#fic wip snippet

[aeoneskova]

Perciver wip snippet!

In honour of our great success on the battlefield (ao3 is back up) I thought I'd share a sneak peak of the next Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy chapter :)

“There you are, Percy!” George exclaimed breathlessly. He then nodded at Penelope. “And Percy’s girlfriend…”

“If you say so,” Penelope mumbled.

Priya rose her hand. “I’m here too.”

“What’re you doing here, George?” Percy questioned. “Where’s Fred?”

“Trying to have a bloody shower, though he’s not having much luck. We can’t get Oliver out.”

Percy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s gone and locked himself in the changing rooms. The shower’s been running for the last half hour and the rest of us need to get in.”

“Okay… what’s that got to do with me?”

“You’re Head Boy, aren’t you?”

Percy scoffed. “Since when do you care about that?”

“Since our Captain’s trying to drown himself, that’s when I care. You’re his roommate, you know how to deal with him, don’t you?”

“He does,” Penelope supplied unhelpfully.

“Great!” George dragged Percy up by the arm. “Come on!”

[baambastic]

“Drake,” Damian announced, “I require your presence at an outing this afternoon.”

“‘Hello, Tim, how are you?’ ‘I’m good, Damian, and how about you? Did you need something?’ It’s usually considered polite not to walk in and immediately make demands of people, Damian,” Tim replied from where he was hunched over his keyboard. He didn’t look over at his unexpected visitor, but he bet the brat was rolling his eyes.

“Whatever. Will you do it or not?”

Tim hummed. “Depends on what this ‘outing’ is. And why you didn’t ask Bruce or Dick to take you.”

“Father and Grayson are both imbeciles,” Damian huffed.

“They’re too busy today, you mean?”

“I meant what I said. Are you an imbecile like they are?”

“Again, you haven’t told me what it is you want to do.”

“Fine,” Damian grumbled. “Colin has asked me to do something called an ‘escape room’ with him. It sounded mildly diverting, so I looked into it. There’s a recently opened establishment for such an activity, but we need four people to participate.”

“And you want me to be one of those four,” Tim concluded. He pushed himself away from the computer. “I’ve got time, so sure, I’ll come with. Two things, though.” He paused for dramatic effect.

Damian crossed his arms impatiently. “Yes?”

Tim grinned. “First, who’s this Colin?”

“An acquaintance. He assisted me in apprehending Victor Zsasz not long ago.”

“Is he around your age?”

“Approximately.”

Was he some sort of meta, then? How else would a (presumably untrained) kid be able to handle Zsasz? Tim decided to file that away for later inspection. At least it sounded like Damian was making friends. He definitely needed some. “Alright then, second thing. You said you needed four people. Even with me, you only have three. Who’s your fourth?”

Damian looked away. “I… hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Was that embarrassment Tim heard in his voice? Damian was usually too proud for that.

“Okay, not a problem. I can wrangle us another person.” If the person he was thinking of could make it, both Damian and them could get a lot out of this. Hurrah for two birds with one escape-room-shaped stone.

“Very well. Colin and I will be waiting outside for you. I presume this fourth person will meet us at the establishment?”

“Probably, yeah. Did you really leave Colin on my doorstep?”

“He did not want to enter, I would say because he thought he might be unwelcome. A stupid notion; you are far too trusting.”

“Thanks,” Tim said drily. He waved towards the door. “Alright, lemme make this call.”

Damian nodded and walked away. Before fully exiting the room, though, he turned back to Tim. “What are you working on, anyway?” he asked.

Tim hummed. “Nothing much. Just preparing.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. After a few moments of waiting expectantly, Damian huffed and left.

[butch-buckley]

“So, you told him you were gay.”

Jake nods.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Javy,” comes Nat’s voice from in front of the dartboard. Bob hands her another dart, and she tosses it at the wall.

“I never said there was!” says Javy defensively. 

They’re drinking at the Hard Deck, something of a send-off before their collective two-week leave. A leave that, unfortunately, falls directly on Jake’s high school reunion. Apparently, being a hero means everything begins to fall into unfortunate place.

Javy takes another sip of his beer. “What’s the wrong part, then?” asks Fanboy, sitting next to him. 

“He assumed I had a boyfriend,” Jake sighs.

“And you had to awkwardly correct him, and he thinks it’s going to be weird that you’re the only one there without a partner,” says Javy.

Jake purses his lips.

“You did correct him, didn’t you?” the other man asks, slowly looking up from his beer.

Jake is silent. 

“Seresin. Tell me you corrected him.”

Jake covers his face with his hands, his confident demeanour all but destroyed by that fateful conversation. “I didn’t know what else to say! He was talking so fast, and he was so excited, and I’m—”

“—painfully single and embarrassed by it,” finishes Fanboy.

“I wouldn’t say painful. Or single,” adds Javy. “Embarrassed, yes.”

Jake glares at the both of them. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m… waiting.”

“Yeah, waiting with your legs wide open,” calls Nat. Bob sputters next to her.

“Don’t slut-shame me, Trace,” Jake says, pointing a finger at her.

