#i have 7 FIC WIPS

[castielsprostate]

need to actually work on some of my wips but thinking about doing those things is so much more fun

[wikiangela]

Seven Sentence Sunday

tagged by @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @tizniz 💖

today a different wip again that I don't think I shared yet lol - writing a smutty sequel to my bucktommy post-first date fic and it's barely started but there's progress! 😅

___

“Say that again.” Buck says quietly, even to his own ears sounding almost frantic. His hands twist in the fabric of Tommy’s t-shirt, and pull him as close as possible with their seatbelts on. He needs to get to his place as soon as possible and get enveloped in Tommy, no room for air between them, he just needs him closer, closer, closer.

“Say what?” Tommy teases, lips brushing the shell of Buck’s ear, knowing damn well what Buck wants to hear. 

“You know what.” Buck pulls away slightly, just to meet Tommy’s eyes, and can’t stop a pout that quickly turns into an awed smile. It’s a late evening, the sky is dark, just like the inside of the car, only illuminated by the lights of the city as they’re driving, and Tommy looks so gorgeous. There’s an amused smile playing on his kiss-swollen lips, but even in the dark Buck can see his own desire mirrored in Tommy’s eyes.

“What?” he smirks, leans closer to press a kiss to his lips again. “Baby?” he whispers, and Buck shivers, a sharp gasp escaping him. Oh, he likes this. He likes when Tommy calls him just about anything, in that wonderful voice of his, but this, being called a pet name like this by a man, it’s new and thrilling, and that man being Tommy is just so exhilarating, it makes his racing heart skip a beat, and it only adds to the heat pooling in his stomach. Shit, he needs to get Tommy alone right the fuck now.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwaterninja13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @your-catfish-friend @daffi-990 @dangerpronebuddie @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @bidisasterevankinard

[send-me-a-puffalope]

some fnaf movie wips i have laying around ^-^

[astrobei]

it's my time coming

Will scowls. “Not funny,” he says for a third time. “Go away.” Mike drops the stick unceremoniously. It falls to the damp forest floor, tumbling over itself before coming to a stop, splashing a few drops of water onto the hem of Will’s pants. “Okay fine,” Mike says. “I’ll bite. What’s your deal?” The other fact of the matter is this: tomorrow, Will is going to walk into the Upside Down and not look back. Tomorrow, he is either going to kill Vecna or die trying — and Mike is not going with him.

Even the actual apocalypse had to end sometime, but Will didn’t exactly expect it to happen like this.

[daffi-990]

✨ Inspiration Saturday ✨

Tagged by @disasterbuckdiaz @watchyourbuck @hippolotamus @callmenewbie @jeeyuns @exhuastedpigeon and @jamespearce9-1-1. Thank you all so much for the tags 💕

Here’s a moodboard and a tiny snippet for the tsunami arc in Rival Firefighters 🚒 . I’ll be changing things up a little from canon in a what if Buck got swept away while saving people and didn’t make it back to the fire truck kinda way 👀.

Hold your breath, don’t let the water in.

Christopher.

Look for the light. Light means the surface.

Don’t breathe.

Christopher!

Light! Keep going!

Don’t breathe!

Hold on just a little longer!

ALMOST THERE!

Buck breaks through the surface of the water, gasping for breath. He tries to take stock of his surroundings as he breathes in lungfuls of air, relieved that he’s still able to. Water stretches out around him and goes so far into the city, Buck can’t see its end. Copious amounts of debris float along the surface of the water, and Buck knows even more lays beneath. Cars, trees, telephone polls, anything you’d usually find on the streets of Los Angeles was now submerged under the tsunami’s war path. Among the debris Buck also knows are bodies, people who hadn’t been as fortunate as him to survive the first wave. He prays to whoever is listening that Chris isn’t one of them.

