris, that’s… you’re allowed to bed whomever you please-“

“Not when I’m so madly in love,” he steps forward, grasping your hands once more and holding them close to his chest. Your breath hitches, his eyes searching yours for any answers. “I’m in love, Y/N. I have been for a very long time, I think.” Your bottom lip quivers and you allow it, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as the moment you’d only ever dreamed of was finally happening right before you.

“Then why push me away for so long?” You whisper. Eris’s face falls slightly, but his hands slowly snake their way around your arms and down your back.

“I wouldn’t live if anything ever happened to you Y/N,” he says, leaning in closer. One tear falls as you gaze hopefully into his eyes, and he wipes it away with his thumb. “You know how my father is. He’d destroy anything I hold most dear to my heart.” He swallows thickly, and his nose bumps yours gently. One hand rests on your waist, the other still cupping your cheek as his thumb gently brushes over the skin.

Inch by inch, he pulls you closer, eyes fluttering closed when his soft lips finally touch yours again. This feels different, this kiss is so soft, so tender and full of love. You can’t help but allow a few stray tears fall, parting your lips to keep kissing Eris as your hands find their way to his shoulders. He holds you close to him, only pulling away to come up for air a few minutes later.

It’s quiet, the only sounds that are heard are your shared breaths and the fidgeting of the mares in their stalls around you. He gazes down at you, resting his forehead on yours before he shakes his head and chuckles. You can’t help but smile up at him.

“What is funny?” You ask. He sighs, pulling back a bit to run his gaze over your face, down your neck and over your chest.

“I’m but a fool for not realizing it sooner,” he mutters, still shaking his head. You only raise an eyebrow.

“Realizing… that we could have been together much sooner if you’d just allowed me in before now?” You tease. He looks skyward, contemplating.

“Perhaps,” he suggests. “Or, realizing the beautiful female who sits behind a desk all day is actually quite the little performer after hours,” your cheeks heat at his accusation — the realization that he’s finally figured it all out.

“Isn’t that right, bunny?” Your jaw drops dumbly, and he tuts.

“Ohhh bunny,” he purrs lowly, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Don’t leave your mouth open like that unless you want me to put something in it.” You close your mouth, eyes wide at his bold choice of words outside the confines of a private room. His hand has begun tracing idle circles through the fabric of your dress at your waist.

“Eris… I was going to tell you-“

“Doesn’t matter. Figured it out anyway.” He shrugs, his other hand moving to cup your cheek once more as his amber eyes bore into yours.

“Right now I’d rather you use those pretty lips to kiss me again anyway.”

ﾟ:* ✧

[buckera]

Wip Wednesday ☔️

Tagged and tagging @diazsdimples @theotherbuckley @exhuastedpigeon @nmcggg @disasterbuckdiaz @ladydorian05 @daffi-990 and my lovelies @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns mwuah mwuah💛💛

Guess what, guys? The first chapter of the mudslide fic is getting posted tomorrow! Which is just so unbelievable to me?? Despite posting 10 fics prior to this one, it was the first fic I started writing for this ship and I've been working on it (on and off) since september and now here we are... absolute bonkers if you ask me.

Now, I know there are like 4 people who are actually interested in this fic – and that's fine, honestly –, but I for one am very excited. So I thought I'd give you guys a longer snippet for today. I actually shared parts of this scene in like 3 different instalments from both of their povs lmao but this one is from chapter one so you'll get the full(ish) picture tomorrow.

“Eddie, a-are you sure you’re alright?” “Yeah, sorry. I guess I’m just tired.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Eddie, if there’s something going on, you have to tell me.” “There’s nothing going on, I promise.” Buck raised his eyebrows challengingly and as it had so many times before, it made Eddie sigh in defeat. “It’s. It’s the weather.” He gave in with a heavy sigh and it didn’t quite stop Buck from frowning, but he had to admit, it made sense. It’s been raining for over two weeks now as a storm came to California and Buck would be lying if he said that it didn’t affect him in any way, but he was handling it. The only thing he didn’t account for was that maybe Eddie wasn’t. “Hey, it’s okay.” Buck stepped closer and for some reason Eddie was avoiding his gaze now, so he didn’t stop walking until they were standing toe to toe, the proximity forcing his eyes back onto Buck’s face. “Look. This?” He pulled the neckline of his shirt aside to show Eddie more of the scarring over his neck and chest. “This is a reminder that I pulled through.” He knew what kind of marks a lighting strike could leave on someone’s body, but he never really got to see his own. By the time he woke up from his coma, the patterns were gone — unlike the painful and itchy blisters that took over their place; they lasted for nearly two months and despite all the cold compresses and cooling gels, they still left a hefty amount of scar tissue behind, in the shape of abstract lines and ragged edges. Eddie reached out and traced some of the lines above his collarbone with his fingers and Buck couldn’t help but let his eyes flutter shut for a second with the softness of his touch. The pads of his fingers were warm as they brushed over the shiny silver lines and patches, yet Buck could still feel goosebumps build on his forearms and thighs with every microinch he covered. Suddenly, Eddie’s fingers were gone, pulled away abruptly, almost as if they got burned by the contact, leaving his hand to float in the air between them aimlessly. “Sorry.” Eddie whispered and they were just so close. All the what ifs have started to murmur in the back of Buck’s skull with renewed vigor, buzzing like radio static behind his eyes, begging to be turned up for clarity. “Eddie I—” “It’s okay, Buck.” He flattened his palm over Buck’s heart, only the thin layer of his shirt separating them now. “Thank you, for this.” Eddie patted his chest and stepped back, leaving Buck dumbfounded as to what exactly just happened.

[violetlunette]

Silver looked at Idia, who jumped. His actions and gaze reminded Silver of the rabbits back home. Silver did his best to make himself unintimidating as possible but realized this may be difficult. He had often been told that while he looked handsome, he sadly had a “resting bitch face.”

“Any advice?” he asked the senior Slayer. As Idia looked away, his gaze dropped to the ground. His expression was mournful, eyes distant and clouded. When he spoke, his voice was hollow, empty of all emotion.

“...Don’t die,” he said after an anticipating few moments. Everyone around Silver let out their mumbles of disapproval.

“That’s it?” a red-haired boy boomed next to Silver, gray eyes narrowed in disapproval. He parted his lips to go on, but Idia cut him off, words sharp.

“Yes. That’s it. Don’t die,” The Phantom Slayer affirmed. Whereas his voice had been emotionless, there was now a heavy bitterness. Each word was drenched in it and dripped like poison.

Hate joined the acid tone, almost tearing it as Idia became bolder and louder, as if desperate to make them understand.

“Whatever you have to do to live, do it. Even if that means running or being a coward. Hell, sacrifice the others if you have to! Being a hero here will NOT help you. In fact, that’s the first thing that will get you all killed. In this line of work, heroism is a death sentence. Your job is to kill Phantoms—not to save people. If you can’t understand that—then you’re already dead.” Everyone stared at the man, wide-eyed, unable to respond. Once the words were out, Idia’s shoulders dropped. His golden eyes closed, his expression returning to a neutral state as all emotion left him once again.

With a sigh, he turned away, tablet pressed tight against his chest.

“There’s your advice,” Idia repeated as he left them to their fates. “Don’t die.”

--

Another Snippet to my WIP, which I'm calling Phantom Slayer. It's a an AU heavily based on Demon Slayer, where Lilia becomes a Phantom and Silver's trying to find a way to cure him along with Malleus and Sebek. I hope you all will read it when it's posted!

[simplegenius042]

WIP Wednesday and Last Line Paragraph + Music Monday

Tagged by @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @inafieldofdaisies @josephseedismyfather and @socially-awkward-skeleton

Tagging @shallow-gravy @strangefable @strafethesesinners @deputy-morgan-malone @derelictheretic @wrathfulrook @voidika @onehornedbeast @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @neverthesameneveranother @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @chazz-anova @a-rose-in-a-garden-of-weeds @snake-in-the-garden @jillvalentinesday @minilev @g0dspeeed @ec-10 @henbased @inafieldofdaisies @ladyoriza and @nightbloodbix

[Update: If anyone saw an @ for ladyofeden’s-blog on this it’s because this WIP was made before the thieves had been exposed. I only just realised her former blog was on it and now has been taken off]

Here's two WIPs (well one WIP + a last line) for Silva's Hope and The True Sinners from Far Cry The Silver Chronicles PLUS some music.

Here's Silva's introduction to Jacob's right-hand man, Alexander Khaos in Silva's Hope. Also Jess is here. Reminder that this is still under a lot of work, so this scene may or may not change in the near future. Enjoy the snippet below:

Silva stood up, giving the Whitetail corpse one last glance up and down, turning to face Jess.

Bow and arrow still in hand, but her focus shifted from the foliage to the deputy, the young and vengeful huntress regarded her with little more than pursed lips and a raised brow as she jerked her head over to the unfortunate Whitetail.

"Is he the one Eli is searching for?" she questioned, looking the mutilated corpse up and down, not batting an eye at the dried blood that soaked the Whitetail.

Silva herself kept a steady face, though the desire to show her disgust towards the barbaric display was no less prevalent. It reminded her of the methods of executions back on the Archipelagos; needlessly cruel to send a message.

"Yeah, he fits the description Eli gave," she looked over to the corpse once more, frown unseen by Jess, "At least from what I can discern."

"You see what we mean now? Jacob's a sick fuck, much like the rest of his asshole siblings," Jess spat out, sneering at the display, "They preach about how they want to "save" people and "free" us from our so called sins. Then they go an pull shit like this, or worse, let psychopaths like the Cook burn families alive. Fucking liars."

Something they have in common with the Congregation, Silva noted, remembering all the propaganda that spewed out the need of servitude and duty of men and women, all strewn around the Overcity and the Minas, all brushing aside the rampant beatings, false persecution and execution of Tumultites and sympathizers alike.

It seemed the more time she spent here, the more unpleasant Joseph and his cult became. She wondered how long it would take until she discovered something truly unacceptable. Would it make a difference if she called Joseph out on it? Probably not, she reasoned, Prophets are only focused on the glory they get from preaching "God's Will". Anything else is just a means to get to that end.

She exhaled roughly, dashing away further thought as her left arm ached. Though her rescue from John's envoy thanks to Jerome was only a couple days ago, the aches from the crash did not cease, her left arm feeling the worst. Her right arm was more lucky, thankfully.

Kamski's scolding was still fresh on her mind. If it was up to him, he would have locked them both in his clinic while the war raged on. Sedate her if he had to. But both knew that as long as one of her limbs was not too damaged, she would still go on to fight.

What a miracle her right arm was just as good with a gun as her left.

"We should head back. Eli and Wheaty would want the news-"

An arrow cut past Jess' hood and struck Silva in the leg. The Deputy could only stare at the arrow protruding from her leg, and looked to the trees.

She noticed movement from the branches and pointed them out to Jess as she tried to call out. But her voice slurred, no coherent word coming out right, and the familiar sparkles that belonged to Bliss engulfed her vision.

Jess had turned her back to face the trees, bow and arrow at the ready, though Silva stumbled and fell onto her back as the world diluted into a realm of colors and butterflies.

She could barely hear what Jess was shouting, though a massive thud that sounded like an earthquake shook the Earth gave her most coherent thoughts an indication that her companion was out of commission.

Still fighting for consciousness, Silva heard the echoes of crunched leaves and commands.

Above her, a new figure looked down on her, a man with brown hair and dark hazel eyes with flecks of gray. His attire was that of which the Chosen wore, though he lacked the red hood, and his vest shirt was black, with his sleeveless overcoat a dark gray. He smirked, shaking his head as he spoke.

"Salutations to you Deputy, you were quite a struggle to find," he greeted, his imitation of a southern accent quite noticeable even when Blissed, "Thankfully Eli just couldn't let go of a chance to rescue one of his own. Don't worry, that fella was dead before we hacked up his corpse. Unpleasant work but it needed to attract your attention."

He knelt down get a closer look at her, his fingers tracing stroking the healed scratches on her cheek. She shuddered involuntarily from the contact, which felt numb and yet made her stomach recoil from the cold in his hands. He stopped his inspection upon noticing this, eyes softening before becoming stoic once more, thankfully retracting his hand.