“Stating a fact isn’t slut-shaming. You’re not exactly closed for business,” Nat points out. 

Bob shrugs. “He’s right, Nat. It’s not very feminist to talk about how the guys Jake chooses to bring home. Or how many of them there are.”

“Wise choice, mansplaining feminism to the female pilot holding a dart,” says Nat, pointing the projectile at Bob’s chest. He raises his arms in surrender, and she flicks it at the target.

“What’s this about mansplaining? I thought that was Hangman’s department,” comes a voice from the doorway.

And there’s Rooster, sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, a shining grin plastered on his face. He’s next to Jake in an instant, taking the empty seat beside him. “Or is Bob usurping your role?”

“Can it, Bradshaw,” Jake says. “I’m no misogynist.”

“That was just the repressed homosexuality talking,” adds Nat.

Jake shrugs. “She’s not wrong.”

[steviewashere]

To go along with my last line tag game post, here's a little snippet of something I'm working on (I say little but it's roughly 500 words, jeez):

————— Steve has roughly five seconds, the same five seconds it takes to turn and look over his shoulder, before Eddie—in all his scraggly, limb-flailing, wallet-chain-jingling glory—comes speeding and barreling over the Family Video counter. The next time he blinks, he’s flat on his back against the floor, a Reebok squished firmly to his cheek, and a knee to his aching crotch. There are black spots in his vision as he stares towards the ceiling.

Then, a wild mane of hair cascading around him like a curtain.

Big Whopper malt ball eyes.

An impish grin.

Yup, he notes blearily, that’s Munson.

“My tapes,” Steve mumbles, a soft sad coo bubbling the words. Sure enough, peeking around Eddie’s vest-broad shoulders, there’s a scattering of cases. Some of the plastic protectors have popped open—the Disney movies—and a couple cardboard shit-boxes now softened on their edges. He sighs, looking back to Eddie. Who, somehow, is closer before.

Within kissing range if he stops to think about it.

Which he won’t.

Not now, at least. Those are late night meandering thoughts when his house is a little too quiet. Not for middle of the day afternoon shifts before he’s had a meager lunch. Especially not then.

“Dude,” Eddie breathes. His breath ghosts over Steve’s face: menthol and…yeah, that’s a Yoo-Hoo. Pulling back, Eddie now straddles Steve’s lap, slapping hands over his shoulders. “Dude dude dude! Hideout’s lettin’ me do a solo show and you, my sweet baby boy, are gonna be front-fucking-row.”

Steve sighs again. “Did you have to charge at me?”

Eddie shrugs. “Eh. You’d be nose deep in that stupid inventory system if I didn’t.”

He wriggles against the floor, trying to free himself from Eddie’s shockingly sturdy thighs—again, he pushes those thoughts to the late night bin. “Get off me,” he lightly demands. “I’m gonna put barbed wire on the counter, swear to God.”

With a dusting and a few grunts, Eddie has righted them, dusting off whatever crap Steve landed in. It takes everything in him to not say anything about the fingers combing through his hair, parting through, checking up close and personal.

“Y’know, Eds, you should get one of those nose rings. Really, uh, finish off your freak flag and show the world who y’really are.”

“You saying I’m a raging bull, Stevie?”

“Mmm”—Steve throws up his hands, weighing them side to side—“yeah, sure, whatever you call a guy who tries to flatten your dick. All you need are the horns and the ring and the…the whole stomping of your feet. Set the stage.”

“Pssh, you probably liked it,” Eddie fires back. “Probably the most action you’ve gotten in eons.”

Steve scoffs, bending down to pick up the videos—Eddie follows him down, crinkling the plastic Disney clamshells closed, setting them on the counter behind him. “Sure, whatever you say Mr. Dusty-Pack-Of-Condoms.”

“Ooo hit ‘em right where it hurts, I see,” Eddie says around a smarmy grin, “you’re feisty when you wanna be. I commend you, Ole King of Yore.”

—————

[nerdanelparmandil]

Maedhros returns from Mandos, he doesn't know how or why. He feels as weary and burdened as the day he decided to end his life, but someone has decreed him healed and repented enough to release. So, life it is, even if it's still a burden. Bent by shame and regret, and by the knowledge that despite all, he had tried everything, every course of action, to reclaim the Silmarilli, fulfill the oath -- still it availed to nothing.

Fingon is not there when he's released, no one is. A long while will pass before he sees him.

Fingon regrets. He regrets his own death, the unfinished plans, the mistakes in the battle that cost them dearly. He regrets leaving Maedhros alone, dying before their vision could become a reality.

Most of all, he regrets Maedhros' own despair, that he has lost his faith completely and that he saw no other way out other than death.

One day they meet again, with all of their scars and open wounds.

The words, they do not come, not for a long time. Nothing Maedhros tries to say feels adequate, either too much or too little and his apologies remain stuck in his throat.

Fingon cannot say anything without his deep-seated rage seeping through. But the time for rage has gone, and he is too exhausted to keep digging up a long buried matter.

Yet, one question burns within him, and once the thought takes root, it becomes an obsession, and it's maddening.