No pressure tagging: @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine @wikiangela @malewifediaz @loserdiaz @jesuisici33 @monsterrae1 @eddiebabygirldiaz @athenagranted @spotsandsocks @ladydorian05 @rainbow-nerdss @try-set-me-on-fire @the-likesofus @devirnis @giddyupbuck @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @captain-hen @bekkachaos @weewootruck @nmcggg and any others who want to join in and share. All are welcome ☺️

[neverevan]

Snippet Sunday 🌟

I was tagged by @thewolvesof1998 @jeeyuns and @disasterbuckdiaz thank youuu mwuah 💛

Hey peeps, guess what? I finished the first draft for the ski fic today and now it only needs to be edited. 🫡 So, I decided to venture into my drafts and see what else could I get into and work on after all these festivities and I ended up tapping back into the screaming universe fic, so here's a snippet from that.

“Hey uh Eddie.” Buck clasped his hands together in front of his chest as he walked after Eddie into the kitchen. “C-can we talk?”

“Sure, what’s up Buck?” Eddie looked at him for a moment as he put the bags on top of the table, then he started pulling their contents out of them one by one.

“I uh… I had an interesting conversation with Chris just before you got back, n-nothing too serious, I just thought you should know.” Buck trailed after Eddie as he put two boxes of cereal into the cabinet and even though it must’ve been ridiculous for him to literally follow him around in such a small space, he couldn’t really help it.

“Oh no.” Eddie barked out a laugh and shook his head as he closed the upper cabinet. “You had the Kevin talk with him, didn’t you?”

“Uh y-yeah, how’d you know?”

Eddie sighed in parental exasperation — Buck could always tell this sigh of Eddie’s from any other ones.

“He ambushed me with it last week, talked my ears off about it, asked a bunch of questions I couldn't really answer…”

“Sorry.” Buck grimaced, though he knew it wasn’t exactly his fault Kevin had two dads — or that it would give Christopher ideas; he was a pretty creative kid after all.

“For what? The kid isn’t entirely wrong.” Eddie shrugged and went back to dig a big tub of butter out of one of the paper bags.

“What?”

“Well, he says that if we got married then you’d be his dad too, legally anyways.” Eddie walked over to the fridge so naturally, as if they were just talking about weekend plans or sports and not… well, not the hypothetical of them being a couple; a married one at that.

✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @daffi-990 @ladydorian05 @jesuisici33 @heartshapedvows @nmcggg @rainbow-nerdss @jamespearce9-1-1 @watchyourbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @hippolotamus

[shoolb]

[id: a digitally drawn two-panel comic of ethan winters and joe baker crossing paths in the louisiana swamp. in the first panel, the audience looks over joe's shoulder, as he carries a crystalized zoe baker, to see a bloody, sweating ethan carrying an older eveline bridal style in his arms. ethan has an expression of frozen surprise on his face. the second panel depicts joe baker haphazardly loping zoe over his shoulder while ethan lets eveline's feet drop to the ground, both in order to produce a fist in which the other can bump.]

i did this a while ago, back when the first few chapters of @mayybirds's fantastic fic through the valley to life came out. i didn't finish it till now, with the most recent chapter necessitating its postage 👀 this isn't a canon scene, you could call this a conceptual fanart in the spirit of ttvtl. i seriously encourage any resident evil 7/8 fans to check it out the premise will knock your tits off

[dayurno]

the amazing showstopping life-changing beautiful lovely and talented @alcego tagged me in the writing game where you post all your first sentences from already posted fics (and also the just as amazing showstopping life changing beautiful lovely AND talented roisin, thank you!) but i don't really care much for those lately so here's the first lines of several WIPs at the moment as a compromise :)

Kevin knows he’s being watched. (with @knickknacksandallthat <3)

“Riko? Are you awake?”

In the morning when Jean is supposed to be sent to his death, he takes five minutes out of his schedule to braid Kevin’s hair. (with @jaywalkers :)<3)

Not for the first time, they are in the infirmary. 

“Coach says you don’t talk anymore,” Aaron mumbles, looking out the window awkwardly. 

Christmas dinner with the Gordons is perfect.

Some people ride the crazy train. Jeremy drives it. 

Neil knows the gray does something to people.

what this tells me is that i am bad at writing first lines HAHA :3 i am tagging um everyone who wants to do this. thank you!