"I'm surprised you're still conscious. By now most would have succumbed to the Bliss, which I'm sure you will shortly. Some tolerance you have there," he kept his eyes on her, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered, curiosity clearly piqued, "I'm sure Jacob will be pleased to know."

Silva tried to reply, tell this Chosen to go "fuck off" or some variation, but her tongue felt like weight on her mouth, and her eyes started to shut as the sky got brighter.

The Chosen watched this, his smirk returning as he stood up, then groaned as softly smacked his head, "Forgotten my manners yet again! Now, you better remember this, Deputy, because you're going to see me a lot more than you think. Name's Alexander Khaos."

"And Jacob's been dying for a talk with ya," Alexander's distorted voice revealed as Silva's thoughts were shrouded in the desire to close her eyes. And she found no reason to protest any longer as darkness started to consume her vision.

Here's a Last Paragraph for The True Sinners. View the start of a terrible beautiful friendship between Kamski and Tammy. Paragraph(s) below.

[Kamski] leaned over the small kiddie pool, the water slightly tinted pink from whatever blood managed to get into the water. Untied rope still tethered to the pool's edge, likely to be used to tie prisoner's feet into the water. A wooden chair stood strong in the middle, though Kamski would have preferred it to be something stronger... like metal. Though wood was a step up from plastic. The unused ECT device on the table caught his attention, the face cloth that laid next to it. Tammy stared at him from the doorway, arms crossed as she inspected his movements.

Weary, ruthless and not afraid to get dirty? Where was she on the archipelagos? Kamski thought to himself, thoroughly impressed with her station. Turning to her, he questioned with amusement, "A kiddie pool?"

Tammy blinked at him, unbothered by the question, just shrugged with undeterred confidence. Kamski snorted, and looked back to the what was essentially a large plastic tub. "Quite a humiliating way to go... more than I could ever do back in my homeland anyway," he commented in praise, envisioning an Enforcer tied the very chair Kamski stared at, face covered with a wet cloth as he screamed from the shocks coursing throughout his body. Begging right up until he was completely fried. Oh, what Kamski would have traded to see Lapis in such a state.

And lastly a song for Far Cry The Silver Chronicles. A rather sensual one between John Seed and Nadi Sinclair.

"Use the sleeves on my sweater Let's have an adventure Head in the clouds but my gravity's centered Touch my neck and I'll touch yours You in those little high-waisted shorts, oh

She knows what I think about And what I think about One love, two mouths One love, one house No shirt, no blouse Just us, you find out Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

And if I may just take your breath away I don't mind if there's not much to say Sometimes the silence guides our minds To move to a place so far away The goosebumps start to raise The minute that my left hand meets your waist And then I watch your face Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love the taste, yeah These hearts adore Everyone the other beats hardest for Inside this place is warm Outside it starts to pour

Coming down One love, two mouths One love, one house No shirt, no blouse Just us, you find out Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no, no, no Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater.

Cause it's too cold, for you here and now So let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater.

Whoa."

[oh-austin]

i'm begging of you (austin butler)

summary: in which your boyfriend, timothee, is jealous of your newfound friendship with your co-star, austin.

ask / prompt: Hi! could u write a fic to the song 'Jolene' By Dolly Parton. One where y/n is a famous actress starring in Elvis, and we are dating Timothee Chalamet. Recently she's been getting really close to Austin, like really close, and like Timothee is Dolly and Austin is Jolene.

authors note / warnings: mentions of lack of trust in relationship, break-ups, infidelity! this was the most requested wip! taken inspiration from high infidelity by taylor swift for this one as well as jolene just because I can't write angst to save my life. I hope you all like it!

────── ∘◦❀◦∘

You could've sworn that he was keeping count, holding every little encounter you had with Austin against you. The first time you came home late after seeing him, you posting 'too much' with him at rehearsal and the accusation you were sleep-talking about him. You found it all a little childish. You had to remind yourself that Timothee came from a place of love and insecurity, that he just needed reassurance now that you were working so closely with Austin; but sometimes you couldn't find it in yourself.

Timothee knew he was turning into tortured soul in a loveless relationship. The three words now feeling empty when you spoke them to him. He wondered where you were on nights that you were home late and wouldn't mention anything. When he wasn't home, he barely received any text messages keeping him up to date with your comings and goings. He didn't want to be controlling and ask, but he also didn't want to have to seek it out from you. That wasn't the relationship he entered.

The shift between you both was recent, it was still fresh. Timothee knew when everything changed and you did too, because you didn't want to admit it, so you would say it softly in your head. It was when you first met Austin.

Table reads, rehearsing lines, time consuming and sleep-eating. You and Austin were spending majority of your time together pre-production, working together to create the chemistry that the audience would crave on the silver screen. You told yourself that you were dedicating yourself to Austin for the film and the film only. You were a dirty liar, you found solace in him.

Timothee knew that you were falling out of love. He could feel it. He was beginning to feel like you weren't loving him enough, that your focus was elsewhere- and he knew it was. It seemed to always be on Austin.

Part of him understood, his dirty blonde hair contrasted from his own dark locks so intensely. Austin was the sunshine, while he was a raincloud. He looked so intriguing, he had women flocking over him- that is the part he didn't understand. Austin could have any woman he wanted, why did he feel the need to siphon you from him.

He contemplated bringing it up with him, saying something that would make him stop. He couldn't find it in himself though. But Timothee knew that Austin would never understand what you meant to him. Austin would never understand the nights Timothee spent crying after he heard your lips utter another man's name in your sleep.

His heart slowly shattered as his chest was filled with insecurity, it was as if you had just recited a list of why he wasn't enough, and why Austin was.

You were home late again. Timothee knew your call-times, you were home two hours after you had wrapped for the day; and he knew exactly who you had been with. There was silence when you came through the front door. What once would've been calls of 'I'm home' and whispers of 'I love you', was simply nothing anymore.

"I need to ask you something," You knew it was coming, you knew for weeks now. It was only a matter of time before Timothee finally got sick of your shit and spoke up.

"Okay," You nodded, trying to remain as casual as you could, "What is it?" Maybe you could run now? Leave and never come back.

"You need to be honest with me," Timothee hadn't met your eyes yet, you knew why he hadn't, "I think I deserve that," He was right. He deserved that and so much more; more than you. You were a weak little girl who would decide which toy she wanted to play with in the morning.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, "Okay" You nodded.

"Are you cheating on me?"

There it was.

You let your thoughts scatter themselves around your brain. Ways to cover your own ass, ways to lie, ways to confess the truth to him. Tell him the truth. Sweet sweet Timmy. You didn't want to lie, but you couldn't break his heart the way you knew you would have to.

"What? No" You scoffed.

"Do you like Austin?" He shot back at you. He was being more upfront, maybe he would leave you before you could confess. You hoped he would.

"Timmy, we're just-"

He cut you off, "Friends? Colleagues?" He laughed, "Tell me please because I'm not sure anymore!"

"You're being silly" You tried to deescalate, you really tried. You knew it wasn't going to work.

"No, no I'm not," He finally looked over at you from his place across the room, "I'm losing my girlfriend to some guy I don't even know!" There were tears in his eyes. Threatening him with every word he spoke to fall. You couldn't see him cry, your mistakes would finally be real if he cried in front of you.

"Timothee please, you're not losing me," You whispered to him.

You were faced with his silence again. These days it was becoming more deafening. When he wasn't talking, you were left with the whispers of your actions. You hated what you had done, but you couldn't help yourself. Austin was intoxicating.

"You were talking about him again," His first tear fell. You were beginning to panic now.

"You have to stop making these things up just to find things to fight about," You tried to uselessly defend yourself, "I don't sleep-talk!" You do.

"Yes, yes you do!" Timothee stood up from the couch, not being able to contain himself anymore. He was fighting a losing battle and you both knew it. "You do it when you're stressed. You also fold the laundry messily and forget to drink water unless it's sitting in front of you. I know these things, he doesn't!"

"Oh my god, Timothee please," You sighed.

"No! This is serious, you're lying to me every day. I know you like him, I would just rather you come out and tell me instead of hiding it" He was yelling now, begging you for the truth. He came over to where you sat and got down on his knees in front of you. Grabbing your hands, he brought them to his lips as he whispered, "Y/N, Please".

As you took in his appearance, you saw just how much this had been tearing him apart. He looked tired, scared. You had done this to him. You never deserved him.

"He's just- He's just different," You whispered, taking his hands in yours. "I'm really sorry," You started to cry. Timothee took his hands away from your, letting them go.

"You don't really get to say you're sorry right now," He stood back up, sniffing away his tears.

"Timmy-"

"Please, don't!" He turned back around to face you, his entire being defeated. "Like, Y/N-" He sighed- "I know I can't compete with him, but I thought after everything that we've had you would at least tell me that you didn't want to be together anymore"

"I do!" You lied, standing up.

"No, no you don't" He walked over to you, "And the worst part is that I understand it," He nodded. "I understand why you would want to be with him. Austin, he's-" He shook his head, his brain flooding with images of his perfect smile and warm skin- "He's exciting and good looking. He's got a great voice and he's talented and he's the kinda guy that you want in life and I know that because I remember how you acted when you fell in love with me," He held your gaze, but there was no passion anymore. It was all gone. "I can see it, Y/N," He was finished.

"What do you want me to say?" You shrugged, "You wanna hear how I lied? How he makes me feel?" You were at a loss for words really, you couldn't stand listening to your own voice anymore.

"I want the truth, Y/N!" He cried.

"The truth is that Austin really makes me feel-" You sighed, searching for the right thing to say- "I don't know.. alive? That sounds so stupid and I'm sorry" You shook your head, you had failed this sweet boy.

"It's not stupid" He whispered, "I know that feeling, it's how you make me feel" He admitted. You closed your eyes, letting more tears stream down your face.

"Timmy, I'm sorry" You held his face in your hands, trying to tell him you knew you had messed up.

"I get it" He whispered, closing his eyes and letting you hold him one last time, "Really, I do. I can't compete with him, Y/N. I really can't," He shook his head. "He's great," Timothee opened his eyes and brought himself out of your hold, "Good luck with the rest of the movie, Y/N" He held your hand and put it back down at your side. "I don't know if I'll see it when you're done, but I'm sure you'll be great. You always are," He nodded, turning away and walking towards the front door.

"Don't go-" You cried.

"I have to, I have to go" He tried his best to turn back around to look at you.

"Can we please talk for a second?" You followed him, grabbing his hand softly. You let him pull away from you. You knew that there wasn't anything else you could say to him that would fix what you had done.

"There's not much more to say and I think you know that," He was right, you did. "I'll come get my stuff tomorrow while you're out and then I'm gonna go back to New York,"

"Okay," You nodded, "Are you sure you can't stay? Even for a little bit?" You already knew his answer.

"Completely sure" He opened the front door. Timothee didn't let himself turn back to look at you, for fear he would crumble and stay by your side. "Bye, Y/N" He whispered, closing the front door behind him.

There you stood, alone in your living room. You let yourself break apart from your own selfish actions. Nothing could excuse what you had done.

Timothee stood on the front step for a moment, letting the cruel reality set in. Austin had taken you, even after he had begged to keep you. He understood it though, he would never be Austin.

[ma1dmer]

listened to too much london after midnight, borrowed reverie from the lovely @eydika and decided to try to get the hang of my lad, dog, uhh this isn't the day i finish a wip or actually stick to my original goal

"so how does this work exactly?" she kicks her feet, shuffles from one heel to the other in soft restless jumps, muscles flexing with every move. "he always passes by this alley to get to his apartment-" dog motions around with a big swipe of his arm she barely manages not to flinch at. "i got that part, why not kill him yourself?" she asks just to say something honestly. 'why watch me do it?' she doesn't ask, she didn't need all the sordid details of what he was apparently into, but standing around him waiting in silence like this, just made her more antsy. "does it really matter?" he asks back. the least he could do, she thinks, is not look as amused as he clearly was. "it's not like you have much of a choice now, right?-" he tries to joke with her, reverie isn't in the mood for that. he keeps going not noticing or not caring. something nags at the back of her mind, she presses her darkly painted lips into a thin dissatisfied line, she has stopped listening to him, she steps closer to him making him pause.