So he asks, words spilling forth like burning lava, carving a path through his heart and threatening their fragile bond that has yet to heal.

"Would you have fought me?" he asks.

As the words leave his mouth, terror seizes him.

Maedhros frowns, the words not making sense. Fingon averts his eyes.

"If I-" he chokes on his words, stumbles, tries again. "If I had lived. At the Havens of Sirion, in that encampment, if I had been there, would you-" his voice is lost in a breath between them.

He cannot repeat the thought, too harrowing and condemning. It has escaped his lips and now will hang between them forever. He cannot take it back, and a chasm forms at the pit of his stomach. Suspended above the void, he waits for the inevitable fall.

He waits.

And waits.

The silence settles heavy in his heart, as it begins to break.

[heretoobsessstuff]

what took you so long?

A tender moment between john and gale in stalag, written for mota's 1 year anniversary and the beginning of the way they consumed my life lol.

John woke up one night to find Gale in his space.

*

It wasn’t unusual for Gale to hover nearby now. To watch him carefully when he thought John was sleeping. To trace his broken eye socket tenderly before sighing and retiring to his own bunk. But this was different.

Gale had been restless all evening. John had noticed the way he kept fidgeting, the way he looked over at John more than once as if he wanted to say something but he never did.

John hadn’t pressed. He knew Gale and he knew pressuring him would end up doing the exact opposite of drawing him out of his shell. He let Gale sit in his usual spot near the bunk and pretended not to notice how he stayed there longer than necessary, even when the lights were out and everyone else had gone to sleep. John closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come. Eventually, Gale had gone to bed as well.

Or so John thought.

Now, as John blinked blearily in the dark of the night, he realized Gale wasn’t in his own bunk.

He was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, back pressed lightly against the edge of John’s mattress.

This was it. John took a slow breath. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Gale didn’t startle.

Didn’t move.

He just exhaled quietly. “No.”

John shifted up onto his elbows, watching him. “Why are you down there?”

A beat.

Then, soft, hesitant..

“…I wanted to be close.”

John felt something in his chest ache.

He reached out, slow and deliberate, brushing his knuckles against Gale’s shoulder. “Come up here.”

Gale hesitated.

Then, carefully, deliberately, he moved.

John barely had time to shift before Gale was easing into the bed beside him gingerly, not quite touching, but close enough that John could feel his warmth and the slight shake of his limbs.

Gale let out a slow breath, his fingers twitching slightly against the blankets.

John watched him carefully. Then, quietly he whispered 

“Come here.”

Gale shivered. Eyeing John for a second before finally, he gave in.

He shifted closer, pressing into John’s side, his head tilting just slightly toward him.

John let out a slow breath, moving his head to rest lightly against Gale’s. “You okay?”

Gale swallowed.

“…I think so.”

John let his hand trace over Gale’s wrist, grounding. He felt Gale exhale, leaning into him a little more.

And John knew.

Gale wasn’t just letting himself be close.

He was asking for it. Not in words, but in ways he knew John understood. In ways John had learned about Gale over years of knowing him.

John could feel it, the way he was right there, close enough that he could reach for him easily, pull him close enough that John could feel the heat of him, but still holding back.

Still keeping that last bit of distance.

And John had let him. For weeks, he had let Gale take his time, let him hover just close enough, let him almost reach for him but never quite. He had been patient even though patience was never his forte. But now that Gale was here, now that he was looking at John like he wanted something but didn’t know if he was allowed to have it, John wasn’t waiting anymore.

“Come here.”

Gale inhaled sharply.

John didn’t move.

Didn’t pull him in.

Didn’t force it.

He just offered.

And this time Gale took it.

He moved slowly at first, hesitant, like he still wasn’t sure if he should. But the second John reached for him, really reached, with both arms, steady and certain, Gale let out a shaky breath and melted.

John had been holding himself back for weeks.

Now, finally, he didn’t have to.

His arms wrapped around Gale, solid and unshaking, pulling him in, pressing him against his chest the way he had wanted to all those long nights when Gale had been too far away. Nights when he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever feel Gale again.

Gale didn’t resist.

Didn’t tense.

Didn’t hold himself back.

He just went.

Went into John’s space, into John’s arms, like he had been waiting for this just as much as John had. His body eased against him, his weight pressing fully into John, like he trusted him to hold him up, to keep him steady.

John exhaled slowly, one hand smoothing over Gale’s back, the other pressing warm and steady between his shoulder blades.

He felt Gale shudder and he knew it wasn’t from pain or exhaustion. It was from relief.

John squeezed his eyes shut, breathing him in.

Finally.

Finally, finally.

His hand moved up slowly, brushing against the back of Gale’s neck. Touching the blond baby hairs tenderly. His voice was low, warm. 

“What took you so long?”

Gale let out a soft, breathless sound, half a laugh, half a sigh.

Then, muffled against John’s blouse,

“I didn’t know if I could.”

John pulled back just enough to see his face. “And now?”

Gale swallowed, his fingers curling loosely in the fabric of John’s shirt. “Now I don’t want to stop.”