[a-pigeons-soliloquy]

oouugghhh hannigram either 7 or 45. maybe even combine the two.

ok so it has been. a while. this one got, uh, more than a little out of control lmao (almost 3500 words holy fuck). but it's finally finished! i'm not sure if it exactly fits the prompts anymore but i tried to combine them both :) i hope you like it! (even if it did just end up as yet another mizumono fic lol oops)

***

"You were supposed to leave," Will hisses, and his voice is a devastated, furious thing.

There is blood soaking into his shoes and the scent of iron hangs heavy in the air, and the worst part is that Will doesn't even know whose blood it is anymore, but the question is lost to the back of his mind. Because in front of him stands a dishevelled man whose shirt is a mess of shiny red stains, a knife dripping in his hand.

A man who isn’t supposed to be there at all.

"I didn't want to leave without seeing you one last time," Hannibal says. The words one last time should be ringing alarm bells in Will's head, but he can’t hear them over the overwhelming chorus of thousands of other alarms, because everything is going wrong. There is blood on the floor and on the walls and Alana and Jack lie dying among shards of glass, and there is a SWAT team likely only minutes away, and yet Hannibal is still here.

They both are.

And now Will doesn’t know what to do, hasn’t known what to do for the last 3 months and hadn’t known what he’d do next when he’d made that phone call, telling the Chesapeake Ripper that they know. All he’d known was that he didn’t want Hannibal to die, didn’t want him locked up in a cage by his own hands. But here he is, faced with the consequences of his own actions, and once again Will doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to feel, or even what he is feeling beyond the adrenaline and desperation and horror and relief and confusion. He doesn’t want to feel the overwhelming guilt and sense of responsibility that has been steadily building behind his ribs since this whole scheme began. Yet that guilt now tears at the lining of his chest and crushes his lungs and holds his throat in a chokehold, and it’s just all too much and all he can think is none of this was supposed to happen and this is all my fault and what if?

Seeing Hannibal alive, he’d been struck by a sudden wave of relief that had almost caused his knees to give out beneath him. But now, as Hannibal’s eyes meet his, the awful look that greets him makes a pit suddenly form in his stomach, and the relief gives way to guilt again. And Will can’t take it.

None of this was supposed to happen.

This is all my fault.

What if?

And then it hits him: none of this was supposed to happen. And it hadn’t needed to. This awful mess of glass and blood and ruin could have all been avoided if Hannibal had just listened. If he’d trusted Will when he’d picked up the phone with shaky fingers and told him to run. But he hadn't. And this realisation comes with a sick sense of understanding, because for the whole time Will had known him, Hannibal had always had to have something hidden up his sleeve, always had to keep secrets from Will. Always had to know better. Feel superior. At last the final veil falls from Will's eyes, and all at once he can see how foolish he'd been to ever believe that they could be equals. How pathetic it was that, for those few long weeks they'd spent together, he'd actually believed that they were.

(Will fiercely forces back the voice in his head that whispers that he hadn’t exactly given Hannibal a reason to trust him.)

Heart hammering against his ribs, all of that guilt and fear melts together and stretches and twists and is reborn as deep, righteous anger.

Because no, all he’d wanted was for Hannibal to be safe and free and far from here, even if it meant Hannibal hated him, even if it meant they could never be together, even if it meant that one day Hannibal would come back and rip his still-beating heart from his chest without remorse. But instead here they are, highly armed police likely mere minutes out. And all because Hannibal hadn’t listened. Bitterly, Will thinks to himself that maybe he couldn’t change Hannibal in this way after all.

As if hearing the war cry of bitterness and anger, the resentment he’d kept locked away over the last year begins to bay and claw at its cage too, and, with no reason left to hold it back, Will finally opens the latch and lets it loose.

His next words come out as a growl. “Well now neither of us might get to leave at all”.

Hannibal looks at him, and before he can hide any emotion behind his mask Will can see surprise and deep betrayal warring behind his eyes. It should make him stop and consider, that surprise - that indication that he is behaving in a way that Hannibal did not quite anticipate. But the look of betrayal is like a knife to his chest, and so Will grips his resentment tightly and fumes.