"just to clarify, i don't need your help" she snaps, teeth bared like a viper ready to strike, her eyes a vicious slash of gold in the darkness of the alley. dog holds up his hands in a pacifying manner, beneath the silver zipper of his mask, his sharp teeth glint a clear white as he grins with both rows of them. "you are right, never implied otherwise" his voice is unpleasant, a scratchy sound more akin to the white static of an old radio, it sounds painful. he pulls his cap down, leather on leather groaning at the shift, amused as reverie straightens up, shoulders squared and chin held high, tension lining every single muscle of her body, it must be painful at this point, to be wound up so tightly. she wears it with surprising ease despite the circumstances.

it'd been a while since she last fed, one thing or another making her neglect herself and her needs. big mistake. something moves in the dumpster behind her amongst the trash bags. predator insticts make her head snap towards the sound. before she can consider taking a dive to catch whatever made the noise, dog's laugh brings her back to the present, a cross between a cough and the scratching of a record player.

"what if he doesn't come?" she asks instead, dragging her eyes back towards him, with great difficulty, she shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket, an old leather piece with multiple holes in its pockets, she always means to get fixed but never does. "he will, he always does" he copies her movement, pushing his hands in the pockets of his own leather jacket, his arms, pushing down until the heavy bulk of it sticks to his bone thin frame. his shoulders hunch inhumanly, every calculated action taken to humanize him somehow undone as he stands too gaunt in front of her. no amount of latex and leather could hide what he truly was. in contrast, in her hunger, she appeared more human, her silver hair duller, her dark skin marred with imperfections mostly reserved for mortals. weren't it for her eyes, a wolf's gold, she could almost catch a glimpse of the woman she was before she was turned.

"show time" he rasps finally, lips cracking into another broad grin. "remember our deal" he reminds her with a tap to his forehead, as if she could ever forget, she huffs annoyed. she watches him for a bit, sees him shuffle into the darkness until only her beast could detect him. one predator cautiously aware of another. she turns on her heels then and follows suit, pressing herself in a corner of the alley opposite him, waiting, watching.

she hears him before he steps into the alley. a slight limp, an arrhythmic heart and lungs that wheeze a little too loudly from years of chain smoking. he is older than she'd like, balding with tiny glasses perched on a tinier nose, like a pug's snout. the name didn't matter, it never did, especially not in these cases. she'd prefer to do this by herself or with rhys or anyone more familiar, she'd prefer to not do this at all, she'd prefer a lot of things actually, but that was the price she was paying for her negligence she supposes.

she is more restless than usual, doesn't wait for long, she moves right behind him when he passes by her hiding spot, blending into his shadow, matching her footsteps to his own dragging ones. shuffling so the high heels of her shoes click tandem to his own. she licks her lips. she has half the mind to just rip his throat out with her claws, get this over with, satiate her bloodthirst and leave. he definitely deserved it if dog's story was to be believed. she briefly wonders if it'd matter if he wasn't, if he just lied to her to make it easier for her to fulfill her part of the deal and she was about to kill an innocent man for his pleasure, a passing thought she doesn't care to give grounds to now of all times. she wonders how she should go about this. make herself known now, let him run like a lame horse? try to lure him into a false sense of security and then drain him before he even registered what she was? simply bash his head in? she wasn't a hunter, dog just told her to do what she usually did. but the issue was, this wasn't what she usually did.

she could still feel dog behind them lurking, moving from one blind spot to the other, using the shadows and the flickering lights of the old lightbulbs above them with surprising grace and stealth for his stature. she expected to feel a certain way at being watched like this. but in an odd sense, it brought her comfort, knowing that if she did snap and her beast took over, he'd be there to make sure she didn't start running around slaughtering others and get herself killed in the process, or if someone was to pass, he'd at least pull her out of there before they were both discovered if nothing else. (wip)

[mysticstarlightduck]

Find the Word Tag Game!

Thanks for the tag, @stesierra! I have been tagged for this many times before, and always wanted to try it, though at the time most of my WIPs were very early in the drafting process and I couldn't find the right words to fit the game.

Now, I'm going to try to do it! I'll choose excerpts from multiple WIPs of mine to make sure I find all the words.

My words are: Demon, Habit, Erase, and Slaughter.

Demon -

(Snippet extracted from Enchanted Illusions)

Context: After escaping from a group of monster hunters, Evangeline and Clarence - her vampire best friend who was deeply injured in the prior confrontation - are chased into an old cathedral by the leader of the vampires. With no other choice, Evangeline makes one last stand against the hunter, alone, to protect her injured friend.

[...] “It is a demon! A beast unworthy of mercy, an unholy creature of the night which needs to be eradicated from this land. Step out of the way, child, and let this be done.” The leader of the hunters said pragmatically, though she knew he was just being condescending. Evangeline stands her ground against the hunter, even as he steps closer. Behind her a wounded Clarence lay on the ground of the cathedral, keening brokenly as blood flowed down from the gash at his side, a steady red stream making a puddle underneath him. Evangeline knew her friend was losing far too much blood, even for what a vampire could physically handle. They were running out of time.

“He is not a demon, he’s a person. Clarence is just as human as any of us, and he doesn’t deserve this! In the time we’ve spent together he’s only shown me kindness  - which is a thousand times more than I can say for you, Barnaby. All you ever did was torture him and try to kill us.”

Thunder crackled on the storm outside, and the so-called holy man glared at the answer, his polite facade fading away just as easily as it’d appeared.

“I’ll only say this one more time, girl. Step away, or I will be forced to treat you as a threat as well.”

Evangeline scoffed, shakily leveling her thin sword at him as she braced herself to defend her friend. “I’m not going anywhere. If you want to hurt him again, you’ll have to get through me. Let’s see how well this ends this time - how’s the eye, hunter?”

Barnaby narrowed his eyes, the fresh scar across the left side of his face crinkling as a reminder of their last confrontation. Fury filled his features, and a disdainful smile came next. 

“I see that this demon has corrupted you too. A shame really, you had so much potential.” Barnaby said, reaching for his weapon - a wickedly sharp scimitar forged from the finest silver. Evangeline held back the urge to recoil when she saw the sharp tip glimmering in the candlelight. 

And with that, he struck and the fight began. One attacking to destroy and kill, and the other fighting to defend the one she loved. [...]

Habit -

(Snippet extracted from Open Secret Files)

Context: Manipulated by his superiors, Theo Stallard - a young detective - finds himself in a dire situation he never intended to happen, and which will have very bad consequences, for himself, his family, and his friends, as the villains frame him for a crime he did not commit.

[...] “This villain will pay for his crimes,” The government officer said coldly. “We have our methods, he’ll regret ever crossing this line, and will tell us everything about his operation, do not worry, detective.”

Atlas snarled, struggling against the agents holding him back, only to receive a swift punch in the ribs. With a cry, the young man doubles over, coughing. The Director smiles. 

Theo winces, concern and doubt growing within him. This is wrong, it isn’t what he worked for.

“The investigation isn’t through yet. You’ve got no right to arrest him without proof, much less to physically harm him.”

Atlas looked up at Theo, shocked. The Director looks to the young detective, answering him with a dangerous smile. 

“I will do as I please. Whatever it takes to get this superhuman under control - he is a threat just for existing unchecked, and one I will not allow. He has committed crimes, I just haven’t found physical proof of it, and when I finally do, it’ll be the last nail on his coffin. Vigilantism is a nasty habit, and it will not be tolerated on my watch, as you should know.”

She paused, lowering her voice and leaning closer. 

“And I believe I don’t need to remind you that your brother was involved in this case and that your part in the capture of this vigilante is the only reason he hasn’t yet been arrested. You’d want to keep things this way, wouldn’t you, Mr. Stallard?”

Theo grimaced. “This wasn’t the deal. You lied to me, you all did. I was only supposed to retrieve the lost files, you never said anything about arresting someone without a single shred of evidence.” He glares.

“Stop being difficult, detective. We’ve all got prices to pay and you’ve done your part. You’ve got a promising career ahead of you, and I can ensure it stays that way, or not. It all depends on your silence.”

“I won’t let you do this. You won’t get away with it - I’ve read the files. Yeah, I did. And you know what I found? Your entire operation is a farce, a scam to tamper with the limits of human DNA, and for what? To build a perfect soldier. Someone who can control the mutants and superhumans you so despise. This is more than illegal, and I refuse to be a part of it.”

The Director shakes her head, disappointed. 

“You do know how to make things difficult, don’t you?”

Before Theo could answer, the Director pulled something that looked like a small pistol from under her jacket and shot. A glass dart lodged itself in his shoulder, and everything went numb. As he fell to his knees, limbs shaking and twisting at the effects of the serum, the Director walked over to him.

“Ah, ah, don’t you fret. This is just a serum, you’ll be asleep in a moment.” She knelt down before him. Theo tried to move his arms and push her away, but his limbs didn’t seem to respond to him, as if weighed down by rocks. The Director reached for the bag behind him, shuffling through its contents until she found what she was looking for - a folder containing the incriminating files. “You did a very good job, my boy. It’s a pity you’ll spend the rest of your life in jail for stealing government property, once the news gets notified of how you went rogue.” She patted his shoulder condescendingly, rehearsing her lie, before a smile crept up on her pink lips “Don’t worry, though, I’ll take good care of your little brother. With his talents, he would be perfect for my tests, don’t you think?”

Theo whimpered indignantly, trying to get up but not moving a muscle, his vision hazy as the woman stood up. 

The last thing he saw, as consciousness slipped away, was the outline of an armored car driving away, then it all faded to darkness. [...]

Erase -

(Snippet from Supernova Initiative, funny scene)

Context: Spending some time on the main planet of the Dantraxxi System, the team seeks to relax and lay low after multiple chaotic confrontations with the intergalactic wars. Pax decides to try and fix a very broken race ship for the sake of partaking in a local race, but his trial and error to get the old piece of metal to fly leads to some hilariously chaotic interactions as it crashes onto the station.

Pax clambered out of the fallen racecraft. Behind him, greasy smoke billowed from the motor and he noted that the ship had left deep drag marks on the metal floor, a tell-tale trail from where it’d crashed. Gears stuck together on the engine, creating a high pitched whirring sound before flying in all directions, making Pax jump.

In front of him, just a few feet away, he saw Kailathell holding a tablet with a smug look on her face, narrowing his eyes - and promptly discarding his goggles, darkened with grease and soot - he finally understood why she was chuckling, as the hologram came into view. The footage of his not-so-glorious attempt at flying the makeshift ship was looping on the screen. 

“Oh hell no. Erase that! Erase it right now!” 

Kai shook her head, laughing. 

“Nah, fun-size, this one’s for the scrapbook! It’s too glorious to throw away. I think I’ll call this: moments before the disaster. The future needs to see this.” She spun around playfully when Pax tried to take the tablet from her hands, too easy to avoid. Impatient, the teen was nearly jumping around her, but it only made his friend laugh more.

“Give me that!” He lunged for the tablet, only for Kai to hold it high above her head, making it impossible for his human height to reach.

“Ah, ah, ah…. No you don’t” 

Pax jumped a few times, growing impatient with the realization that it was completely out of his reach as the alien girl stood still. Behind her, Pax saw his brother walk by.

“Aw, come on, that’s not fair! Ethean, do something!”

Ethean took one look at the chaotic situation of his brother and their friend and shook his head with a barely restrained laugh as he walked away. “You’re on your own for this one, bro.”

Pax scoffs, turning back to Kai, who still had her arm held high, a smug, victorious grin on her face. Though irritated, Pax can’t keep the laugh out of his voice. “You’re literally impossible when you want to be, you know that, Kai?”

The alien smiles. 

“Yes, yes I do. And I am proud of it. You’re not taking this tablet from my hands, ever, baby!” Kai  did a little twirl, before pointing the tablet on his direction. When he made a grab for it, she swiftly pulled it back, before he could even touch it.

Pax smiled, challengingly.

“Fine. I’ll just hack into it later anyways.” Kai sticks her tongue out, placing her tablet onto her backpack. “I’d like to see you try, human boy.”

