#but also fic inspiration for me is always just lightning in a bottle or whatever that phrase is

[yonpote]

i forgot how much i love this fic aaaah its good its fluffy its funny i wanna write a time travel thing so bad not necessarily fic but ive always wanted to write a time travel mystery story.... (i played a lot of professor layton as a kid)

[thnxforknowingme]

Glee Advent Day 2 - Bonfire

A/N: So, I have never written Samcedes before, nor in fact any fic from Mercedes' perspective...and yet, today's prompt inspired me. Thanks @gleeadvent! I've always been curious about the beginnings of Sam and Mercedes' relationship, that one summer of which we only see them holding hands in the Lima Bean, and then hear about in passing once Sam returns in S3. This story is so not seasonally-appropriate, since it happens during the summer, but...oh well!

Rated T, ~1100 words

Mercedes had heard about these kinds of bonfire parties before, but had never been invited to one. It didn’t bother her - they didn’t really seem like her kind of scene, anyway, and mixing alcohol with large fires seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

But then, in July between her junior and senior years, Sam texted her about one. u should come, he’d messaged. id love to see u there.

And, well. She was finding that these days she’d take pretty much any excuse to see Sam, too.

She invited Kurt, hoping to have another friendly face at the party, but he’d said something dismissive about the smell of smoke and cheap beer - and he had plans with Blaine, anyway.

Luckily, when she arrived at the nondescript clearing just after sunset, she saw Tina and Mike almost immediately. She stood and talked with them, watching the intermittent glow of lightning bugs around them as a bunch of football players set about starting a fire and tapping a keg. Brittany appeared too, flitting between them and her Cheerio friends as the bonfire grew in size and intensity.

They were having a giggly argument about American Idol, Tina sipping from a Smirnoff Ice bottle, when Sam appeared. He bumped fists with Mike, tapped his red plastic cup against Tina’s bottle, and then gave Mercedes a knowing grin. “Hi, Mercedes.”

“Hello, Sam,” she replied, feeling her face warm, even though they were keeping their distance from the fire. They held their gaze for a moment longer before Tina tried to resume the conversation. Jokes about his mouth aside, Mercedes thought, Sam sure had a lovely smile.

They’d been doing whatever this was they were doing for a couple months, now. Getting coffee, spending afternoons at the lake, sometimes just driving around Lima together. She felt like Sam really saw her - when she talked, he listened, and asked questions to fully understand her thoughts and feelings and opinions. They had things in common, but were also open to learning about new things for each other - they’d rent Sam’s favorite sci-fi and action movies to watch, and he showed her how to hold and throw a football properly. In return, she introduced him to her favorite R&B artists, and showed him all of the Twilight movies - after which he spent a week making her dissolve into laughter as he tried to impersonate Robert Pattinson saying “This is the skin of a killer, Bella.”

And then sometimes, in those quiet pockets of their time alone together, they’d hold hands, or cuddle, or kiss. Which was all just - extremely nice. Mercedes didn’t really have any point of comparison, but she thought Sam was an excellent kisser. She knew he did have past experience, and hoped she was a good kisser too. She thought she probably was. The way Sam looked at her, smiled against her skin, pressed his hands gently and reverently against her jaw or shoulder or waist - it made her feel appreciated and valued for exactly who she was.

The flickering of the bonfire threw odd shadows against Sam’s pale skin as he talked and laughed with them. His eyes were bright, his hair grown shaggy over the summer, and he gestured broadly with the cup in his hand. He stood next to her, close enough that their shoulders could brush, but not so close to draw too much attention.

“Do you want something to drink?” Sam asked her, shaking his now-empty cup.

“No, thanks,” she told him. “I’m driving.” She was also just not particularly interested - it was one thing to get pleasantly tipsy at a glee party in Rachel’s basement, and another to drink in a quasi-public place, surrounded mostly by people she didn’t know. Plus, the proximity of the large bonfire still made her nervous.

“Okay,” he said. “Be right back.”

She watched him weave through other clumps of teenagers, in the direction of the keg.

They hadn’t initially meant for it to be a big secret - it had just happened, and after the whirlwind of Nationals and the end of the school year they didn’t feel like drawing attention to whatever was developing between them. Plus, there was something nice about having this secret. Their relationship felt like something sacred, a private joke that only they got. After all the relationship drama in glee club over the past year, it felt nice to just share something together, without having it be the subject of rumor or public opinion. Mercedes knew that they’d have to tell people eventually, but for the summer at least, she was enjoying keeping it to themselves.

Sam returned, and along with a refilled cup of beer, he also had a plastic bottle with a colorful label. He handed it to Mercedes, their fingers just brushing. “I thought you might be thirsty,” he said.

She looked down at the bottle - it was lemonade, her favorite brand. She knew he’d seen her drink it before, at her house or when they stopped at the minimart for snacks. She looked up at him in awe. Had he brought this to the bonfire, just in case she wanted a non-alcoholic drink? Had he asked around and just managed to find someone else who had her favorite lemonade in their car?