John’s chest ached.

He cupped the side of Gale’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “Then don’t.”

Gale inhaled shakily. His eyes were softer now. Still tired, still carrying everything he had been holding onto, but softer. More himself.

John tilted his forehead against Gale’s, voice quiet. “I wanted to give you space”

Gale’s breath caught. “I know John” a pause “don’t want space anymmore” 

John tightened his arms around him. “then stay right here.”

Gale sighed, exhaling long and slow, pressing himself closer. 

And John just held him.

Held him the way he had wanted to for so long.

Held him the way he needed to.

Held him until Gale finally, finally let go of the distance between them.

over the past few weeks my beloved moots @joeyalohadream @middlingmay @onyxsboxes @trekkiehood and @stars-remain2 have tagged me in last line tags and word finding games. i just wanted to say i appreciate u guys thinking abt little old me sm and i hope this makes up for those <3

[parkitaco]

what if we shared a bed in ur tiny dorm room after not speaking for years and shared our deep thoughts… and we were both boys…

[elvensorceress]

Saturday snippet/Fuck it Friday

more omegaverse fun for beloved @chismosoeddie Eddie being homesick and Buck trying to make it better 🥰

@tizniz @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @chaosandwolves @xjeanmoreaux @mangonadaeddie @dangerpronebuddie @sergeantchenford @bekkachaos @glorious-spoon @sofa-king-lame @spotsandsocks @livinginsunnyhell @sazanahashi @damnikindaship @rainbow-nerdss @youreavicioustrollop @kejfeblintz @keynb @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove 💕

There’s a package on Eddie's doorstep when he gets home late. He can smell it even before he gets out of his car. Even before he opens it. The scent is sweet, vanilla-y, rich and golden. 

Like Buck. It smells like Buck. 

The box holds two batches of cookies, a loaf of beautiful sourdough, a soft fuzzy blanket, and an LAFD hoodie that has BUCKLEY embroidered on the sleeve. 

The cookies are amazing. He eats three immediately and it also miraculously helps his stomach. Then he puts on the hoodie, Texas heat be damned, and it’s so big. Hugely too big on him. Yeah, he’s smaller than Buck but not this much. Even Buck would be swimming in this. Maybe that’s why he passed it along? He had to have just worn it for the scent of him to be this strong. 

The scent is so strong. It’s so sweet and rich and it almost, almost feels like Buck hugging him. 

Why does wearing something Buck just wore (but gifted to him because he wore it?) feel so intimate? Why does it feel like love and magic wrapped around him? 

It is something mates do. People who choose to be chemically, emotionally, physically bonded to each other. They share scent marked items for closeness and comfort. But it is also something family members do when they have to be apart, and Buck is absolutely Eddie’s family. That’s all this is. Family intimacy. 

Eddie wraps his arms around himself and might like the overly large size of the hoodie. All the soft familiar material covering him so he’s enveloped everywhere in something that smells like Buck. He holds the baggy collar to his face and breathes in deeply.

Pleasant radiant soothing sweetness floods through his whole body. It makes shivers coast all over his skin and deep warmth pool in his belly. He might actually be able to sleep soundly like this. It’s such a relief. It’s so— he doesn’t have a word for it except soothing. 

He picks up the blanket and holds it to his face. It’s thin but a soft, fleecy material. Not too thick or heavy. Good for hot desert climates, maybe even during the summer. The smell on it is also so strong. As if Buck slept with it tangled around his body— maybe tangled around his naked body? For it to smell this heady? Before he stuck it in the mail for Eddie. 

An ache of homesickness hits him right through his chest. 

How could he leave everything? How is he going to make a home for himself and his son when all he wants is what he had to leave behind? 

He will. He did it before. It will happen. For now, he can breathe in sweetness and comfort. He can’t help but imagine— remember Buck’s arms around him. Buck melting all over him, draped around him, holding him so long and so tightly. 

No one has ever held Eddie that way. Like they can hardly bear to let go. He’s never been held the way Buck holds him. 

Eddie squeezes his arms around his own body and suddenly wants to cry. He’s fine though. He’s fine.

But. The thing is. 

This— the hoodie, the blanket, the taste of chocolate and cinnamon, the smell of spicy sweet vanilla-y Buck— it quiets the emptiness that’s been gnawing at Eddie’s insides. The haunting, absent nothingness when he tries to nest and make a new home for himself? It isn’t present anymore. Not when he can smell and feel Buck. Not when he can almost trick himself into believing that Buck is holding him. That Buck is with him. 

His phone lights up and Eddie quickly wipes at his eyes just so Buck doesn’t worry. He’s fine. Just— just missing his best friend. He misses having a home. And a family. 

Eddie still gives him a smile when he answers, “Hey, Buck.” 

“Hey! Did you get your care package? I got a notification that it was delivered. I tried to ship it to you as quick as it could get there. Figured you needed it.” 

Of course that’s what Buck did. Eddie bites his lip, and doesn’t want to cry right now. He so easily could. He wishes Buck were here. Actually, if he’s wishing for things, he wishes he and his son were back home and with their Buck and none of them ever had to be separated. 