She walks away, and Pax follows her with her eyes. On the background, the other members of the team walk by, and he overhears their conversation, turning around to realize they’d been standing there the whole time. 

“You owe me 20 credits.” Cassiopeia says, contemplating the wrecked race ship before them, with her hand extended to Aleks. 

“Ugh, fine.” The young mechanic sighs, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a few dirtied Dantraxxian credits. Cassiopeia proudly pockets them as the sputtering of the ship them slowly goes  silent.

Pax tilted his head, amused.

“You guys had been betting on me?”

Cassiopeia dismissed him with a flick of her hand.

“Nah, betting against you. Aleks thought that the piece of space junk you claimed to fix would last 10 minutes in the race, I was more realistic. Bet on 5 minutes, guess who won?”

Pax made a face at the young space pirate, which she returned in equal fashion. Beside her,  Aleks grinned genuinely, trying to be reassuring.

“You’ll get the hang of it, Pax! When I started fixing ships most of them exploded, so crashing is actually one step ahead.”

For a moment, Pax only blinked, trying to decide if the mechanic had been joking, only to realise his friend was being utterly serious. “That’s so reassuring, thanks.” Pax replied, a deadpan look on his face. 

Aleks gave him a thumbs up as he walked away.

“Always here to help.”

Cassiopeia laughed and walked towards Pax. “Come on, let’s get you out of these beat-up clothes and into something presentable. We're going to the city, I know a tremendous ice cream place on this planet, you’ll love it. Plus, we’re just joking. Though the crash was - indeed - the most hilarious thing I ever watched through a camera system, the ship was too beyond repair anyways.”

“Yeah, ice cream sounds amazing! And um, yeah, I kinda should have seen the crash coming when I chose to fly that ship in the first place, so no hard feelings”

He giggled, and Cassie smiled. “Good, let’s go then!” [...]

Slaughter -

(Snippet from The Last Wrath)

Context: Trapped in the royal court of the Capital city of the Morosyn Empire, Luciaya voices her dreams of one day escaping and going home to freedom. Her best friend, Quinn, a royal courtesan, has different thoughts on the concept of freedom in the Empire, and in doing so reveals his tragic past to his deeply worried friend.

“If the plan works and we’re lucky enough, we can go home one day. Wouldn’t that be great?” Luciya said, looking at the purple birds flying freely above the Imperial City’s many spirals.

“What home?” Quinn asked, bitterly leaning over the castle’s marble parapet, eyes fixed on the arena below them, where the festival’s fights had begun. “There’s no home to return to, my friend… At least not for me. Not while they rule over every aspect of our daily lives.” He said, running his fingers pensively over his gold bracelets, gifts from his many patrons.

He looks up at Luciya with a sigh, before staring straight ahead, eyes jaded as he begins his explanation.

“Let me give you some perspective then. A few years ago, I lived in a village in the Arkellyan province of Kyreen. The Morosyn Dynasty had conquered the kingdom's capital more than a decade prior, that’s true, but there were some provinces yet untouched that remained free. Kyreen was one of those places. The Emperor, and his army, would soon change that.” He paused, eyes fixed on the gladiatorial combat below, wincing at the sound of metal against metal. 

“My village resisted bravely, and the Emperor - long may he live” He sarcastically spat the last bit, a touch of deep disgust in his mellow voice at the imperial salutation, mocking the voice of the Imperial nobles who said it. “He wanted to make an example out of us. Long story short, the royal army slaughtered my village, and… almost everyone died. A few of us were selected to be sent as slaves to the Empire, to ‘prove the efficiency of his Warlords’ - for outstanding traits. Some were the strongest, or more important, more… beautiful.” He looked at his hands blankly and shook his head. 

“And now, here I am. It’s been five years. I haven’t seen a glimpse of the world outside the Imperial City for five years, and I am to entertain a nobility that I despise. A dancer who has no say on whose music he dances to.”

There was venom in his words, eyes aimed sharply at the nobles sitting on the other side of the stadium, who were cheering joyously on the gruesome battles below with gilded garments and fresh wine. Quinn scoffed, turning around and leaning on his elbows, so his back was turned to the unsavory scene before them. He shrugged tiredly, looking up to Luciya, who was now staring at the conflict below with a haunted look.

“So, you see? We’re all trapped here. We’re all slaves - to an arena,” He gestured vaguely with his head to the gladiators fighting below “to our beauty, or our debts. Even to our names and ideals. It doesn’t matter. Really. All the roads lead to that fancypants princeling seating high above everyone in his golden chair, laughing at our blood that pays for it. While that guy is alive, we’ll never truly be free. And we’ll never truly be safe.”

Quinn pushed himself away from the marble parapet, swiping a piece of candy from the pristine table of a soldier beside them. He quirked his head at Luciya, before smoothly walking away. “Food for thought.” [...]

Your words: sharp, tug, lovely, shimmering

Tagging (gently with no pressure): @clairelsonao3, @rickie-the-storyteller, @writernopal, @tabswrites and @elshells

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

Scarlet Welly Boots please!! And also, if I can be cheeky and ask for two, any Adam du Mortain WIPs in here? As an extra treat :x

Oh, Jack just asked about Scarlet Welly Boots here.

As for other Adam du Mortain pieces, I've got a few up my sleeves for some small snippets...

He pauses as he notices the distinct lack of the detective behind his desk. The sight makes him frown and he closes his eyes as he lets himself listen a little more clearly to the bustle around the office. It takes a few seconds, but he catches the steady, even beat of Callaghan's heart. He's definitely nearby. Adam casts a glance around. He sees no sign of the man. Still, he steps into the office all the same. The detective will, no doubt, return shortly. He's struck by the faint smell of tobacco as he steps in. It causes him to pause. Adam doesn't think Mason has been in the office in a couple weeks, but the smell is more recent. He inhales deeply. It's definitely the same brand as Mason's. Perhaps his chainsmoking has seeped into the walls at last. Adam sighs at the thought. Another little bit of ammunition for the detective to needle him about, no doubt. Adam finds his eyes drawn to the corner of the desk at the thought. It's still wrapped in dingy silver tape, most of the worst splinters having been cleared off since he shattered it. He had offered to replace it twice now, but each time the Detective had waved him off. He'd shoot off that crooked smirk, his hazel eyes shining with amusement, "Put your money to something useful. It's a cheap desk anyway." Adam suspects the Detective likes to keep it around to taunt Adam. A daily reminder of Adam's slipping control.

From Old Habits, about Adam discovering a moment of weakness in Raine.

But Raine's eyes are trained at the carpark, his mouth set in a grim line. He reaches out, grabbing the edges of Adam's jacket, and tugs him close. Adam lets him, half out of surprise and half out of the desire to not break Raine's fingers should he jerk away too roughly. His back presses into the wall, Raine's hands still tangled in his jacket, and they are perhaps inches apart. He can feel Raine's heartbeat in his own chest, just as fast as his own. Raine winces as he mutters, "Sorry about this in advance, but just go with it please." Before Adam can ask what, exactly, he means, Raine's lips crash into his. It isn't like the kiss they shared after the auction. Raine isn't gentle and tentative now, but kisses him roughly. He trails his lips up Adam's jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his neck. Adam fails to catch the moan before it escapes his lips. He's swept up, caught in the feel of Raine's chest pressed against his, Raine's knee slipping between his own. Heat burns deep in Adam's chest, the flames of it licking further down. He should push away. He should-

Another snippet from Undercover. Raine's methodology vexes Adam, but they are effective methods...

I'm also working on your dancing prompt, don't you worry. It's just too early in drafting for a snippet.

[pixiestickers]

I was tagged by @theangrypomeranian Thanks!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3: 52

2. What's your total word count? 813,389

3. What fandoms do you write for?

atm it's Hunter x Hunter with wips in Over the Garden Wall, Futurama, and Lord of the Rings. I got my start writing Twilight fanfic on fanfiction.net and occasionally write for Star Wars when the mood is right. There are past fandoms, but I don't feel like naming them all.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos:

Okay, there is a problem. Two of my fics that are in my top 5 are also like ptsd for me from a bad fandom, so I am leaving them off this list despite their high kudo count. Right now I have them viewable only to AO3 users and you can't comment on them bc I just don't want to be reminded of them, but also am not strong enough to take them down. So anyway ... here's my edited top 5.

Blame it on the Nargles (Harry Potter)

If You're Lonely, Press Play (Over the Garden Wall)

The One With The Slaps (Friends)

Change Heartache Into Courage (Twilight)

The L Word (Twilight)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to unless the comment is kinda unhinged. I once had a really nice comment that switched gears midway thru to start in on a campaign to save the show my fic was based on getting nasty abt the network that canceled it and it just went off the rails, so in my head I was like thank u for that nice beginning but I'm just gonna walk slowly backwards away from this.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Even my saddest fics have some sort of silver lining. I don't like leaving my characters suffering w/o any hope. So probably the AU I wrote to my own otgw canon where I kill Beatrice off (Not) A Happy Story is the angstiest, but there's some hope by the end.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

idk I'm kind of partial to the ending of my iasip fic My Fair Charlie bc these are two characters who have been thru a lot in their lives and the scene in Charlie's room where he shows Dee his memory box is just sorta cute and innocent and gives me feelings.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

In the fandom that shall not be named, I got some. I never got any hate when I originally wrote for Twilight on ff.net but when I updated my fic from there to AO3 I got some.

9. Do you write smut?

Not really no. A handful of times and it's just sorta okay. I'm more of a write an intense lead-up and then fade to black writer. I'll leave the smut to ppl who can actually write it well (ie not me).

10. Do you write crossovers?

No

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes! It was so weird. There was another Twilight fic that I was writing that I had let sit for a few years and then someone messaged me that it had been stolen, the names changed and put on some anime fanfic website. The person knew bc the name Jasper kept popping up in that person's fic when there was no character named Jasper. They thought that was weird so they googled a portion of the fic and mine came up. Anways, I messaged the site, but who knows if they did anything abt it and anyway, I took that particular fic down since I'm not in the fandom anymore and won't ever finish it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

My Twilight fic 'Change Heartache Into Courage' has been translated a few times.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No. I'm a lone wolf.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

I mean it changes all the time, but I suppose if you want to know the couple that has the highest word count from me since this is a fanfic meme then that would be Wirt and Beatrice.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I have a 38k 'Dragon Prince' fic that's been sitting since 2021. I'm not in the fandom anymore and got rid of Netflix, so even if I wanted to write my ability to watch the show is hindered. Still, I like the character development I wrote and maybe one day in the future I'll work on it again, but as of now, it's probably going to sit collecting dust for a v long time.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Long inner monologues and flirty, fluffy banter

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action, smut, and moving plot forward. I just want these characters to talk, not actually get anything done.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

Haven't done it

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Created a gender-swapped Aladdin AU when I was 13. Wrote 'Hey Arnold' fic in a HA forum in my teens. Posted my first "official" fanfic (Twilight) to livejournal when I was 28 then moved it over the ff.net midway thru the year and a half it took me to write it.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

A Perfect Sonnet bc even tho it's like 8 fics deep into my iylpp universe, I worked really hard to world-build and make it more high fantasy than fluffy slice-of-life stuff like I usually did for them. I'm not sure if I succeeded but I am proud of the effort I made.

I am trying to remember my mutuals who also write fic. Most are barely on tumblr anymore, but I'll tag who I can remember: @justme--emily @trashangel-dee @221bdisneystreet @america-oreosandkitkats @spectraling

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Baker!Luke Masterlist

a change of heart and a silver lining (ao3) - bellawritess luke/calum T, 18k

Summary: Calum’s not obsessed with routine or anything, but he does become accustomed to certain constants in life. Michael is always about eight minutes late. Ashton always records vocals barefoot. Calum always knows the person behind the register at Bake Station.

Except today. Today it’s a stranger, though admittedly a stranger who looks enough like Jack that Calum can easily connect the dots.

“Hi there,” says the bloke in Jack’s place, giving Calum a bright smile. “What can I get for you today?”

If this is Luke Hemmings, Calum’s fucked.