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

He just winked at her. “I have my ways.”

By the time he finished his new cup of beer, he’d become looser, his voice louder, slinging his arms over Mercedes and Tina, stumbling through dance steps with Mike as they all laughed along. It was getting late, and Mercedes knew she needed to get home before her parents started questioning her story about having a movie marathon with Kurt and Rachel.

“I’m gonna go,” she announced. “Anyone need a ride?”

Mike assured them that he could take Tina home, but Sam agreed to come along. Since he didn’t have his own car, Mercedes assumed he’d arrived with another football player, but he didn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone else before following her to her car.

He sprawled in her passenger seat, one knee pressed up against the glove compartment, and tapped out a rhythm on the window with his knuckles. As she pulled back onto the road she glanced in his direction and found him looking back. He grinned. “You’re lovely, Mercedes Jones.”

She pursed her lips, trying to prevent her smile from taking over her whole face. “You’re a little drunk, Sam Evans.”

“True,” he agreed. “But tomorrow I’ll be sober and you’ll still be lovely.”

Mercedes almost wanted to roll her eyes at the cheesiness, but could also feel joy blossoming in her chest. She drove down the familiar darkened roads to drop him off.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Sam said, more softly.

Mercedes looked his way again, pausing just a bit too long at a stop sign. She took one hand off of the steering wheel and reached out. He responded automatically, warm calloused fingers intertwining with her own. “I’m glad too,” she said.

[lyranova]

Our What?

Hi guys~! So here’s another Greyche fic, it’s actually a sequel to ‘The Proposal’ so hopefully you guys like it! I was actually working on this fic before I wrote ‘the proposal’ so this one inspired that one haha! But hopefully you guys like it 💕~!

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1,502

Warnings: None

—————-

Today started out as just any normal day to Gauche. Luck and Magna were sparring as usual in the hideout, Vanessa was drinking her bottle of wine, Asta was trying to get Noelle and Secre to train with him, Charmy was in the kitchen cooking with her sheep, Henry was off somewhere, and the Captain and Finral were off who knows where. While he, Gordon, and Grey were sitting at a table ignoring the noise behind them. Gauche had just finished painting a figure of Marie and was waiting for it to dry, when he glanced at Grey out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting with her hands over her eyes but her fingers split so she could see out of them, she was watching Luck and Magna as they destroyed the hideout for the millionth time.

A soft, hidden smile appeared on Gauche’s face as he looked at her, even with her face hidden she still managed to look cute. He felt very lucky to have met her and have her in his life, but he felt even luckier after she had asked him to marry her. Admittedly he had been wanting to ask her first and had it planned out for a while but he just couldn’t figure out how he had wanted to ask her. The night he was about to ask she had just blurted it out as quickly as she could. Gauche had been shocked at first, but had swiftly recovered and had accepted her proposal, he had never told her that he was also going to propose that night, he wanted Grey to be proud of her bravery even if it got him teased endlessly by Magna and Luck when they found out. That was 3 years ago.

“ G-Gauche? Are you ok?” Gauche blinked as he heard his name and noticed Grey had turned her attention to him. “ You’ve been s-staring at me for a while.” She added her voice slightly shaky from her nervousness, he had been so lost in the memories that he forgot he was looking at Grey.

“ Sorry, just got lost in thought.” He apologized quickly before checking to see if his Marie figure was done drying, he didn’t paint them as much as he used too. Mind you, he still loved his little sister, but after he started dating Grey he sort of realized (with Marie’s help of course) that he didn’t need to give her all of his attention all the time, he could let more people into his heart and love them as much as he loved Marie.

“ H-Hey Gauche? Can we g-go to our room for a bit?” Grey asked just as a bolt of Luck’s lightning wizzed right by their table. Gauche whipped around in his chair.

“ Will you two idiots knock it off? If one of your fireballs or lightning bolts hits Grey it’s going to be me you have to deal with!” He threatened before he realized that it might make Luck intentionally try to hit Grey just to make Gauche spar with him. “ Yeah let’s get out of here.” He quickly added while grabbing his wife by the hand and half dragging her to their shared room.

———

Once there Gauche couldn’t help but release a small sigh of relief, they were finally away from the craziness that was Luck and Magna, at least for now anyway. Grey walked over and sat on their bed, wringing her hands nervously as they sat in her lap. Gauche had noticed for the past few days she had been more nervous than usual, and that was saying a lot since she seemed to be nervous at least 65% of the time normally. He frowned slightly.

“ Is everything ok Grey? You seem more tense than usual.” He asked and watched her jump slightly at his question, apparently she was lost in thought.