What had Hannibal expected? For Will to be small, desperate? Cowering? Begging for forgiveness? His lip curls in derision. As if he would give him the satisfaction. No, mongooses have teeth and claws, and may whatever god he believes in help Hannibal if he thinks Will won’t use them.

Hannibal manages to force the emotion all behind a mask of icy indifference, and now when he looks at Will his gaze is blank. Though it is not his usual blankness which Will has become familiar with. It is an empty, unsettling kind of blank, the sort of blank he’s only ever seen in the eye of a shark. When Hannibal speaks his voice is cold, colder than Will has ever heard it.

"Forgive me for having doubts about the sincerity of your warning when you've been lying to me for the last month. Forgive me for wanting to see the truth of where your loyalties lie."

The acknowledgement is agony. All the guilt Will had been trying to force down suddenly rears its monstrous head again, and he finds his voice suddenly drying up. His throat feels tight.

He whispers. "My loyalties lie with you'

Hannibal only scoffs. It is ugly. Will has never seen Hannibal ugly before.

"A last minute change of heart is hardly loyalty, Will," he says. “What does Uncle Jack think of your loyalty, lying bleeding out in my pantry? Alana, shattered on the street? How can I be sure you do not still intend for me to join them?”

Hannibal takes a step towards him, adjusting his grip on the knife. Will’s heart pounds. He forces himself not to take a step back.

“Because I chose you, Hannibal, I was always going to choose you, I just needed time to accept that.”

But Hannibal just looks away. “If that is what you truly believe, then you haven't just been lying to me, you've also been lying to yourself.”

It’s so wrong, yet Hannibal had said it with such certainty and disdain that all Will sees is the arrogance with which Hannibal always assumes himself to be right. He dares to presume to know what Will is thinking better than Will knows himself? It turns out Hannibal Lecter really is just like every other psychiatrist Will has ever met, and a sense of grief rises up within him at the loss of something he’d never thought he could have until meeting Hannibal.

He hates himself for mourning what he shouldn’t want.

Will smothers the voice in his head whispering that Hannibal may in fact be correct, that he really does know Will's mind better than Will does his own. Instead he lets anger take over again, and this time it burns.

“You know nothing,” he hisses. His hands shake. Deep waves of indignant resentment roll over him, the roaring of the waves matching the blood in his ears.

He doesn’t know what he expects Hannibal to do next, but it isn’t for Hannibal to hum to himself, then huff a mirthless laugh and concede in a tone both melancholy and angry, “Perhaps you’re right.”

Once again Hannibal meets his eyes. “You know, I've never fully been able to predict you, Will, but this time I had hoped. It is a mistake I will not make again.”

He prowls closer still, and this time Will steps forward to meet him. Fight has won over flight and as the rising fury makes it hard to find words Will’s body seems to have decided to speak for him. The ticking clock of the impending arrival of the FBI ignored in favour of the burning, all-consuming rage within him.

But the fear of their time running out is still there, forced down as it is, and between that and the anger it’s only getting harder to think, and Hannibal is only making it worse. Every word that leaves his mouth brings fresh waves of intense emotion and it’s rapidly reducing Will to a state where there is nothing in his brain except pure animalistic rage-fear.

He just needs Hannibal to stop talking for one moment so he can think.

With what little coherent thought remains in his brain, Will decides to tell Hannibal in the only way he can manage anymore.

“For once in your life can you please just shut the fuck up”.

Hannibal's eyes flash dangerously. His lips curl up into a snarl, and the part of Will that still understands anything knows that he’s made a mistake - he’s only succeeded in confirming for Hannibal exactly how his words are affecting him, and getting him to stop now won’t be achieved without consequences.

Hannibal is quick to recover, a cruel grin taking over his face. His head tilts condescendingly. “Terribly rude, Will,’ he taunts.

The fire inside Will soars higher. He can feel it scorching his insides.

“Fuck you, Hannibal.” He spits.

Hannibal begins to loom over him, moving closer still in a manner that can only be called predatory, until all that separates them is an arm’s length. The knife still glistens in his hand.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself, Will? Childish comebacks? I’ve come to expect better from you. I'm disappointed.” There is a gleam of self-satisfied malice in his eyes and the shape of his lips. He looks dangerous. He looks beautiful.