(OR: wrong number AU and strangers to lovers bakery AU battled and this was the outcome.)

and what if you'd never smiled at me (ao3) - kaleidoscopeminds luke/calum T, 14k

Summary: He opens up the loaf from the cut, exposing the pale inside that was previously encased by the dark crust. He wonders if you were to split people open whether they would match their appearance; he worries that his own exterior might be a little too much like the hard crust of his sourdough. Not Luke though. He’s pretty sure people like Luke are as soft and golden on the inside as they are on the outside.

x

Calum's really not happy about the new bakery that's just opened up down the road from his own bakery; it's gaudy and pastel and covered in flowers and is an offence to the name of baking. At least he's got a new regular to make him feel better about it all. One with a smile that can turn a day around just like that, even on a Tuesday.

Bake for me? (ao3) - 5sosquiff luke/ashton, michael/calum N/R, 8k (WIP)

Summary: Ashton's a chef Luke's a Baker

cake topics (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum E, 39k

Summary: Every morning that week, Calum goes back to the bakery, collects his lemon bar, and sets up on the terrace with his laptop.

And every morning that week, he sees the tall guy with off duty model vibes, right around the same time, always carrying his iced coffee, always wearing a leather jacket. Since he’s all the way across the street, Calum doesn’t really get a good look at him beyond basic shapes, so the off duty model thing is based entirely on his build and the fact that he looks sort of effortlessly put together with his leather jacket and casual sneakers.

That’s probably why Calum waves like a maniac and blurts, “Hey buddy!” when he comes face to face with the guy when he’s in line for his lemon bar the following Monday morning.

Can't Deny The Moment When I Taste It (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum T, 17k

Summary: “Constitutes. Big word! Trying to confuse me, Lucas?” Calum squints and brings one of his flour-covered hands back up to Luke’s face. Luke jerks back at first, but then he steadies himself as Calum’s pointer finger gently swoops around his cheek with purpose. Calum’s face is close, so close, forehead wrinkled in concentration, and Luke tries not to let his eyes linger on Calum’s lips for too long. He’s hyper-conscious of his own breathing, probably too loud and too fast and–

“There!” Calum says proudly, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Now you’re Star Baker.” He picks up the bowl and holds it in front of Luke’s face. Sure enough, there’s a messy flour star printed on his left cheek.

I'm Going Blind from this Sweet Craving (ao3) - kaleidoscopeminds luke/calum T, 6k

Summary: “Bye, Luke,” Calum says. “Maybe see you tomorrow, and... Hope you have a great day too.” His face breaks out into a wider smile that reminds Luke of the feeling of getting just the right consistency for macaron batter, or a perfectly smooth finish on a cake, or the way good puff pastry flakes into the perfect fragments when you cut through a mille-feuille. Or something.

-

A bakery au

I think I like you... even more than your cinnamon rolls! (ao3) - FernandaLC luke/ashton, michael/calum G, 1k

Summary: Luke has been working in the bakery for one year. He really likes his job, he really enjoyed it. He dedicate three days on the week to make his cinnamon rolls. Everybody loves them. If that place was famous is for those delicious rolls. The blonde has been hearing comments of other people about his recipe, but one in particular, from a curly and handsome boy, makes him feel really happy.

on the list (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum T, 3k

Summary: He’s not sure how he wound up getting this particular email. He doesn’t know who Luke is, what Cake Topics Bakery is, or why he’s so fascinated by this tiny slice of bakery life. Maybe it’s because his own job is horrifically boring — even the most exciting day at the Jiffy Rentals back office is nothing compared to a purple and blue frosting mix-up.

Stand Again (ao3) - crash-queen aka stelleshine (stelleshine) luke/calum, michael/luke, jack/luke, michael/ashton E, 69k

Summary: The promise of a good pie brings Calum into Luke’s bakery one day, and Luke finds more than just a new customer.

Sugar With the Sweet Talk (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/ashton G, 1k

Summary: Luke’s hands are shaking as he carefully pipes frosting onto a three-tier s’mores cake. It’s for Michael’s birthday, and Luke wants it to be perfect. Michael may be a troublemaker and a pain in Luke’s ass, but he deserves a perfect birthday cake for taking care of Petunia while Luke was filming Bake Off.

Walk-In Trade (ao3) - cxmp luke/calum T, 1k

Summary: The perfectly-sculpted man is giggling at him, and that's not fair. Calum is only so strong, and at some point he will melt into a puddle and that's a threat.

An eccentric bakery AU.

wanna have a little taste (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum E, 8k

Summary: “I told you I need to get these in the oven,” Luke says warningly. Calum tries to reach for the button on Luke’s jeans, but Luke uses his other hand to capture Calum’s wrists and bind them together. “After?” he offers, looking at Calum longingly. He’s trying not to let it show, but his eyes are just too expressive. Calum can see everything in those eyes, bright sky blue eclipsed by expanding pupils.

“Fine.” He doesn’t mean it. It’s not fine at all. He wants Luke and he wants him now. But he also wants brownies.

we can watch the snow fall forever and ever (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/calum, michael/ashton G, 11k

Summary: “Here, you got the last one. Enjoy,” Luke smiles, handing Calum the bag over the register. Calum’s eyes light up, taking the wrapped pastry from Luke. “I thought you said you were all out of everything?” Calum asks, tilting his head to the side.

“I’m full of surprises,” Luke quips, biting at his lip.

Or, Luke and Ashton open a coffee shop, and Calum is Luke's favorite customer

[ngc-5194]

for the fanfic word game: tremendous (ly)

ooo! good word(s)

alright so that's a no for my main wip, but let me check around rq,,,

aha!!! found one >:D

"This is a tremendously stupid idea. Even for you."

📝

[ashintheairlikesnow]

So... how is Vampire Chris doing now? What's he been up to? I miss that lil guy <3

Have a teeny snippet of a WIP, Anon!

-

Jake listens to the woman speak, easy in front of a crowd. She's done this a hundred times and it shows, he thinks, as she walks with the comfort of someone deeply familiar with the shape of a stage and the weight of two hundred pairs of eyes locked on them.

Well, maybe one hundred and fifty eyes locked on her and then another fifty or so checking their phones, typing on social media, or updating instagram to brag about attending the talk while patently not paying any attention to it.

No, that's not fair, Jake reminds himself. Some of them probably have to do both or they wouldn't be able to take in what she's saying - Chris, for instance.

The little vampire sits next to him in the auditorium, shifting, fidgeting, tapping his fingers, playing some kind of word game on Jake's phone for a while, swaying lightly side to side. He's listening, though, and Jake can tell he's soaking in every word she has to say.

Chris has to keep his lips pressed closed so no one sees his fangs, and he's wearing slightly tinted sunglasses that belong to Jake to avoid anyone getting a good look at his eyes. He sits slightly hunched in his seat, and Jake looks around now and then to make sure no one's paying too much attention to him.

They were lucky that the speech was set at 7:30, and that's they're deep enough in winter that it was full dark before they even left for campus. Chilly air, being clothed from neck to feet, and darkness makes it easier to hide how unearthly pale Chris is.

"The different military forces involved in the war utilized the undead resource in very different ways," The speaker says, her voice clipped and with only a hint of her sharp city-German accent coming through. "The United States, as you all know, offered vampires general amnesty and a lifetime supply of blood in return for voluntary service as medics. Their venom is a natural painkiller and their saliva a potent antiseptic. These two factors combined could help badly injured soldiers to survive long enough to get to a medical tent for surgical care and also work to prevent infection from setting in. The English chose to put their vampires to service as fighting units or not at all. The French kept vampires stationed close to home, as part of a home defense, and the fought valiantly against invasion. And finally... Germany."

She hits the little clicker in her hand, and the projection behind her, previously showing the changing lines of the war through time, switched to an image of a seemingly older man, large and with silvered hair, looking sternly forward.

"Germany has a robust population of the Undead, whose numbers were at the time not well-controlled. The city of Berlin was more or less a free-for-all, due to its raucous nightlife and relative sense of freedom. A... a sort of vampire mafia, if you will, ran the city for nearly a century and the vampires were known to be prolific patrons of the arts. But when it came to the military, the German Reich did not ask them to fight. What it did... was ask for their money, and for them to provide venom that would be shipped to the front. Most agreed enthusiastically to support the war effort."

She keeps speaking, but Jake's looking at Chris, who has gone utterly and perfectly still. It's so unusual to see that it catches his attention more than movement ever would have. "Chris? What's up?"

The little vampire shakes his head and hunches even further down. "He's, he's here," He whispers.

"Who is?"

"He's here."

[notasiren21]

26 for Lukanette WIPs please. :)

26. Party Crasher!Luka

I FUCKED UP AND JUST WROTE IT I GUESS???

Party Crasher

-Lukanette oneshot

“You mean to tell me Agreste ditched you? After all that pleading to let him take you to the party for your successful launch line for next season, he’s ditched you?”

“Kagami, don’t kill him.”

“Fine, remind me why I can’t though? This is such an ass move of his if he’s trying to prove he’s the one for you.”

“Because,” Marinette grits out, faking a toothy smile to a work couple that waves from passing, “I want to castrate and kill him myself.”

Kagami laughs roughly in surprise, “Why the castration?”

“So I can fit his small ass into the tightest pair of skinny jeans we have for our tall teenage girls.” The not so stoic girl sips on her wine, pleased with her friend’s rage. “I told him I haven’t been interested since we were 14, but him thinking I’ll forgive him if I even had a silver of interest in dating him? Fuck him.”

“Or,” Kagami drawls, long nails tapping the stem of her glass as she leans to peer over her friend’s shoulder, “You could fuck him instead?”

Mari gasps in offense, “I am NOT trying for a one night stand, no matter what you guys say.”

“No, you little mouse,” she admonishes, fully heartedly agreeing with the sentiment, “I just mean your big and handsome protective snake is here to save the day.”

Marinette’s mind took a second longer to click the pieces together, trying to make sense of Kagami’s nicknames for her friend group, before her heart thudded and she slowly turned.

There, passing by the models who had walked in Marinette’s designs and batted their false lashes at the rockstar, was Luka Couffaine.

Dressed to the nines in a very punk like and sophisticated way that revealed he very much wanted to impress her and did in fact listen to her fashion advice. Black skinny jeans only he could pull off, high top converse and a white button up with a black vest to overlay it. The cheeky and handsome bastard forgoing the tie to leave one too many buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos.

Oh, on the life of his cat Sass was she proud of him.

And maybe drooling just a little?

He approached her, a sly smile working its way to his lips as he eyed her up and down, eyes shining bright at her black low cocktail that she paired with navy blue heels.

So maybe she sometimes used Luka as a whole for inspiration.

He raised a hand, finger wrapping around a loose curled tendril out of an elegantly messy low bun, “I thought it was the models you were supposed to make the stars of the show.”

“Had I known you were gonna show up, I would’ve worn one of my bests here.”

His hand froze, “This isn’t your best? You tease,” he broke out in a grin. His hand moved further, thumbing at the collection of piercings in her ear he accompanied her with to get years ago. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Well, I’m suddenly glad I can only acknowledge this as awkward and not feel it.” Kagami noted into her class. Her phone buzzed, electing a sigh from her as she began turning. “Have fun, my mother decided to remind me why this wine was a good idea to have before she came.”

She watched her friend walk away, her other -her best friend and other half, remained taking her in and stroking the soft spot under her ear he once claimed with a mark-

The one time they admitted their crushes and strong attraction towards the other the night before he left for tour years ago.

It was the only time Luka had indulged himself in his wants and desires, the only time he had asked to and still provided her with an out. And now he still remains far off in her memories, even as he stands in front of her with that look on his face years later.

“How did you,” she swallows when his soft gaze flicks back up to her eyes with his full attention. “How did you get in? It’s a ticket only event.”

He shrugged, turning to offer her an arm and walk around. “I may or may not have seen Adrien’s post about his mom and dad going to a gala event and him going to see his cousin there. Seems like that took precedence I guess.”

Marinette huffed low, “Félix has been in town for three weeks. Adrien and I had lunch with him the other day.”

Luka stilled as a busboy stopped in front of them, offering them glasses of champagne. Luka’s nose twitched, then his lip as he turned away with a polite smile. Marinette shook her head in turn as well.