“ I-I’m fine! Just thinking is all.” Grey tried to assure him and yet it did nothing to soothe his unease, whenever she was anxious it would sometimes do the same to him so for both their sakes (mainly hers) he would try to do whatever he could in order to ease or at least leasen her anxiety a bit. He looked down in his hand and noticed he still had his Marie figure in it. ‘I must’ve grabbed it before we left the room.’ Gauche assumed as he walked over and put it on a dresser that housed other Marie figures.

“Y’know,” he started as a soft smile appeared on his face. “ I remember when Marie was a baby just like it was yesterday, she was so cute, so tiny. I sometimes forget how much she’s actually grown up and how she doesn’t really need me anymore.” He added as he looked over the figurines. It was true, it was like Gauche had blinked and suddenly Marie was turning into a young woman. It was bittersweet. Soon she would start dating, possibly get married, and maybe even have kids...the thought of this really tugged at his heart.

“ That’s not true Gauche,” Grey said as she suddenly stood up from the bed. “ No matter how much older Marie gets she’ll always need her older brother. Besides, it’s not just her that needs you. The squad needs you, I need you, and…” She trailed off suddenly, Gauche turned to look at her, she was wringing her hands again and her face had turned a bright shade of red.

“ ‘And’ what?” He asked curiously, it was almost like the night she had proposed. It was like she was trying to muster up the courage to just say it.

“ And…our baby will need you too!” Grey told him softly yet with a somewhat determined sounding voice, she had stopped wringing her hands but held them tightly to her chest, her eyes were shut tight even though she was already looking down at the ground.

“ Our what?” Gauche asked, his voice suddenly going dry. Did she just say…’our baby’? He blinked and shook his head a bit as though he were trying to get something out of his ears. He wasn’t sure if he had heard her right, he believed he did, but he just wanted to make sure.

“ I-I-I said, our baby.” Grey repeated a little louder this time, she still had her eyes shut tightly and it appeared she wouldn’t open them anytime soon. Gauche swallowed a lump in his throat at the confirmation, ‘So that means...I’m going to be a father?’ He couldn’t help but smile at the thought. His family was growing. Suddenly a small image of a child appeared in his mind, a perfect mix of both him and Grey. Of course it had her beautiful smile, maybe even her shyness, and that was completely fine by him. Gauche walked up to Grey and pulled her into his arms and wrapped her in a tight hug, though not too tight. It seemed to surprise her as he heard a small gasp.

“ G-Gauche?” Grey squeaked out before relaxing into the hug and placing her hands onto his chest. Gauche was so overwhelmed with emotion he couldn’t think of another way to express it other than just to hold her in his arms.

“ S-So...you’re not angry with me?” Grey asked shyly as she pulled away to look at him, Gauche looked at her with a frown.

“ Why would I be angry with you?” He was genuinely curious and she looked away from him.

“ B-Because when I went to the doctors...I heard a couple of women talking and they were saying how sometimes men get angry when they’re w-wives or girlfriends tell them that and...it…” Grey trailed off as her face turned an even brighter shade of red.

“ It scared you.” Gauche concluded and when she nodded he pulled her closer to him once again.

“ I promise,” he whispered softly into the crook of her neck. “ I will protect you both until I breathe my final breath. I will make sure you’re both happy, healthy, and never have to want for anything ever. If I ever fail to make good on any of my promises I’ll do whatever I have too in order to make it right.” He promised before placing a soft kiss to her neck and then pulling away in order to place a tender kiss on her lips, which she reciprocated.

“ Wait until I tell Marie, she’s going to be so excited about being an aunt.” Gauche said after he pulled away, Grey giggled and nodded firmly before adding.

“ And the others too! They’re going to be extra excited!” Gauche groaned at the reminder. That was not a conversation he was excited about having. But seeing how happy and excited Grey was to tell the other Black Bulls, he was more than willing to go through with it.

——-

I’m actually happy with how I ended this fic for a change hehe ☺️! But I hope you guy’s enjoyed it and I’m sorry it it’s not very good! If anyone wants to be added to the taglist please let me know!Hopefully everyone has a good day💕~!

Tag List: @eme-eleff

[pikemoreno]

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter I: Coffee Cures All Ills

a/n: Here it is folks! The first part of a Marcus fic heavily inspired by the Netflix rom-com Set It Up. 

It’s more structurally and conceptually inspired and not an exact scene-for-scene remake because a) I was interested in the idea of this not even really being an AU. This is extremely canon-compliant and you’ll see more of that as we continue on. 😏And b) because I had lots of ideas that spun off from watching Set It Up that I just liked better for the purpose of this fic. So that’s what you can expect. It’s gonna be cheesy and fun and great.

The first couple of chapters are a lot of, well, set up (which has been infuriating). But we’ll get into the meat of it soon. My outline says so.

As a side note, a lot of the gifs I’m going to be using are from the movie, but these are not my face claims for any of the characters. I’m using them simply for the ~vibe~ of the chapter. Reader is not a small white girl... Or she might be. She is you. Or whatever OC you’d like her to be. Period. 