Eddie tips his phone down so the camera will show his torso already swathed in Buck’s giant hoodie.

“Oh,” Buck says like he’s stunned. Or full of awe as if Eddie is a mythical, spectacular thing to behold. He’s not. He actually looks worn out and tired when he looks at himself. He doesn’t remember the last time he got even three hours of sleep in a row. But he is wearing Buck’s hoodie. And Buck looks at him like he can’t believe Eddie’s actually wearing the clothing that was sent to him. 

Is it such a weird thing? They’ve accidentally switched clothes before. Happens when you always do laundry together. 

God, Eddie even misses doing laundry now. What the hell is in the El Paso water these days? 

[girlsdads]

tagged by @annebd for WIP wednesday friday... instead of a WIP snippet have something that i don't really know what else to do with but i didn't hate so :-)

Max’s phone lights up with Daniel’s name while he’s sitting in hospitality the morning of race day. It’s face-up on the arm of the sofa—Max watches as it catches the eye of Lawson next to him. Possessiveness rises like bile in his throat. He snatches the phone as quickly as he can, cradles it to his chest like that would erase the letters of Daniel’s name from Lawson’s memory.

“Whatever, mate,” Lawson quips, rolling his eyes. Like anyone was talking to him, anyway. Like Max gives a fuck if he’s here or not. Like they’re mates, and he’s not someone Max is contractually obligated to be cordial to.

“Clean up your crumbs, when you are finished,” Max says as he stands, sweeping his gaze pointedly over the spray of chocolate chip muffin debris covering Lawson’s lap and the sofa cushion beside him. He doesn’t wait for Lawson’s response before stalking from the room. He thinks about the stacks of keto-friendly protein bars going stale back in his motorhome and hates Lawson that much more.

Max waits until he’s closed the motorhome door behind him to open Daniel’s text.

It’s stupid, he knows, to want to do this in private. Everyone knows he talks to Daniel still, probably no one would think it strange or pathetic for Max to be texting him now. Daniel had said—Max had known he wouldn’t be here, this weekend, or any weekend. Max understands, in his own way, despite how bereft he always feels, during.

But. It is a race day and Daniel is texting him. Daniel hasn’t texted on a race weekend since, well—since. He had facetimed the day after Brazil, relaxed and happy and congratulating Max from New York. They keep a running conversation during off weeks, Daniel sending picture after picture of himself with arms around his friends, some Max knows, some he doesn’t. Max saves the photos to a hidden folder on his phone, crops them all so it’s only Daniel. Sometimes it leaves him missing an arm, or two, but he can’t stand to see Daniel with all these people who aren’t Max. In turn, Max sends him videos of the cats, memes he hopes will make Daniel laugh, updates on the funny-looking bird that has been building a nest on Max’s balcony.

(That’s my—what’s the little animal friend that witches have—my familiar, Maximus! I sent him to watch over you, obviously. Be nice to him.) That message had gone into the secret folder, too.

Race weekends are radio silence. Max has come to terms with that, knows it isn’t personal, that it’s an open wound Daniel is nursing. So for Daniel to reach out, today of all days, Max can’t help the stab of yearning in his belly. It could be an important day, for Max, maybe Daniel decided—maybe he’s said he’s hopped a plane, he’s driving out from LA, he’ll be here before the chequered flag—

Max couldn’t bear it if anyone else were around, if that’s not what Daniel’s message says. Even alone, he feels like a hermit crab that’s outgrown its shell, hope leaving him soft-bellied and vulnerable.

He swipes open his and Daniel’s message chain.

Daniel’s not coming to Vegas. At least, that’s not what he’s texted.

The text is a picture. Max’s eyes are drawn immediately to Daniel, though he’s only in about one quarter of the frame. If he was trying to take a selfie, he did not do such a good job--it's mostly a shot of the dusty-red ground, Daniel's beautiful face peeking in from the top corner. He’s wearing his dirt biking clothes, sweat darkening the pits of his long sleeves where his arm is lifted to make a thumbs-up. His pinky still doesn't quite fold in next to the rest of his fingers. Max wants to kiss the careful bend of his knuckle.

It's a few long moments before Max even registers what's etched into the earth behind Daniel. It is very obvious, then, why Daniel is sending this now. There in the California dirt, Daniel has used a stick or maybe even one of his long, lovely fingers to write 3 + 1 = 4. A wobbly heart is drawn around the whole thing.

Max is infinitely grateful for the lack of prying eyes as he sinks slowly to the floor. He draws his knees up to his chest and cradles the phone in cupped hands, as if the message will be sucked back into the ether if he grips too tightly. He lightly taps to full-screen the image, zooms in on Daniel's face. The soft, almost awkward smile is the same one Max has only ever seen directed at him. He knows this, because he's spent years cataloguing Daniel's interactions with others, longing and longing. Daniel never makes that face at anyone else.

Max's phone buzzes as another text comes through. Daniel's hands reaching through the wire to squeeze Max's heart until it leaks out between his fingers.