“You know you don’t have to pass just because of me, right?”

“Hey, we do this ‘young 20 some year olds unable to drink alcohol’ in solidarity together.” He cracked a smile at that, “Soda is my alcohol.”

“Alright, you can be an honorary member of the alcohol intolerance club.” Luka laughed when she hummed gleefully. “Dork.”

“Nerd.”

“So, back on topic, Adrien just really had no excuse then?”

“Ha, no, even his dad stopped by an hour ago to congratulate me and get press photos done to promote the line. All his son did for me was send a text with a sad face attached to his cancellation.”

“... I can kick his ass, you know?”

“I know, I’m just saving for a rainy day.” She laughed, stepping closer to his side and wrapping both arms around his. “So, the ticket, you party crasher.”

“Right, yeah, I may or may not have called your assistant earlier today to swipe it. I took a guess that she held onto it for safe keeping so-,”

“She’s new, I’m not surprised she just gave it up that easily.” She let Luka guide her into a dance. One hand with painted black holding hers to his chest, the other gently tugging to hold his shoulder before he held her waist.

“Oh, that, that explains a lot now.”

“What?”

He flinched, a nervous glint flashing across his features. “I may or may not have lied about who exactly I was since she didn’t know my name-,”

“Doesn’t listen to your music, already told her the sin she was committing.”

“And who I was to you, specifically-,”

Marinette tilted her head back in a laugh, Luka’s arm tightening to brace her weight, “You said you were my husband, didn’t you?”

He flushes at a memory of once getting a creep off her back a year ago by claiming that very title to her.

“Erm, no, I said I was your boyfriend and may have sold it by saying some pet name and swooning over you just a little,” he watched her eyes go wide then soft, a smile twitching to show. He stepped closer, almost pulling her flush to him, “But if that’s what you want, I can go out and get some marriage certificate?”

She flushed, lips parting and a rush of air passing them.

“Maybe call Jagged up and fly us to Vegas? I mean, we’re both looking good right now, you more so.” Her face went a shade or two deeper. She jumped in surprise when he let go of her hand to play with a tendril again on the right side, tilting her face to press a kiss to her left cheek. “God, you’re such a pretty little thing.”

She squeaked.

“What, what was the pet name?”

“Hm?” He lazily met her gaze, a dream like haze filter over them as he moved her body to sway with his. “Oh, that.”

“What was it?”

Baby, babygirl, beautiful, gorgeous- he may have said more than one.

He gave a slow and wicked grin, twirling her out and back into his chest in a swift and stunning movement as he nudged his nose to hers.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He teased, smile spreading wider and radiant as she forgot to breathe for a second.

What. A fucking. Tease.

The need for him to make good on his words and looks hit through her hard and reminded her of their one night together that they both never forgotten. And how much she wished that was every night, as long as it ended up with them curled right around each other and love and happiness coaxing them to sleep instead of stress and loneliness.

He watched her steel her gaze, her jaw tightened. He swallowed when her height, now of five feet thanks to heels, straightened and forced him to pull up. A violent shiver rocked through him when both hands held along the back of his neck, one slipping under the collar of his shirt to scratch along the nape.

“Marinette-,” he choked.

“I’m only asking so I can show my reciprocation.” She leaned closer, kicking her shoes off into some corner and standing on his converse that every elder of theirs had eyed in question during the night. He supported her actions fully, of course. Still stepping them around in dance within a fluid motion. “Not gonna tell me, hun?”

He coughed, loudly and looked away from her to catch his breath. Watching adults cheat on spouses everywhere or everyone else minding their own business to stare at models or the shrimp on the tables.

He almost tripped when she wined in protest, her hand gripping his chin lightly and turning it to face her. His eyes were flickering between admiration, lust and love, growing three shades of deeper blue than was possible.

“C’mon, baby, tell me.”

“Baby?” He stammered out in surprise. Teenage Luka was having a fucking field day with this. “Marinette, I was only joking earlier and-,”

“Were you really though?”

“No,” his response was fast and instant, a wince playing at the corner of his eyes and his button nose scrunching in loss of control.

“Hey handsome,” he preened under the nickname passing her lips, even if close to millions called him the same thing, it paid more effect when it was Marinette calling him it. “Tell me why you came tonight.”

His neck was aching from staring down to meet her eyes now that the heels were gone but he let himself down lower to press his forehead to hers. “Because you deserve better than what he gives you.”

The girl stilled, expecting an awkward or a flirtatious remark. “What?”

The rockstar looked away sheepishly, a little ashamed. “I know you’re considering getting with him, but when I heard he was canceling on you I let my jealousy win out and I just wanted to be there for you.” He bit his lip when he felt her tugging his face back in her direction, choosing to resist the pressure. “You have to believe me when I say I came with no ulterior motives other than protecting you from going stag to your own party tonight.”

“You, you came to protect me?”

He shrugged, another small shiver racking through him when her hands moved along and glided across his neck. “And make sure you had a good night. I even asked your mom what you were wearing tonight just so I could make sure my outfit complimented yours to cheer you up.”

She was silent for a minute or so, and he waited, patiently as ever and guiding her to rest her head against his chest as he swayed them.

Luka, doing all the work. Luka, taking matters into his own hands when someone fails her. Luka, going the extra mile to make sure she has a happy memory.

Fuck giving second chances to other people. Luka is the only one to have shown her he’s the most earning of the concept and notion.

She pulls away, feeling the slight reluctance in his arms on her waist before they drop to his side, “Grab my heels.”

He raises a black brow but complies, turning to find them and hooking his fingers in the backs. He eyes them, used to seeing her shoes laying around the Liberty when she comes over or even at her own place, but he always has to remark that, “You have small feet.”

“You’ve also called them cute,” she huffs, tugging on his hand and pulling him near the entrance.

He follows, like they always do for one another. “Because they are- where are we going?” He stops them as they round an empty corridor, away from the hotel’s event room where the party is still very much happening. The heel of his palm grips tight to archway, pressing against it, the small shoes still dangling in his hold.

“Home, your place or mine. Actually, mine’s closer.”

He laughs brightly, “You can’t ditch your own party for another movie night, Mari.”

The petite girl turns to him, a fierce expression in his eyes that makes him swallow harshly. “No, but I can ditch to celebrate in getting what I really want. For finally getting what I want.”

“The Chinese takeout place is closed this time of ni-,”

“You.”

“What?” Luka wheezes, he blinks stupidly at her. Prettily and stupidly. He straightens, freehand tugging at his collar a little like he needs room to breathe. “Come again?”

“I’m going home. I’m taking you with me. And we’re gonna celebrate that I finally got off my ass and got what I wanted.”

He hums, nervously and a bounce starting in his hand, a shake in one hand, his dark brows furrow, “And you want?”

“You.”

“You- you want,” he sucks in a sharp breath, pain flashing across his features as he clears his throat. “You want me?”

Her eyes soften, a smile showing as she steps closer to him and takes his face into her hands, pulling him down to be eye level with her as he braces his weight on the wall next to them with a hand.

“Yes,” he looks awestruck as she giggles. “I want you... can you let me keep you?”

He laughs nervously, “I’ll fucking sell myself to you if that’s what you really want, fuck.”

She’s smiling, leaning up on tiptoes to alleviate the strain in his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips, muffling the undignified noise of surprise that escapes him. She lets him get used to her for a second, kissing him slowly and purposely as starts to eventually overcome the shock and kiss her back in reverence.

He pulls away suddenly, a guilted expression on his face.

“Wait, wait. What about Adrien?”

“What about him?”

Luka fidgets, a quick glimpse of insecurities and jealousy showing to her before he regains a semblance of control after having his walls knocked down. “He’s been trying to go out with you, win you affections.”

He only knows of the situation, but never presses her to talk about it. It’s natural for it to come up in conversation everyday when he asks her about work knowing the stress of being twenty-two in a high end fashion company could be a bit more than overwhelming. He wanted to be a safe place to her since the beginning.

“There’s nothing about him. I’ve shut him down an handful of times and now it’s just a matter of letting him indulge himself in what he thinks are romantic gestures when me saying no doesn’t cut it. There’s nothing going on between him and I, just his belief that my crush from years ago accounts for something today.”

Luka still looks wary and isn’t touching her, most likely his conscious trying to be the better person between him and Adrien by not going out with the girl his friend is pining after.

Even if said girl is Luka’s legitimate best friend and the very same girl he’s been in love with since he was a kid.

Marinette feels like it’s a dirty tactic as she gets closer to him, trying to gauge where it’s jealousy and where it’s insecurity in regards to Adrien.

She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Luka’s head turns minutely at the attention, tilting less than a centimeter to catch her lips before he catches himself. He struggles when her next kiss falls to his lips and is soft and slow, how he always wants to kiss her.

“Remember our first kiss?” She whispers, wounding arms around his waist and pressing close to him.

He matches her volume, an adoring look winning for a split second, “Of course I remember.”

“Remember our first date?”

“At the ice cream parlor, you wore a pink skirt that kept twirling when you did.” She feels his resolve break a little, his own right to be selfish with her slipping out a little.

His arms slip around her, and he presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “Remember our goodbye at the airport?” His arms tightening around her speak more volumes than his strained, “Yes,” does.

She’s just a little closer to convincing him to stop being so sacrificial with his own wants or needs. She just has to push more.

“Remember waking up in one another’s arms that morning?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking of what he can say in response to that. Wondering how honest to be, “... every day, I think of that morning every day.”

She still hears the clipped apprehension in his voice. That tone she knows so well that’s gonna lead into him giving her advice to rethink this whole decision and talk to him when she’s absolutely sure. How she shouldn’t think on impulse and lunge at what she wants unless she knows she does wanna keep with it.

But, he has to know she always thinks back on moments with him and that she longs to have jumped on impulse if it meant being with him.

Every time he’s showed up with takeout at her place. When he smiles so freely at her. When he bandages her cuts and blisters from working all night long.

When he showed up tonight looking like he had been her dare to begin with. How her heart felt when he admitted to lying to her secretary. The way he looked carrying her high heels that were much too small for his hands but he didn’t care because she asked him to.

How he crashed her own party to make sure she’d have fun tonight.

She’s sure she wants this, him.

All those nicknames they could call each other. All the benefits of dating the other and having a date to everything the other needs to attend. Having her best friend be her boyfriend meaning there’s no holding back from anything.

She’ll cringe about it in the morning, but it’s gotta work to break his long instilled fear of being a bad friend or person. Of being unselfish.

“Do you still remember that night?”

She’s sure he’s stopped breaking by the way his entire body seems to shut down, but then it reboots and he’s shaking against her and can’t seem to breathe correctly, his eyes avoiding hers as he swallows again and looking like he’s willing to risk going into an allergic reaction for the sake of one drink.

“That- that’s not something you forget, Marinette.” His hands are twitching on her waist, grip tightening just a little and a vein is jumping in his arm to do something to prove he remembers alright.

One more push, “Do you still remember how I tasted that night?”

He seizes her waist, lunging to kiss her desperately like he did that night and when he left, a growl passing his lips onto hers. He’s cupping the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, breathing her in and shaking against her as his resolves breaks completely and the selfish side comes out. The one that’s nowhere near as selfish as the average person, but enough to take in the matter of his own needs and wants. He pulls back, letting her watch his eyes darken, the pupils expanding until the blues are next to near mere ridges of color. He’s watching hers do the same before he nudges her nose and kisses her slowly, more loving and affectionate. His control slipping back into place and resulting in the Luka she so loves regaining the handles of his own mind.

He’s careful in the way he tugs her lip with his teeth, how he coaxes her to let him kiss her fully before pull back and panting against her lips.

“Yes, I remember,” his voice is rough and he has to glance away from her and straighten. She watches him take a few meditative breaths before he looks back at her.

“Does that really help?” She gestures to his chest and mouth, “the breathing?”

He laughs hollowly, “No, not really, but it bought me time to create some distance in this,” he glances around, “Not your apartment place.”

She laughs at the suddenly horrified look that crosses his face, the image of them making out and the threat of almost being caught in public instantly dawning on him. He glares playfully at her.

“You did that all on purpose.”