And that’s it. Let’s go, I guess.

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2k (probably one of the shortest chapters we’re gonna see out of the 14-ish lolz)

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love. 

He’d seen what it had done to him in failed relationships including everything up to a failed marriage. Some would argue that it wasn’t love then, that love doesn’t fail, so it couldn’t have been. But he disagreed. He knows it when it hits. It comes on you like lightning, bright and fast. You accept it, letting it run through your veins, and risk suffering a fatal blow to your heart. And it most definitely can fatally fail. It can cause joy and pain in equal measure. He’d already been struck so painfully once, the blow of the electricity going straight to his heart. He was beginning to hope to the high heavens that he wouldn’t be so unlucky as to be struck a second time, just in case it should reach his heart so painfully once more.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He felt that especially strongly as he watched Adrian go through his recent break-up. He felt for his fellow agent, he really did. Adrian was completely convinced Sam was the one, sold to the point of going ring shopping soon. But one brief mention of an engagement sent Sam running for the hills. He’d been moping around the office for a couple of weeks now and, as much as Marcus understood the pain, he was already really looking forward to Adrian’s rebound or some similar distraction. He was needing his friend’s signature fire back right about now, not to mention his focus. His work had gotten sloppy in this mourning period. He was constantly distracted. Marcus was dreading getting him on this case today, but maybe it was just the push he needed. He hoped. He stepped up to Adrian’s desk, watching the glazed over look in his eye.

“Hey, Adrian, do you mind getting a head start on this? I’d really like you to be our head man on--” he slid the file onto his desk, but was cut short by Adrian’s response. A response that had nothing to do with anything Marcus had just said.

“I’m gonna die alone,” he muttered, hands supporting his chin, elbows on his desk. Marcus let out an exasperated sigh that he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not gonna die alone,” he played along once again, rubbing his temple.

“Maybe I’ll go be a monk. They never have to worry about this shit.”

“An honorable profession.”

“Yeah.” Adrian blinked out of his dream-like state. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Marcus nodded rigidly. “Sorry, Pike.” He opened the file, nodding slowly, “Yeah, I’ll get on this.”

“You look exhausted,”

“I am,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“I’m making a break room run to get coffee, you want one?”

“Please.” Marcus nodded his understanding and made his way down the hall to the break room. He doubted a case and a coffee could get his friend back on track, but he could hope, right?

***

If you had to listen through one more of Wendy’s mood swings, you might just scream. You love the girl, you really do. She’s your friend and the best boss you could’ve asked for, but Lord Almighty, had she been in rare form. Some days she was perfectly fine, strutting around like she didn’t care that her asshole boyfriend Daniel gave her an ultimatum instead of a ring on their last anniversary. Other days would see her doing a complete 180, shutting herself in her office and weeping into suspect files. Your least favorite days, though, were days where the heartbreak made her angry, where thinking about Daniel saying “It’s me or your job” made her border-line vengeful. But, unfortunately for you and the rest of the team, he wasn’t around to take the beating.

You couldn’t say you entirely understood. The short catalog of even shorter flings that you boasted brought largely apathy rather than heartbreak. You couldn’t say you’d ever been in love like Wendy had been. You’d never felt anything quite that strong-- and thank goodness for that. It wasn’t something you particularly looked forward to, at least, not the way you’d seen it lately. It was an uncontrollable force, dangerous and all-consuming. You liked control, liked being in your right mind. If love was to take up it's unfortunate residence, you could only hope it was for someone worth losing your mind over. You hadn’t seen anyone of the sort so far. 

Unfortunately, it was already too late for Wendy Harrod. The already intimidating head of the Jewelry & Gem Theft Program in Texas was in rare form. You watched as an HR intern ran from her office in near tears. Poor Randy. Her sharp “come in” in response to your knock on her door made you wince.

“Harrod, I have the results of that house search you requested if you--”

“No, no! Absolutely not, I cannot handle this right now,” she was absolutely raging, leaving you grasping at straws for a response. 

“I-- Uh-- Of course. I’ll just leave it right here whenever--” you placed it gently on the end table by the door before being interrupted again.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned out before flopping into her desk chair, the red leather creaking as she let sit spin her around once, “I’m sorry. I’m being mean.” There was your Wendy.

“Just a little.”

“Sorry, sorry. Bring that here please.” 

“What can I do for you? As your friend, I mean. You--” you weighed your words carefully as you hand her the report, “You haven’t quite been yourself since…” you stopped that thought, “Well, lately.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I need,” she began to skim the report before looking back up with you with a tight lipped smile, “Maybe a coffee? For the more immediate problems anyway.” You laughed.

“Now that I can do. I’m headed there now. Break room coffee ok?”

“That’d be perfect.”

“The usual?”

“The usual.” She yelled after you as you walk down the hall, “You’re an angel!”