Always cheering for you, Max. Give 'em hell for me.

[nimuetheseawitch]

He traced patterns over Bradley's skin in the soft morning light. He kissed a constellation of freckles on his shoulder and his fingers wandered in the direction they always did. Spooning Bradley like this, it was so easy, so natural for his fingers to glide along the tattoo on his ribs. It was a beautiful piece of art, and Jake let his fingers travel slowly over the graceful figures of two geese in flight. He'd done it so many times before that he didn't expect anything except for Bradley to grumble at him softly on waking and grab his hand to pull him over for a kiss, but today, Bradley's hand just rested on his, arresting it's movement. Jake's breath caught, and he waited, listening to the changes in Bradley's breathing.

After a quiet eternity, Bradley breathed in deeply and started speaking softly.

"My mother had a tattoo like this."

Jake didn't interrupt, but he stilled entirely, afraid that if he moved, Bradley would startle and stop talking. He'd never said much about his mother besides that she had died, and Jake could tell this was important.

"It was on her left shoulder, behind her heart. Every time we went to the beach, she would ask me to put sunscreen on her back and she would tell me about him, about Goose, my father. She told me how he'd loved to fly, how he'd loved to laugh, how he'd loved to sing, how he'd loved us so, so much. Sometimes she'd smile at the stories she told me, and sometimes she'd cry, and sometimes she'd hold me tight until I whined for her to let me go play. It was her first tattoo, and she said that she liked that even though she couldn't see it, she always knew it was there."

Bradley paused, and Jake linked their fingers together over his tattoo, trying to silently give him support.

"She started tattooing when I was 5 or 6, I think. Said she liked meeting all sorts of people and learning what kinds of things they wanted on their bodies permanently. By the time I was a teenager, her arms were full of color, full of the art her friends did for her. She said she liked carrying the people she loved with her everywhere where people could see it." Bradley huffed a small laugh that could've been mistaken for a sob. "She got so angry when I let one of my friends give me a shitty poke tattoo when I was 15. She put all my allowance for months towards the cost of ink to do a proper cover up for me. That's the swallow on my wrist. When she was diagnosed with cancer--"

Jake couldn't help the small noise he made at that, and Bradley just squeezed his hand before continuing.

"When she was diagnosed, she told me she wanted her last tattoo to be one for me, and I asked her for a goose of my own. She gave me two, one for her and one for Dad. She said she'd always wanted to fly with him. It wasn't until after the funeral that I realized she'd put them where my hand always went when I hugged myself."

[oh-no-its-bird]

On one hand: I know it isn't too smart to advertise exactly what I'm writing when I am, bc it means if/when I inevitably fail to produce it, I'll feel extra bad about it bc people knew I was doing it / might have been expecting to see the final product

On the other hand, I really love the feedback and it does give me more motivation to actually keep going

Anyways.

Anyways uhh. Then off screen, MBJ fights a god and demands to be reincarnated w SQH, which is why we see him as Jun later on.

[aeoneskova]

Perciver wip snippet! :)

Only two more chapters to go! Here's a snippet of the next one, which will hopefully be up soon <33

“I’m sorry, Professor, but it’s getting closer to our next match and Harry can’t exactly go against Ravenclaw on a Cleansweep.”

“Perhaps, but nor can Mr Potter fly on a broom jinxed by Sirius Black, I’m sure you understand. We’ve already had one incident on the pitch, I’d rather avoid another.”

“Yeah, but- but, let’s be realistic here, what’re the odds Sirius Black actually got him that broom? Isn’t he supposed to be, like, half-starved and haggard? Which silly bugger’s sold him a Firebolt?”

“Black or not, we do not know who sent Mr Potter the broom and therefore we cannot take any chances. I will not cut corners in this matter.”

“Can we not even just borrow the broom for the match?" Oliver pleaded. "Then you can have it back! If it throws him off, we can catch him! Even better if he gets the snitch on the way down-”

“Mr Wood!” McGonagal rose suddenly from her chair. Oliver stepped back in fear. “I must say, I did not expect to hear something so un-sportsmanly from you.”

“Err- sorry-”

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

part 1 of a little comic / art sequence that i've been working on! :D it's part tribute, part experimenting with brushes n colors and trying new thingz :]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | ... |

and thus continues my endless quest of spreading the carrot fics like a plague! if you've seen my art floating around you probs already figured that this au holds a very special place in my heart, forever and always!!

if you haven't heard of it, it's a fic series by @crowned-ladybug called carrot soup!! it made me wish i could speak colors and i need more people to share my struggle xd

go check it out if you're into sweet voice lore and qpr level gayness and just wanna feel warm and soft and warm (hurt/comfort my beloved) <333 there are some heavier themes cos everyone's traumatized but they're working through it! be sure to check the tags and stay safe! <3

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @theotherbuckley

hello, I need to start posting more snippets again, I have too many wips I need motivation for lol

here's my "8x11 morning after going differently fic" where im giving them the counter make out they deserve lol it uses some of the dialogue until a certain point, but then it's going how it was supposed to idc lol

(lowkey set myself a cut off point in the episode dialogue to change stuff from then on and got stuck but I rememberd I can change stuff at any point actually, who knew lol)

___

"Honestly?" Buck scans Tommy's face, leaning in slightly. He can't help his eyes falling onto his lips, that perfect cupid's bow he needs to taste again. "This was the best night I've had in this place." He smiles, feeling so light and well-rested for once, and so happy. Just, he feels right, sitting here with Tommy so close. "To be fair," Buck adds, "it's also the first night I've had in this place, but, uh, still." He licks his lips, not even hiding he's looking right at Tommy's. Craving another taste.