“Had to, you were just about to give me up for the sake of being a good friend to me and Adrien.” She pauses, a wicked idea forming to prove her point, “Unless, you want Adrien to know what that all is like?”

A dark look crosses Luka’s face; unrestrained bouts of suppressed jealousy, possessiveness and territoriality. “No,” he growls out, eyes squeezing shut and having to clear his throat. “I’d rather not let him know any of that personally.”

“Not even how I taste?”

“Marinette,” he warned, the growl resurfacing. She cooed, wrapping him up in a hug and pressing a kiss to his jaw as an apology. He whined, “It’s not funny when you do that.”

“No, but everything you feel is alright to feel. Don’t hold back for the sake of not being selfish. You can be selfish with me, you’re a reasonable guy and know boundaries.” She sighed, nuzzling further into his warm embrace. “I don’t like Adrien the way he wants me to, and lately, it’s hard to even be his friend. He needs to move on from me. Hell, I’m better friends with Félix now than him.”

“Just hope they don’t switch up on you again.”

She huffed in amusement. “God no, I’d kill them.”

“It’s adorable how how your less than five feet body resorts to violence and death threats.”

“Mm, except you, I’m quite fond of you.” She looks up at him, chin pressed to his chest and smiling when he looks at her softly and presses a kiss to her nose. “This, us, is not an impulse. Just a restrained want I’ve had for awhile.”

“Okay, I understand now.”

She grins cheekily at him, “Or need, if that makes you all possessive hot yet secretly adorable rockstar boyfriend mode again.”

“Boyfriend?” He smiled slowly, radiant as always and heart stopping. “If teenage me could hear you, he’d probably shut down from being overwhelmed.”

“Nineteen year old you certainly didn’t that night,” she mumbles, grinning at the loud bark of laughter that surprises the both of them when Luka throws his head back.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me what age I lost it at, totally rockstar of me, right?” The blush that’s coating his neck and ears is adorable, a shy smile quirking at her briefly.

“I think it’s sweet, cute even.”

“Yeah, because you’re the one I lost it to.” He deadpanned without conviction. “But, I guess I’ll take being sweet and cute.”

“It’s okay though, I mean, I did the cliché of losing my virginity to someone I was in love with.” Luka does in fact shut down in her embrace hearing that. Hands jittering against her and fingers tapping like he’s trying to speak through notes against her skin.

He takes another minute, before pressing a kiss to her hair. “If this is you confessing your love to me -and believe me, it’s killing me to stop you right now, I’d rather you do it in regards to another topic and not the fact that we were one another’s first time.” He avoids the dangerous smirk aimed his way, or the sharp angle of her cocked, black brow above breathtaking blues. “C’mon, let’s go dance some more and celebrate your success before we leave, maybe find your assistant to introduce me as your boyfriend to.”

She pours at him when he tugs on her hand in the direction of the party. “But-,”

He breathed out shakily, a waning patient look in his eyes and a false smirk aimed at her. “Can I sleep over tonight?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I’m very close to just following you home at this point, trust me. I don’t care how the night ends, just as long as it’s you and me tonight.”

She’s letting him make them dance again, feeling as the nerves leave his body as he gets them to fall in step with the tempo. He doesn’t care that he has to bend a little ways down to rest his cheek on her hair, not when she’s letting him pull her up against his chest when she typically only reaches the bottom of his rib cage.

They work well together, they fit perfectly together because they’re more than used to the instinctive adapting to one another.

Her hands cup his cheeks, kissing him carefully without reservation and the anxiety, “It was only an impulse at times because I love you and have for awhile.”

Luka deepens the kiss just a little, thankful she’s the type of girlfriend to let him indulge in her as he smiles, “I get it, I’ve had my share of impulsive thoughts for as long as I’ve been in love with you since we were young. I love you, Mari.”

“Enough to crash a party for me, apparently,” she whispered, a little moved by the thought that they were finally together. He thumbed her tears away.

“Enough to kill Adrien or Félix if you ask me to,” he replied in a loving tone, soothing her gasps for air when she broke apart in giggles against his chest in reaction.

He didn’t leave after that night. And he went to every party as her date too.

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [malex wip]

Inspired by the promo/trailer for season 3. Spoilers and speculation ahead. 

A tumblr work-in-progress

Pairing: Michael/Alex, Alex/Forrest

Summary: Alex goes undercover to seek out Deep Sky. Starts mid-2x13.

Alex leaned his back against the solid wood of his front door, letting the heavy oak take up his weight. He kept making the standard uneven bargain with his body, of giving just a little more, going through the motions for a little longer, and then it would be over. But the tally sheet his body held was long, overflowing with so many unfulfilled promises that it seemed ever more likely he would end this journey in the red. 

If it ever ended.

At least, tonight, he had haggled wisely for some space to breathe. On the other side of the door, he had managed to escape Forrest’s hopeful and not subtle attempts to follow him inside, toward the bedroom for a long-awaited reunion. A reunion that Alex had deftly avoided without a trace of guilt. He had used the bland excuse of fatigue from a long, cramped ride from Holloman Air Force Base to Roswell on a bus that had predated the ADA by a good thirty years. It was transparent but still true, written on every line of pain in his smile as he had said “Not tonight.” that even Forrest could read it, even if only Alex knew the real source of his fatigue. 

He waited several long moments, before turning to look out the peephole to watch Forrest’s Prius silently reverse out of his driveway. Exhaling out long and low, the tension he had started carrying a little more than a year ago slipped away, letting the calm certainty of safety of his house slip down his body as he released the facade. 

Alex was almost done with this assignment, he reminded himself, as he rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, scrubbing away the taste of Forrest Long from earlier. 

Just a little while longer, and he will have enough good will built up to finally meet the leader of Deep Sky face-to-face, after all who could resist the request of a senior member, especially one with the last name of Long? It had been a lucky find that Alex had made in cleaning out his father’s house after his death, a ring and an old photo of the members. In washed out Kodak colors was the cabal of Deep Sky. Former military men with names Alex had memorized off the salvaged hard drives from the Caulfield prison. Linked not by overlapping time on the alien project, but what had become of their careers after their military service had ended. All of them vowing to carry on the protection of Earth against an alien threat, but without the oversight of the government. 

The photo in his dad’s desk had been expected, but the silver ring? He had remembered clutching it, his hands still sore from tearing down the shed with Michael, and feeling the imprint of the symbol press deep into his skin. Searing across what Mimi had called his long-love line, singular and deep on his palm. Searing even deeper inside with the recognition that the symbol matched the ring Forrest Long wore.

The genial historian with the loose-fitting cardigan and blue-streaked hair, who had shown flattering interest in Alex, had worn the same ring. Easy on his hand, flashing in the bright sunlight when he had eagerly met up with Alex at the paintball fields with sharpshooter skills. After that date had crashed and burned thanks to a mishmash of his father’s voice and the feeling he had whenever he thought about kissing someone, not Michael, well, Alex had figured that would be the last he would see of the man. 

It hadn’t been. 

Suddenly, Forrest was everywhere he was, the Crashdown, the Wild Pony. It should have been suspicious to Alex, after months of sharing the same town with the other man without a single encounter. His heart was still bounding uselessly after Michael, while his hands had been full of his suddenly feeble father, and he had missed the snare of the trap. Not just the one his father had laid. Then after his kidnapping, two things had become clear to Alex, his father would never change from the hateful man he was, and Alex’s heart would never change when it came to his feelings for Michael.

Alex pushed his leaden body away from the door, tottering on his feet for a moment before the new prosthesis shored up his balance and he took a deep breath for the strength to move forward.

Fuck. That was a mistake. 

His house smelled like rain. Michael. The unexpected consequence of having Michael watch over his house while he had moved around the country, playing up the role of the grieving scion of the Manes family legacy. After a year of brief trips back to Roswell and long stints on the road, the house now smelled like Michael. 

Alex sucked in greedy gulps of air, chasing the taste of green and petrichor with his tongue to wash away his previous actions at the bus stop. His security system, his reinforced door and window locks, the weight of his gun still tucked in his back holster, none of it made him feel as safe as the smell of Michael in his home. It was the smallest crumb of promise, but it filled him.

Moving toward the kitchen for a drink, he clocked the changes Michael had made in his absence. His heavier luggage, shipped ahead of him, was already stored, including the set of crutches and the charging station for his back-up prosthesis. The lights in the kitchen came on with a single touch, all of them bright. Dammit, Michael had fixed the two burnt out bulbs, along with the slightly weeping fitting on the sink faucet.

There was zero sign of neglect in his house, no matter where he looked. Not even the faintest trace of dust on his guitars. The house looked warm and well tended. Loved. 

The rush of tears welled in his throat, an impossibly large lump, as Alex fought to keep from breaking down. Don’t fucking cry, don’t do it, that’s for at night, he swore creatively at himself. Tears were only allowed under the cover of dark, in hotel rooms or visiting officer quarters, not in the middle of his brightly lit kitchen.

A knock sounded on the front door.

Abruptly, every drop of tortured longing was gone, as Alex straightened his shoulders and crossed the threshold back to the door. He pasted the right amount of faked aspiration mixed with real annoyance on his face as he yanked the door open, expecting to see Forrest back on his step with a weak excuse concocted to overcome the earlier rebuff.

Michael looked up in the porch light, his black hat in hand and his curls wild with nervous raking. “Uh, hi.” He scuffed his boots against the concrete before growing still under Alex’s gaze.

He looked over Michael’s shoulder nervously, for the distinctive truck that everyone in town knew belonged to Michael, but his driveway was empty.

“I parked a few streets over. I don’t think anyone saw me-” Michael’s explanation was cut off short as Alex grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside. Stumbling from Alex’s strong grip, Michael fell forward, and then back as the front door slammed shut with them both safely inside out of view. His mouth was still open in surprise as Alex covered his lips in a kiss. 

The surprise was short-lived. Michael came alive under the kiss, opening and yielding to Alex’s hungry lips and tongue. Alex brought his hands up into Michael’s curls, cupping his head protectively as he pressed Michael firmly against the door, drinking in every sound Michael was making. 

Hours before, he had kissed Forrest at the bus station, playing up the role of a dutiful boyfriend returning home. It was the tariff he paid with his body to get closer to the roots of Deep Sky, but this, feeling Michael whole and safe under his hands, tasting him now, that was sustenance. Lifeblood. There was an evolution of difference between the two, like comparing simple bacteria wiggling toward complexity and the finished product of a man, standing upright. 

It was both a reminder of why he was doing this and a reinstatement of focus, as he slowly broke the kiss with reluctance. Michael chased at his lips, his mouth red and wet, his eyes dark with want. He could feel the heat coming off of Michael’s thin brown shirt, his hands itched to pull it off, to descend back into the physical, but Alex knew that he owed Michael an explanation for earlier.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t know he was going to be there to meet my bus. I thought it would be okay for you to give me a ride,” Alex explained quietly, as he ran his hands from Michael’s neck down to his fingertips, drinking in all the changes that had happened while he was gone. Michael looked thinner to him, as if he wasn’t eating enough despite the healthy amount of work and money. “I guess he wanted to surprise me and thought it would be romantic.” 

Michael made a face at the idea of surprises ever being considered romantic, especially to Alex. He turned sweetly toward Alex’s palm, kissing the center as Alex pushed a stubborn curl out of his eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it was? He wasn’t testing you, was he?” 

“I don’t think so.” Alex couldn’t pull his hands away from Michael, and leaned in to kiss him again. It started soft and shallow, trading breaths with Michael, lips against lips, licking deep into his mouth as his previous weariness disappeared now that Michael was here. “He saw you watching us. Now that I’m back, he’s worried about losing my attention to you. He hasn’t hidden his jealousy that I asked you to watch my house last year.” 

“Did I look sufficiently broken-hearted?” The question was light, but Alex could hear the grain of truth under it.

“You did.” Alex closed his eyes, the guilt of the situation flooded back inside. The statue of his father looking down on him didn’t make him feel nearly as sick as having Michael’s eyes on him as he let Forrest kiss him in front of the town in a cinematic homecoming moment. It was a cruel reminder to Alex that he had never been able to give Michael that, a public welcome that spelled out who they were to each other, not once in ten plus years of deployments and duty station assignments. Trading a glance across the Wild Pony was as close as they came. “I wish it wasn’t like this, sneaking around, pretending-”

“Hey, I agreed to this, right at the very beginning when I was your only back-up. Remember?” 