She wasn’t gonna be saying that when you came back without coffee. 

The sign on the coffee pot reading “out of coffee” was going to seriously ruin your reputation and Wendy’s sensitive mood. You ran through the options: you couldn’t leave to get her a Starbucks; there were some bottled iced coffees in the fridge, but Wendy hated them; you could wait for someone to make a run at lunch and pass on the order, but this was too urgent. Then it hit you. Everyone knew the sixth floor had the better coffee stock anyway. The art freaks loved their fancy stuff. You could always just waltz down a floor and snag two cups from their stash. 5 minutes in and out. No harm done, no questions asked. 

Or so you thought. 

The sixth floor break room was already occupied when you walked in, finding another agent also brewing a morning cup in a single cup coffee maker. 

They really did have everything here: multiple pots, another much fancier looking machine that looked like it might come to life and attack at any moment, recyclable coffee cups, every type of creamer. You name it.

You’d have to sneak over here more often.

You stepped up to the larger coffee pot, rinsing out the carafe before reaching for the container of grounds. Empty. 

They had everything here. Except coffee. 

Was the whole damn building in a coffee famine? You didn’t have time to check.

“No, no, no, no,” you panicked, frantically searching the cabinet for another container. In your peripheral you could see the other agent look at you like you’d grown two heads. You couldn’t be bothered with his judgement, but you met his eyes to ask, maybe a little too frantically. 

“Is that the last of it?” you questioned, eyeing the cup he was brewing.

“Well, yeah, sorry.” It was obvious he meant it, but apologies were not what you were needing right now.

“Shit.” 

“Withdrawals?” he laughed a little at your panicked state, but it wasn’t demeaning. He was genuinely amused, and maybe a little concerned, but it made you narrow your eyes at him all the same. You were not in the mood for the mocking, no matter how light-hearted it may be. No matter how much it was softened by the bright smile next to you.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my boss. My very upset boss who needs just one small ounce of joy in her life right now. The kind of joy that can only come from the fueling of her caffeine addiction, so if I could please just have that cup?” You blinked at him innocently, but his dark brown eyes widened as he shook his head

“What? No. I have a friend who needs this. If I don’t bring him this, he won’t be working for the rest of the day.”

“If I don’t bring my boss a cup of coffee in the next two minutes, I will probably not be working again. Ever. I will be dead. Do you want to be complicit in a murder, Agent--” you glanced at his badge, “Pike? Can you really live with that?”

“You’re awfully dramatic aren’t you?”

“I wish it was an exaggeration.” He inspected your badge then too.

“Jewelry and Gem Theft. Floor 7, right? What brings you down here to steal our coffee?” The argument was pointed, but his demeanor was anything but. He was smiling, enjoying this. A little too much, you seethed. You couldn’t stand around arguing all day.

“We’re out too.”

“Try another floor?”

“Time is of the essence here, Art Squad.” There was no room for addressing him politely now, he was riling you up on purpose. 

“If you didn’t stand here arguing with me you could’ve tried another floor by now, Jewels.”

He must think he’s so clever.

“Please. This is DEFCON 5.”

“You do know DEFCON 5 is the good one, right?”

“You know what I mean. Please.” He looked at you and then the newly brewed cup, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking through the problem.

“Tell you what. I am willing to split this if you are. Maybe it’s enough to fix both of them.” The crease between his eyebrows was deep as he studied your face, “I know Adrian is too out of it to notice he’s getting jipped, not sure about your boss.” You shrugged.

“Wendy will manage. It’s enough to keep her from throwing something at my head next time I walk in.” He dutifully split the coffee between two of the recyclable travel cups and handed one to you. You took it gratefully. 

“I hope this keeps you from… Dying? What’s up with that anyway?” You’re not sure what made this person that was essentially a stranger so interested in your life, but something about it feels nice.

“She had a really bad breakup: anniversary, thought it was going to be a proposal, instead it was him being a piss-baby. She’s a little all over the place right now. They’d been together for years and now there’s just… A hole. She doesn’t know how to deal with it.” Pike’s nod in response is emphatic, giving the cup in his hand a little wave.

“Same with him. Terrible breakup. He didn’t see it coming at all. She broke up with him on a voicemail… Then moved. ‘Course it just put him in this crazy funk, though. Doesn’t wanna work or do much of anything. No violence. Yet. But it’s sad to see.” You winced.

“That’s a rough one. Best of luck with him, Art Squad. Thank you. I owe you one. Seriously.”

“You definitely do, Jewels.” His smile is blindingly bright as he jokes. It makes you smile back.