Will hates him.

Will loves him.

Fuckyoufuckyoufuck-

And suddenly Will can’t take it any longer.

Before he knows what he is doing, he’s grabbing Hannibal by the bloody shirt and crashing his lips into his.

Time seems to stop, the world narrowing into a millisecond of time in which Hannibal’s hair brushes against Will’s forehead, breath warm against his mouth, their noses pressed almost painfully against each other. A moment where the cooling blood on Hannibal’s shirt soaks into Will’s palms and stains his fingers red. A moment where Hannibal stands deadly still, as if frozen, and Will feels as if he’s been frozen too.

There is a distant pressure in the corner of Will’s abdomen, then the vague sound of something clattering to the ground. But Will’s lips are on Hannibal’s and it is as if everything everywhere is inconsequential other than the feeling of Hannibal’s teeth against his, just as he’d imagined on so many a lonely night.

The moment seems to last an eternity before Hannibal’s hand finally comes up to grasp the back of his shirt tightly, and Will feels the sharp pull of the fabric against his skin, the pressure of Hannibal’s knuckles firm against his flank. A breathy gasp escapes his burning lips, and he can’t help the animal noise that subsequently tears its way from his throat. Luckily it seems that is what it takes for Hannibal to finally move his mouth and kiss back with equal force, teeth scraping sharply against Will’s. They gravitate closer and closer until Will’s arm is wrapped around Hannibal’s neck and their hips are pressed tightly together.

Eventually, Hannibal lets out a deep growl before he at last pulls away, dragging Will backwards until there is an arm’s distance between them. Will’s eyes flutter open and he gazes up at Hannibal. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins and setting him alight, but this time it is not with anger but something wholly new.

As they lock eyes, Will realises that Hannibal is finally allowing Will to see, without barriers or veils, the full breadth of emotion in his eyes. There is still frustration and betrayal, yes (indeed, Will hadn’t let go of his either) but there is also - and Will’s heart skips a beat when he recognises it - pure and all-encompassing adoration. A wonderful warmth blossoms within his core, rendering him both weak and solid and light as a feather, and it is unlike anything Will can ever remember feeling.

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be loved.

Then those wonderful, expressive maroon eyes flicker downwards, and Hannibal’s brow furrows, lines around his eyes deepening. Confused, Will follows his gaze, and is surprised to see a growing deep red stain on his shirt, though any reaction he distantly thinks he perhaps should be having is dulled and seems to float just out of reach. It’s strange; there isn’t any pain, just the memory of an odd pressure that he’d ignored at the time and a peculiar sense of unreality.

For a moment he just stands, uncomprehending, but as the adrenaline finally starts to wear off he becomes increasingly aware of a dull ache at the site of the wound, and it isn’t long before that dull ache blossoms into a terrible burning pain. Hand instinctively falling from Hannibal’s shoulder to hover protectively over the wound, Will looks back up at Hannibal, a mix of confusion, surprise, pain and betrayal written across his face. An involuntary whine slips from his suddenly dry throat.

The vocalisation appears to spur Hannibal into action. He takes Will gently but firmly by the arms and quickly guides him to a nearby sofa, helping him lay down across its seats before sinking to his knees beside him and pulling up his shirt to inspect the injury. A moment passes, then a near-imperceptible line of tension seems to drop slightly from Hannibal’s shoulders and he pulls Will’s shirt back down.

“It is as I thought: due to the angle and the quick loosening of my grip on the handle, only the tip of my knife entered your body. The wound is not so deep as to require immediate attention, but it will certainly require stitches.”

He guides Will’s hand back to his injury and helps him to apply the right amount of pressure. It hurts, and when Will winces and lets out small pained noise, Hannibal brings a hand to his hair and cards it through the damp curls. It feels nice, it feels so very nice and right, and Will’s eyes slip closed for a moment, enjoying the feeling. When he opens them, Hannibal is looking down at him, face once again carefully blank.

“There is likely very little time left before the FBI arrives,” he begins, “and I will soon be leaving for Florence. I will offer you this once and only once, and you will have until I return with our passports and a select few other items to make your decision.”