“We were just friends back then, you couldn’t have known that things would end up like this.”

Michael laughed, his head tilted back against the door, casting an attractive line of his throat to his collarbone. “We’ve never been just friends, Alex, but I knew what I was signing up for when you told me what you planned to do to smoke out Deep Sky. We’re in this together.”

*** to be continued... here

[youarestellarverse]

WIP Wednesday - HiOB ch. 19

AHAHA i forgot it was Wednesday!

It's been a bit, sob.

Percy hates waking up in his own bed. 

He doesn't feel right anymore, now that he's used to having someone beside him. Not that they'd both fit in his twin-XL regardless, with Jason's doctor estimating he'll be nearly as tall as Frank when all's said and done— he's getting closer to that six-and-a-half foot mark every day, it seems, as though his pituitary gland is giving one last hurrah.

The loneliness isn't really why it sucks, though, and neither is the discomfort. What sucks is knowing Jason's waking up alone too, and has to deal with his jerk roommate hogging the bathroom that's too small for him anyway. 

The silver lining is that Percy gets to visit with his family. They've been missing him, and he's been missing them— Estelle especially. He's going to have to plan a day out with her soon, just the two of them, so they can get in some quality bonding time. For today, though, baking together is enough of an adventure. She's even big enough now to help add ingredients, concentrating so hard on the measuring cups clutched in both tiny hands that her tongue pokes out of her mouth. 

Percy takes half the cookies, borrows Paul's car and drives to work, because he made plans last night and he needs the space. There are a lot of moving pieces, but every one of them is necessary. 

First, he swings by Leo's studio after his shift to grab him and Piper for manpower.  She takes the backseat, waving brightly at Percy in the rearview mirror even though her eyes are puffy.

"Thank you for not asking," she says pointedly. She's wearing Annabeth's red flannel shirt. Percy would know it anywhere; he's felt it against his cheek a thousand times. 

He pretends he's never seen it before and simply smiles at her, hoping she'll know he got the message. 

"Is there a reason you're not just leaving the stuff at Will's and practicing there?" Leo asks as he swings into the passenger seat. "This seems excessively complicated." 

"Dude, I forgot to buy a collar." Percy scowls and pulls out into the street. "I don't want to get distracted again, and I will get distracted again. It's safer if I put things in motion before they fly out of my head."

"Fair." Leo reaches for the cookie tin, and Percy lightly smacks his wrist. 

"That's the instrument rental fee. If you want my mom's baking, go bake something with her yourself."

Leo pouts, but doesn't stay miffed for long. 

"I was thinking we could call this thing Operation Hotel California." He looks back at Piper and winces. "I mean, Hotel West Nevada. Sorry." 

"I can handle hearing the name of the state she lives in," Piper says dryly, but Percy can tell from how thick her voice sounds that it still hurts her to have the smallest reminders. 

"I was thinking Operation Elephant Love Medley." Percy cranes his neck as he makes a right turn, and catches Piper's grateful smirk in his periphery. 

"You do give off the same vibes as Christian." 

"I like the jukebox musical angle, too," Leo adds, mouth full. Percy groans, but he doesn't have the energy or heart to put up any more of a fuss. 

@elaborateruses has outdone themself and agreed to take on beta-reading this monster, which is a lot of effort and high word volume and I am INCREDIBLY grateful to them and also you should read their fic, which I betaed! It's a WWDITS AU/crossover, featuring horny familiar!Percy, horny vampire!Nico and horny werewolf!Jason, and I promise you it's even more brilliant than it sounds.

@perseusjackson-jasongrace! 💜

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

Dear Starshot, I recently saw your latest artwork for #Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura and I am DYING to learn more about this AU. If you're comfortable sharing, is there anything you can disclose about it?? Is this related to the ItaShi Indiana Jones AU you mentioned before?!!?!?!?!!

Hi Birk, thank you so much for dropping by with this ask! Are you really voluntarily asking me to talk about my current obsession and fanfic baby though? Because I warn you, you may live to regret that!!!

"Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura" is now the official title of my ItaShi Indiana Jones AU. I realise it’s been over a year since I first mentioned it, and it’s still a WIP! Pretty sure that says absolutely nothing good about the speed of my writing, but a lot about how busy my life outside of fandom is. Anyhow, it’s definitely one of those AUs that’s got away on me. I was planning one story initially, but now it’s kind of turned into three (plus a cracky oneshot), and this is just the first.

I’ve planned nine chapters total so far, but the bane of my life is currently number four. It’s sitting at 16,000 words and counting. Succinct writing? I’ve certainly never heard of it… So anyway, I kind of hit a wall there and decided to take a little break to come back with fresh eyes. That’s how I ended up working on the art instead. But I’d say I’m probably about halfway through the first draft (47,000-ish words).

I recently shared the opening scene and my draft cover artwork here. Ummm… what else can I tell you? Madara is the main bad guy, and he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Shisui is an agent of disaster and chaos. Itachi is really… not. So their initial interactions go about as well as you could expect.

All the main characters have extensive back stories. I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with my Machiavellian worldbuilding tendencies from reading Red Dawn, so it goes without saying I have just as many notes and plans, and as much fleshed out worldbuilding for this story too. And it will take a long time for all of that to be revealed! But the overarching theme is probably found family, which is different to anything I’ve done before.

At this risk of revealing too much, or boring you to tears, I’ll finish with another sneak peek, this time from Itachi’s POV:

When Itachi wakes, there’s nothing to suggest his day is going to be anything but routine.

He gets up at dawn as per usual, eating breakfast at the dining table alone, legs tucked beneath him on a comfortable zabuton. The solitude at this hour of day is something he prefers. It’s the only time the family home is quiet anymore—lacking the cold disapproval of his father’s increasingly judgemental lectures, the anger of his younger brother’s rebellion, or the resigned acquiescence of his mother.

By now, Fugaku should have left for work, and it’s still too early for Sasuke to be awake, given how late he’s been staying out at night. Either to irritate their father, or just avoid him entirely, he’s taken to frequenting the clubs and bars in Osaka. Mostly, he comes home. Some nights, he doesn’t.

More often than not, even when he is home his door is closed, the thumping bass line of some song or another seeping out from beneath it. Likely because he knows this angers their father even more than the leather jackets and spiked punk-rock hair style he now sports.

Part of Itachi has been glad to discover his brother possesses more of a spine than he ever has. But at the same time, Sasuke’s rejection of every last one of their father’s rules has only brought more unwanted scrutiny to Itachi’s far more minor transgressions. It’s as though, having decided his younger child is a lost cause, Fugaku now wants to be absolutely certain his eldest son and heir to the Uchiha family fortune is beyond reproach. To smother him with expectations until he emerges, a diamond from beneath the pressure.

But unbeknownst to Fugaku, Itachi has one flaw he can’t change. And it means that, no matter what, he’ll always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

Sighing, he swallows a mouthful of rice and fish, washing it down with the sweetened barley tea he favours. Pulling this month’s edition of Modern Archaeology across the table, he inspects its glossy cover and promptly chokes on his drink.

The face that smiles up from the page stokes a knot of hot irritation in his gut. Furiously, he skips to the article, skim-reading the text, despite the fact he knows it will only annoy him further.

"An up-and-coming star in the field of archaeology, particularly specialising in South-American cultures, Shisui Uchiha is an increasingly well-known fixture of the San Diego research scene. Curiously for someone so entrenched in the study of history, he is famously reticent when it comes to his own. ‘I did spend my early years in Japan,’ he confirms when pressed. ‘But I haven’t been back in a long time. The United States is my home now.’ Asked about his connection to the famous Uchiha family, he merely winks enigmatically. ‘Never heard of them,’ he says, before asking if we’d like a one-on-one tour of the dig site.

Equally at home in dusty ruins as surfing the palm-lined SoCal beaches, or scaling the cliffs of his native Joshua Tree National Park, he nonetheless shines in group settings too. At the party we attend that evening, to celebrate the opening of a new Aztec exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, he easily charms the crowd, finishing the night with at least half a dozen new admirers. It’s not hard to see why they like him. A conversation with Shisui is exercise in passion and obscure historical knowledge. Even so, much like the dig sites he frequents, it’s hard to say just how much of what he presents to the world runs more than surface-deep.

His motto in life? ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight,’ Shisui says with a charismatic smile. Where did he learn it? Chuckling, he brushes us off. ‘The school of hard knocks.’

Love him or hate him, one thing is certain—we haven’t seen the last of Shisui Uchiha’s brand of archaeology.”

Hate him, Itachi thinks, sipping his tea viciously enough to scald his tongue and immediately regretting it. Definitely hate. Hate how he’s reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and doesn’t seem to take a single thing seriously. Hate that it looks like he’s never had to work hard for anything a day in his life—people only too happy to hand him whatever he wants on a silver platter, charmed by a pretty smile. Hate the fact that, despite their shared family name, he’s free to do whatever he likes. Hate the way people flock to him, falling into his orbit—and by all accounts, bed—like it’s somehow inevitable. And hate, most of all, that there’s a small part of Itachi which understands why.

Because hate or love him—and it’s definitely hate—there’s no denying that Shisui Uchiha is, objectively, a very attractive man.

Coming back to his senses and realising he’s been leaning over the magazine, frowning so hard his forehead hurts, Itachi straightens, closing his eyes and massaging the knot of tension out from between his eyebrows.

“Itachi—”

The tension sinks in even deeper. He opens his eyes. “Father.”

Fugaku takes in magazine, then his son, and Itachi really hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. It’s stupid, but merely knowing he feels the way he does about the man on the page makes him fear being caught. As though his father might somehow divine his deepest darkest secret, just by looking. Truthfully, Itachi sometimes wonders if he might not already know, or at least suspect. But if he does, it’s clearly a truth he’s chosen not to acknowledge.

“I take it you’re prepared for our meeting this evening?” Fugaku asks, grim as ever.

Attempting a composed sip of his tea, Itachi nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Mouth a hard, unyielding line, Fugaku makes some indiscernible noise of disapproval, sweeping an appraising glance over Itachi. “Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope that anything can be done about your hair between then and now. But they’re a modern family. New money. Perhaps it won’t matter so much.”

Fingers tightening into the flesh of his thigh, Itachi has to remind himself to breathe. “I will do my best to make a good impression,” he says, inclining his head towards his father, penitence for his innumerable shortcomings—not least of all the choice to grow his hair out. It’s a small act of rebellion compared to Sasuke’s effort, but one his father seems determined to curtail as promptly as possible.

Poker face easing ever so slightly, Fugaku’s brows trend downwards, though their slant is still severe. “I know. You are my son, after all. And it is high time you were married with a family of your own. Perhaps then you will see the value in giving up these frivolous academic pursuits, and taking your rightful place at the head of the family business.”

He might as well build a box and stuff Itachi into it. Mold him to fit his own vision of the future. But Itachi has long since learnt that what he wishes he could have from life, and what he can have, are two very different things. So, just like his infrequent clandestine trips to the less desirable areas of Osaka’s nightlife, this too, he realises he will have to sacrifice. Duty before self.

“Yes Father, I’m certain you’re right,” he says, bowing once more as Fugaku leaves for work, closing the front door behind him with a click that reeks of finality.

As his footsteps crunch away on the gravel path outside, Itachi can’t help clenching his fists, until long after his knuckles turn white.

Theoretically, it’s a good match. From a family of good standing, his potential bride is quiet and well spoken—the perfect future housewife and mother. Their marriage would kill two birds with one stone, giving her father the son he never had, and Itachi—and therefore by extension Fugaku—control of their biggest competitor’s business.

All it requires is for Itachi spend the rest of his life pretending to be something he’s not.

The weight of it burns tight in his throat, threatening to break free on a rising tide of bile. He longs to cast off his gilded shackles, take a leaf from Sasuke’s book and do something completely crazy.

With a sigh, he rises from the table, collecting his dishes and depositing them circumspectly into the sink. Another day of work awaits.