“See you around.”

series taglist: @whiskeyslasso​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​

forever tags: @acomplicatedprofession​ @hdlynn​ @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales​ @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ @princessbatears​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives​

[hughiecampbelle]

Wildflowers (Shelby!Reader × Bonnie Gold Oneshot)

Character/s: Bonnie, Aberama mention

Word Count: 1,365

Inspired By: Silver by Nim Nim

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan

A/N: Another Bonnie fic! Though he's still not a character I write for, I couldn't stop thinking about this plot. This has been sitting in my writers block folder for weeks!!! I really did love my original idea, but I also think what it turned into is pretty good, too :) I haven't been feeling confident at all in my writing, which is part of the reason why I haven't posted a fic lately. I do love some paragraphs, but others I just wanna throw in the trash. It can't stop me from posting it though because I really do wanna get through this block. I'm thinking of doing a part two? Lmk if you'd want that! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

Beneath the clouds, so grey, so sad, sunlight blessed the trees, the leaves dancing in the breeze. Grass, overgrown, free to sway. Birds, bugs, everything seemed so alive, so eager to breathe and shout and let their presence be known. Unapologetically there, in their own skin. Going home, all of them, awaiting the impending storm. Static hung in the air, a heavy curtain, a blanket on your breastbone. Too thick to breath. The wind picking up. Brushing the leaves, the petals and pollen, across the stone pathway, down the dirt road, through the fields of wildflowers. You sat in the heart of it all, the warmth of the bright morning wrapping you in a it's arms, cupping your cheeks, holding all your broken pieces together. The heat in the air tracing your skin, kissing your face, as if it wanted to thaw every bad thing that had ever happened from your bones, stripped of what used to make you so angry. A warm step beneath your feet, your spine arched, in between your palms a mug. Eyelids heavy, wary of the bright outside growing dim, welcoming the day with a soft, cautious hello. Thunder rumbling, warning, threatening, baring it's teeth at the world. Lightning would follow soon, more timid, dancing on its toes, reminding you of the baby of the family, your youngest brother How you missed him. In no time, just as the storm, they would be here, and like the bugs, the babes, the blossom, you would be ready.

Prick and pinch your flesh all you wanted, this was no dream.

A home in the countryside. Tall, lopsided, full of warmth, of love. Standing on its own, reminding you so much of him, of what you were together. Defiant. Stubborn. Strong. Chipped bowls, and baskets of fruit, the sweetest stuffed between sugar and pastry. Patchwork quilts and holes in socks. Timid smiles, light touches, the faint smell of vanilla, lavender, of the bouquet he plucked on his way back. Honeyed kisses, promises of sweet dreams, of perfect mornings. Fireflies like fallen stars, a moon to sweet not to nibble at. A sleepy breeze, urging you to bed. This was your escape. Your hideaway, as far from the city as you could get. A place to yourselves, where time froze. The seasons changed, throwing you into the icy grips of the winter, the sweltering heat of the summer, but you, and him, together the same. Together safe, happy. Free.

It wasn't always like this, though.

Blood splatter. Silver jewelry. Broken bottles. A haze, all of it. The story torn apart and sewed together, limb by limb, coming to you in flashes, in nightmares, waking in a cold sweat. A time of regret, embarassment, of a pain so deep the wound never stopped bleeding. Still hasn't. Covering up a sadness no one cared to see, to acknowledge. A family only in words. Invisible, ignored, wanting to be seen, your screams of help falling on deaf ears. You were an object to them, and the rest of the world. A toy. The city lights bright, blinding, drawing you in on their own dark vices. Blacking out. Drink after drink until you were stumbling, fumbling, forgetting your own name. Falling for strangers. Skin on skin, their hot breath melting your neck, starved kisses up and down your body until you lay beside them, crushed, wanting to scrub yourself clean of this routine. An escape. A search for a home that never belonged to you. Drown out the thoughts, the fears, the misery. Putting your trust into their words. Once a Shelby, always a Shelby. Theirs to carry was also yours. A gun by birthright. A shallow grave you'd fall into too young, but just as guilty. Slip from the covers, one last swig to carry on. They wouldn't see you for days. A bender. Come down slowly, step by step, until you were light enough to face them, face the job, face the body behind the barrel. It was all the same.

This wasn't the life you wanted to live.

You didn't want to live at all if it meant going through the motions.

Calling him. One night, from someone else's phone, their body breathing shallow, steady, wrapped in nothing but grimy sheets. Another handprint on your thigh, another nameless face you'd wonder about. On the edge of the mattress, begging, desperate, scared. A noose like a necklace hanging around your neck. Dainty, delicate, dangerous. You needed someone, anyone. If they answered, it wasn't too late. That's what you told yourself. He wasn't the first number you dialed. Sibling by sibling, your brothers first, then sister. The bar, the shop, even your aunt too busy. You weren't quite sure why he was next, that he was there at all, Aberama giving you it for emergencies. Maybe it was the last number you could remember. Maybe you wanted a second chance, maybe you wanted to live after all. You barely even knew him, or his brown eyed boy. The few times you spoke he was warm, inviting, at times a little akward in a way that made you smile. But he picked up. His voice rusty, raspy, woken too early in the morning. A hint of panic. No call came with happy news at an hour like this. You apologized for waking him, regret pooling in your gut, spilling out into words like the vomit on your chin, but he stopped you, cut you off, not wanting you to hang up. There had to be a reason. So, he listened. A boy with big dreams listened until the sun came up. To the shakes, the sobs, the grief in your voice for the person you lost, the person you wanted so desperately to kill. To finally put an end to.