He fixes Will with a heavy look. “One last chance, Will. You can come with me to Florence, and I will show you the city where I became a man. We will leave immediately, take up new identities, and likely never return.

“Or, I can leave you here. You can wait for the cops to arrive and take you to a hospital. Your reputation will remain intact, and you can go back to your job and your house in the woods, your life as you know it, and you will never see me again.”

An almost undetectable pause, and then, “This is your final decision, Will. I suggest you make it wisely.”

With this he climbs to his feet and leaves the room

For a while Will sits thinking, but deep down he knows his mind is already made up. The myriad of complicated feelings he harbours towards Hannibal still plague him, and a part of him still wants to lock the man up and throw away the key, but he’s finally willing to admit that it’s all inconsequential. He knows now he can't live without Hannibal, for better or for worse, whether he loves him or hates him, or a twisted mix of both. He’ll miss his life terribly for the isolated comfort it brought, but he’d miss Hannibal far, far more.

There is only one choice to make.

The moment Hannibal reappears in the doorway Will is speaking.

“I want to come with you.”

Hannibal’s face remains carefully blank. “You understand there is no going back from this. I will not change my lifestyle and you can never return to the false life you have led. You will be shedding your sheepskin for good this time, and the world will be on our tail for as long as we-”

Will cuts him off.

“I want to come with you,” he repeats firmly.

A long pause, and then a small but genuine smile graces Hannibal's lips. With a dip of his head, he seems to accept the decision. “Very well,” he says, though Will can hear the unspoken relief that lies beneath it. He lets himself smile back, tired but overjoyed and honest. It feels right.

Hannibal comes back to where he lies on the couch, and helps him get up, his touch firm yet gentle as he holds Will against his side.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asks.

Will’s breath catches as the shift to being upright pulls sharply on his wound. While it could have been far deeper - and Will doesn’t want to imagine what Hannibal’s initial plan for him was - it is still painful, and increasingly so as the last of the adrenaline wears off. Plus, he’s losing a fair amount of blood, and the change in angle temporarily darkens his vision and sends stars dancing across his eyes. Grimacing, he closes his eyes and waits for the pounding in his head to stop. Hannibal lets him lean against him, steadfastly taking his weight, and says nothing.

When the stars fade and he feels steadier on his feet, Will considers Hannibal’s question, and after a moment of assessment nods - he’s been shot in the shoulder before, he can handle this - and lets Hannibal lead him out of the house and down the street to an unfamiliar car.

Alana is unconscious now, and Will catches Hannibal’s eyes lingering on his jacket where it lies over her body. He looks at her, the person he’d once imagined sharing a life with, and thinks of how important she had always been to him, even after everything. A pang of bittersweet nostalgia hits him, accompanied by a longing for a simpler time when maybe it could have been possible. But ultimately he allows Hannibal to help him into the passenger seat of the car. This is the life he’s chosen, the person he’s chosen, cannibalism and all. There is no going back now, and nothing to be gained from contemplating what ifs.

Then the car door closes, and Alana is hidden from sight.

There is another noise as Hannibal gets in the car from the other side, and after fiddling with some dials and buttons, he starts the engine.

“I will drive us to the airport where our flight awaits. When we are a safe distance from the house we will stop and I will clean and suture your wound. But for now I suggest you sleep - you will need the rest if you are to recover well.”

He must notice the lines of discomfort on Will’s face, as he adds, softening slightly, “There are some painkillers in the door.”

After taking the pills as directed, Will lays his head back against the headrest and allows his eyes to close. The last of the adrenaline has left his system, leaving behind a sudden bone tiredness that makes his lids heavy and breathing slow.

With the sound of the vehicle lulling him and the comfort of Hannibal’s presence beside him - alive, together - sleep comes quickly, and the last thing Will knows before the darkness claims him is the feeling of a warm hand gently coming to rest upon his own.

[kurtsascot]

wasn’t tagged this week, but i want to share.

last week i had a family health emergency so… im a biiiiit behind on where i wanted to be for klueless BUT! the dust has settled and im slowly getting back into writing YAY!!!!!!

here’s some kurtcedes!!!!!!!! my babies!!!!!