Buck squeezes his thighs around Tommy's hips, reaches out to wrap his arms around Tommy's neck and bringing him closer. Tommy's not protesting, his smile only growing, hands inching a little further up on Buck's thighs.

"Yeah?" Tommy tilts his head, gaze stopping on Buck's lips.

"Mhm." Buck's eyes flutter as he leans further into Tommy, their noses brushing.

"Wonder why's that." Tommy hums, and Buck laughs, shakes his head slightly, enough to not lean away from Tommy.

"I always sleep better with you next to me." Buck whispers, and hears Tommy's breath hitch before he presses his lips to Tommy's.

___

no pressure tags

@dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @pirrusstuff @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @diazheartsbuckley @giddyupbuck @thewolvesof1998 @underwaterninja13 @your-catfish-friend @gaytommykinard @beyourownanchor6 @weewootruck @kirkaut @quillvice @wildfluorescent @bucked-it-up @drcloyd @girlwonder-writes @dadbodbucky @loullaby @aringofsalt @actuallyitsellie @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @hyperfocusthusly @cornerofspace @tommybuckleys @romanbridgers @evansbuck-ley @champagnetommy and anyone who wants to idk <3

[steviewashere]

Another little WIP Snippet, except this time it's from the start of my second part in my text fic universe. Things get a little meta and a little wild all in one.

CW: Referenced Omegaverse/Aspects of Omegaverse (this is not an omegaverse fic though)

————— Eddie: stevie i’m gonna write fan fic about us <33

Steve: Do I wanna know what fanfic is?

Eddie: for the sake of my brain I need you to just pretend to know..ok?

Steve: Fine. Sure. Whatever.

Steve: So…are you writing about us going to see a movie or something?

Seen less than 1 minute ago

Eddie: mmmmm or something………

Steve: Oh god, what are you doing?

Eddie: sex :3

Eddie: animal style :D

Seen 5 minutes ago

Eddie: do you think you’re more alpha or omega or a beta???

Eddie: this is important information to me

Eddie: I need you to respond now

Steve: Isn’t that alpha stuff just stupid shit that conservative cucks argue about online?

Steve: Where they try to compare themself to Patrick Bateman as if that’s a good thing?

Eddie: …yes…but that’s not what I’m talking about right now.

Eddie: basically do you think youre more

Eddie: …actually

Eddie: don’t answer any of my questions right now I’m taking this into my own hands

Steve: I think I just felt a disturbance in the force. What the fuck are you about to do to me?

Eddie: well you want six kids somehow

Seen less than 1 minute ago

Steve: Eddie…

Eddie: :3

Eddie: youre gonna be bouncing on my knot

Steve: What the fuck does THAT mean?

Eddie: shhhhhhh….daddy says that kitten doesn’t need to worry about that right meow

Steve: Don’t call me that.

Steve: Also. If anybody’s any sort of daddy in this relationship it’s me and I think you know that.

Steve: Also also. You saying that pun gave me the ick.

Seen less than 1 minute ago

Eddie: Who the fuck taught you what the ick means?

Eddie: I’ve never heard you say those series of words ever. In my life. You have never. And I mean never. Said that to me ever.

Eddie: Are you online?

Eddie: Are you lurking somewhere online?

Seen less than 1 minute ago

Steve: …

Steve: Robin forced me to download TikTok.

Steve: The shopping menu is bullshit and super invasive.

Steve: But also people on there are funny.

Steve: And also there’s people on there who share facts about praying mantises and sharks and I didn’t know I could learn so many facts, but I’m having the time of my life. Did you know that hammerheads go hunting by themselves? So, because they’re carnivores, they hunt down other sea wildlife. And they can dig through the sand on the ocean floor to find stingrays to eat. Also, great hammerheads—which is what I’ve been talking about—they have pups once every two years or something and can have, like, fifty of them in one litter! Live pups, too! Not eggs! They don’t lay eggs like other fish do, like clown fish, you know? Isn’t that crazy?! That’s crazy!

Steve: Well…smooth hammerheads have up to fifty, last I heard. Great hammerheads can have, like, up to forty-two. But that’s still a crazy number!

Steve: Imagine having that many children at once?

Steve: I can’t even handle the seven I accidentally picked up over the last few years! They’re not even my children!

Seen just now

Eddie: can you come home from the gym and talk more shark facts with me

Eddie: I love when you talk about sharks

Steve: You should make me talk about shark facts in that fanfic thing of yours.