That was almost a year ago.

The Dark Days. They had a name, a date, a birthday, and a time of death. Those were the months, years, mere seconds, flashes of time you had a hard time remembering, that you wanted so desperately to leave behind. Hazy, drunken, angry. You wanted to hurt yourself more than anyone, and you did. But now, you could move on. He was there when no one else was. At first, as a friend. Then, something more. Someone more. The one to catch you when the floor fell through, when your body lay broken after time and time again hitting rock bottom. You loved Bonnie, and he loved you. It was simple, effortless, the only thing that ever made sense in this big, twisted life. The city too enticing, the bloodline too polluted, there was no way you could have shed your shadow in a place like that. So, you found this place together. Scraped together paychecks, pocket change, selling what you could. Taking solace in the comforts of one another. Making it your own.

Not a drop since.

The thunder clapped, applauding, warning you. Rain pounding on the roof, plopping in deep puddles, watering the wildflowers. A dreary grey tint cast overhead, illuminating the greens of mother nature. Lightning striking, slicing the sky right down the middle. You watched from the kitchen window, Bonnie behind you, his hand grabbing yours. One last second of peace before the storm ripped you apart. Windchimes bawling, crying, begging you to run. Now. The animals quiet, listening, anticipating the threat yet to come. Not the storm, though. But them. A black car drove softly through the mucky waters, mud splashing on the shiny black paint. Closer, closer, stopping short of the lopsided fence either you or Bonnie had yet to finish painting. He always promised he'd get to it one day. Long coats and caps with blades stitched with thread and blood. You hadn't seen any of them since. Leaving without a goodbye, without another word, disappearing in the night with a promise of a home of your own. You weren't sure how they found you, why they came at all. Whatever they said, or did, would never make you change your mind, make you go back.

Not to the Dark Days.

You weren't interested in being a Shelby anymore, you were a Gold now.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Superheroes By Day (Queen fic)

Summary: Queen are rock stars by night, superheroes by day. Each member has his own exceptional powers. They assemble for an important mission cerca 1986. Also, cellphones exist.

Inspiration: Totally random, pure ridiculousness, plz enjoy.

Warnings: Language.

Link to all my writing HERE

My burner phone rings. They always call me. I’m the only one who can be trusted to pick up.

“This is John.”

Freddie always loses his phone; he would lose his moustache if it wasn’t attached. Brian spends too much time frolicking with and rehabilitating forest creatures, so his phone goes dead and he can never charge it because surprise surprise, there are no wall sockets in the fucking woods. Rog is hopeless, hopeless. Last time they gave him a phone it ended up at the bottom of a jacuzzi tub in Morocco. I’ll let you try to figure that one out.

I listen to our latest mission, jotting down a few notes with the pen and notepad I keep in my fanny pack. Yes, I use a fanny pack. You would too if you had four kids. Shut up about it.

“You are tasked with assembling the others.”

I sigh, quite dramatically. “Can’t you...I don’t know, send limos or something?”

“Complete the mission, John.” They hang up. Superheroes get a lot less fanfare than rock stars.

I sprint outside and jump into my Mercedes-Benz 190E. I turn the key in the ignition. Nothing.

“No!” I gasp. I try again. Nothing. “No no no!”

I rush back inside the house. Veronica is taking fish sticks out of the oven and forking them onto plates for the kids.

“Babe, there’s something wrong with the Benz!”

“Oh,” she replies, unbothered. “Well I can take it to the shop tomorrow.”

“But I need it now! I have a mission!”

She peers out the kitchen window and into the driveway. “What’s wrong with the minivan?”

I follow her gaze, horrified. “Babe, love of my life, I cannot pick up the band in a Plymouth Voyager.”

“Why not?” she replies innocently. “Kids, lunch is ready!” I hear the stampede beginning upstairs. Veronica looks at me with her eyebrows raised. “Do you want the van or not?”

I tug at my permed hair in exasperation. “Okay, okay, I’ll take the van!”

She tosses me the keys and I’m out the door like a bolt of lightning. The Voyager roars to life without any hesitation.

I arrive at Brian’s house first. I honk precisely six times: the secret honk, the we-have-a-mission honk. A neighbor lady leans out her window, shakes her fist menacingly, and calls me a barmy wanker. Thanks, lady.

Brian toddles out of his house looking very sensible: button-up shirt, slim white trousers, general demeanor of a brooding academic. And then there are the clogs.

“You, ah, you’re not going to trip in those?” I venture.

He glares at me and slips wordlessly into the passenger’s seat. The Plymouth Voyager pulls out of his driveway. I fumble with the radio, and eventually find a good song. It’s disco. I bop my head and sing along, entirely offkey. Brian stares sullenly out the window and presumably wishes for death.

Roger is next. Six honks.

“Good god, there must be a more practical way to communicate in this day and age!” Brian says.

“I could try turning up the disco,” I suggest. He is not amused.

Rog is wearing all black, including his prescription sunglasses. He climbs into the back seat. “Good morning, gentlemen!” he announces cheerfully. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and produces an entire bottle of tequila.

“It’s 2:37 p.m., Rog,” Brian informs him.

Rog recoils, bewildered, then shrugs. He knocks back a few swallows of tequila and glances around the minivan. “Ooo, there are cupholders!”

I return to singing disco. Brian peers back at Rog. “Give me a swig of that.”

Freddie is waiting at the curb with a lit cigarette between his fingers. I roll up beside him. He appraises the Plymouth Voyager.

“Um, excuse me, but what the fuck.”

“I know, I know, the Benz wouldn’t start. Why are you out here already? Did someone call you? Did you actually know where your phone was?”

“Oh no, darling, the cats just don’t like me smoking indoors.”

“Whatever you say, Fred.”

“Miko sneezes terribly!”

He crawls into the back seat with Rog. They immediately begin giggling and shoving each other and inventing drinking games.

“Okay,” Freddie instructs, “every time Bri says something pretentious you have to take a shot.”

“Fred, I’ll fucking die!”

Brian buries his head in his hands. I clear my throat as I speed through traffic. “Um, is anyone actually interested in the mission?”

They settle down. “Oh yeah,” Roger says. “Go ahead, Deaks.”

“There is a family in Ealing whose dog, Mr. Doodles, has been stolen, probably to be held for ransom. We’re in pursuit of the burglar.”

“Wait, isn’t he going to be, like, way ahead of us by now?” Bri asks, ever the skeptic.

Roger rolls his eyes. “Fortunately, we happen to have...” He does jazz hands. “Superpowers!”

“Right. I’ll find him.” Freddie rubs his temples and closes his eyes in concentration. He has a dash of telepathy, but it only works on bad guys. Thank god for that, or the constant bombardment of space nonsense and disjointed basslines and naked women and car engine revs from us would completely drown out anything useful. “He’s heading west on Warwick Road!” 

I put the pedal to the metal and within a few minutes we’ve spotted him. The Plymouth Voyager squeals to a halt along the sidewalk. All four of us dive out of the van and into the street.

The burglar is tall and burly and wearing a black ski mask, how original. He’s also cloaked in a tremendously tacky mustard yellow coat and carrying a satchel that likely contains the aforementioned Mr. Doodles. He sees us and pulls a gun out of his international fashion crime of a coat.

Roger unleashes a sonic scream—“aaaaaAAAAAAAhhhhAAAAAAAAAA!”—and the gun flies out of the burglar’s hand. He curses in frustration.

“Avian friends, attack!” Brian calls out. A flock of ducks descend upon the burglar, swooping and pecking at him. He attempts to smack them away clumsily.

Freddie flies to the burglar’s side. Did I mention Freddie can fly? Well, he can fly. Short distances, anyway. “That coat is awful and you should feel bad about it.”

Now it’s my turn: snark so savage it can incapacitate a wrongdoer in seconds.

Freddie, reading the burglar’s deepest thoughts and darkest fears, gives me the information I need. “Deaky, he’s still traumatized from middle school algebra! Talk about algebra!”

“Quadratic equations! Polynomials!”

“Ahh!” the burglar screams, crumpling to the ground. He loses his grip on the satchel, and a small white ball of fluff tumbles out. Mr. Doodles barks, panicked and disoriented, and Brian rushes over to comfort him.

I shout: “If x times seven equals 49, what is the value of x?!”

“Please stop! I’ll do anything!” The burglar writhes helplessly, vanquished.

Brian laughs, cradling Mr. Doodles in his arms. “Pathetic!”

I unzip my fanny pack and sift through the stationary and toast crumbs. “Oh dammit, I forgot the handcuffs!”

“I got it,” Rog says. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. He clicks them around the burglar’s wrists and flashes a grin. Oh my god. Did I really just see that? Oh my god. “Do you need a blindfold too—?”

“No, Roger.”

The police arrive to take the thwarted burglar away and return Mr. Doodles to his rightful owners. Brian thanks the ducks kindly and feeds them cracked corn from his outstretched palm. Roger argues with the police because he wants to be sure he gets his fuzzy handcuffs back.

“Alright, darlings.” Freddie claps his hands together. “Job well done. Back to Garden Lodge. I’ll have Jim put some cookies in the oven for us.”

Roger raises his tequila bottle into the air and winks. “I’ll make the tea.”