Eddie: come home and give me an in person example of you talking about sharks. I wanna get the gleam in your eyes when I write about you.

Steve: Okay ❤️

Eddie: I love you so fucking much

Steve: I love you too

Delivered 10 minutes ago

Steve: Also, I looked up what you were asking me.

Steve: You should make both of us alphas. And then you should…hold on I have to look it up again.

Steve: You should “bitch” me. Wow, that sounds really derogatory. Is that derogatory? Side note, how many feminists do you think are into this omegaverse stuff? Do they “get the ick” when reading about bitching or is it like a secretly sexy thing to them that they’re too ashamed to admit out loud?

Steve: Okay, I’m reading some…some Arcane Jayce/Viktor thing on my phone right now and I think you should definitely still “bitch” me. The way this bitching thing works changes so much from story to story, I don’t even know what’s lore accurate to the omegaverse or what’s just people’s kinks taking on new shape.

Steve: But you should do it me on, like, accident. And I should be kinda mad at first, but then I realize that I love the new version of myself. Like so much more than I loved my previous self. And that I am happier in my new body and stuff. And you should delicately eat me out because you’re still nervous about fucking up with me, but then I yank you by the hair and make you choke on my “slick”—why is it called that; I don’t think I like that part very much, but whatever. And I’m all euphoric and shit.

Steve: And then I have a pussy like I was destined to have.

Steve: Okay, some of this stuff is so cool. Also, there’s some depressing stuff in this ship’s tag.

Seen just now

Eddie: got a boner too fast. Nosebleed.

Eddie: also. babe, I think you might have something to work through, maybe.

Eddie: and also I feel like I just created a monster. are you reading fics right now instead of coming home?

Steve: I’m eating a cheesy Gordita crunch in my car while reading and sipping on my large ass Baja blast. So…yeah, I guess.

Steve: I’ll be done soon, though. It’ll be fine.

Delivered 2 hours ago

Eddie: so are you coming home now?? do I need to report you missing???

Steve: Do NOT read the playlist jayvik fic. Do not do it. Oh my god. I’m gonna throw up from crying I am not okay right now.

Eddie: oh no you discovered it

Eddie: just…just get yourself calmed and come home when you can please don’t drive with tears in your eyes I don’t need you dying

Delivered just now

Steve: You are not allowed to kill either of us in your fanfic.

Steve: But I still want you to do that bitching thing.

Steve: Please.

Eddie: I don’t wanna push you in any sort of way…but do you think that we should maybe have a conversation about why you’re so fascinated with that part?? It’s starting to not sound like a kink.

Eddie: in fact, I feel like I have it on good authority that this wasn’t a kink to start with.

Steve: Maybe, but I’ve gotta focus on driving now, so I’m not worried about any of that stuff right now. Bringing you a Doritos taco. And your piss colored Mtn Dew.

Steve: You should suck my dick when I get home to make me feel better.

Steve: After you eat and brush your teeth, though. I don’t need nacho cheese powder on my dick.

Delivered just now

—————

[runninriot]

it's been a while but i'm finally back to working on this little something 😇

Eddie’s breathless when Steve breaks the kiss, chest heaving, lips parted and shiny, eyes dark and dazed. Looking already fucked-out from nothing but this – just a little kissing and touching, just the barest minimum of physical contact where they’re both unmistakably wanting for more – and it makes Steve wonder, imagine, how he’ll look even more beautiful when he’s done with him.

Steve can’t wait to watch him fall apart.

He releases Eddie from his hold, steps away just enough to give himself some space to lift his arms and pull his shirt over his head. With his upper body proudly on display, Steve revels in the way he can almost feel Eddie’s eyes rake over him in awe, finds pleasure in it. He knows he looks good, doesn’t mind showing off, can’t deny that he likes to be adored like that.

   “You can touch me, if you like,” Steve offers, takes Eddie’s hands and brings them up to his chest.

Eddie takes a deep, grounding breath and nods, almost like giving himself permission, before he lets the tips of his fingers glide into Steve’s chest hair and over his pecs, thumbing his nipples briefly, tracing invisible lines down his sides and over his stomach. Steve shivers, closes his eyes and gives himself to the gentle touch, to the feeling of Eddie's hands on his skin, careful and shy but eager to explore.

It feels good, so good in fact that for a moment, Steve forgets his initial plan. But one particular part of him doesn’t, is demanding attention, bringing his focus back to where it should be.

He places his hands above Eddie’s and guides them down to where his jeans meet his waist.

   “Wanna help me out of these?”

Eddie’s eyes widen before they flick down to where his trembling fingers start fighting with the button and zipper of Steve’s jeans. It’s a relief when he finally manages to get them undone, releasing him from the strain of the too tight fabric. Steve helps pushing his jeans down all the way, leaving them in a pile one the floor when he steps out.

He can’t stop the dirty grin from forming on his lips when his eyes fall on the now very much visible bulge in Eddie’s middle, feeling just a bit too pleased with himself for having that effect on him.

God, he can't wait to see what's hidden beneath those clothes.

   “Your turn.”

-----

edit: it's up on ao3 now 😇