“You are never this nonchalant about a makeover on the brink of extinction.”

Kurt turns his head to face his foot, avoiding Mercedes’s eye in subtle protest.

After everything that happened with Sebastian, the last thing Kurt can bring himself to care about is Rachel’s feelings. Kurt may still be dedicated to finding her a beau, but…like, this snafu is partially Rachel’s fault anyway. Kurt would have never set her up with Finn if she hadn’t drooled over Blaine the second she saw him.

Kurt tightens his hand around his white canvas sneaker, gaze narrowing on the blades of grass just beyond his toes. “Why do I have to be the one to talk sense into her? Can’t you do it?”

tagging for art/fic/whatever:

@porcelainvino @rockitmans @cryscendo

@warblercore @fallevs @daisyishedwig

@blurglesmurfklaine @burkleswinifred @unholy-fabray @special-bc-ur-part-of-it AND ANYONE ELSE !!!!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Wait are writing a fic for your au cause im like down to clown with that?

ehhhhhh not really, unless by some miracle genuine writing motivation/inspiration hits, which is about as rare as a lightning strike these days!

sometimes i jot down scenes or conversations & post unedited snippets, but i haven't written a full fic or oneshot in.... since February! but hey! chances are low but never zero

[wikiangela]

seven sentence sunday

tagged by @daffi-990 💖

so i know i said that married smut is my priority but i can't have just one priority bc i get bored or stuck lol - so apparently my other main wip rn is the cheating fic due to a sudden burst of inspiration for it haha (also don't wanna share like everything from the married buddie smut haha)

prev snippet | moodboard

___

She smiles at him as she takes another bite of her food, and he tries to smile back, but then he remembers Eddie’s drunken smile that he kissed off his lips. She touches his hand, and he remembers Eddie’s hands all over his body, his lips, his touch, his heavy breaths and wonderful sounds made just for Buck. He’s sitting here with his girlfriend, and can’t stop thinking about his best friend he cheated with. Eddie is buzzing under his skin, thrumming in his veins, occupying his every thought. Buck feels like Eddie’s taken up permanent residence there now, in Buck’s body and mind, there’s no getting rid of him. He’s not sure he wants to. 

Wait, no, that’s not true, he can’t- he can’t want Eddie like that. He has to find a way to forget. 

He’s so screwed.

___

no pressure tags: @gaydiaz @diazass @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @exhuastedpigeon @king-buckley @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @hoodie-buck @spotsandsocks @jeeyuns @callmenewbie @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @weewootruck @hippolotamus @steadfastsaturnsrings @malewifediaz @honestlydarkprincess @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @giddyupbuck @jesuisici33 @jamespearce9-1-1 @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @disasterbuckdiaz

[lotussokka]

final chapter of itsb just posted mood

[daffi-990]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the ever wonderful and talented @diazsdimples

I spent the morning skimming through the end half of 3x02 Sink or Swim and tip tap typing away at Chapter Eight of Rival Firefighters 🚒. Excited that I’m up to the tsunami, but also a bit overwhelmed for what I have to write for this chapter because I really want my vision to translate properly to paper (or well, screen in this case. Or word document? Idk but y’all know what I mean ). I’ll just keep typing away and hopefully it’ll all come together and if not … well that’s what editing is for 😅.

Prev snippet here.

Eddie had no idea what to expect as the 118 drove towards the scene of the tsunami.

Being a firefighter he’d seen his fair share of disasters, but as they arrived on scene, his heart sank at the sight of the destruction.

The ocean had swallowed up the once bustling city of Los Angeles, leaving behind only ruin and sorrow in its wake. The streets were flooded, people desperately searching amidst the water and debris for their loved ones. The smell of saltwater lingered in the air and if you closed your eyes, for a moment you could almost pretend you were at the beach, until the anguished cries of the people of Los Angeles echoed around you.

Eddie and the rest of the 118 unload from the engine and make their way into the flooded city in rescue zodiac boats. Bobby and Eddie ride together in one boat with Anderson, Stover and Campbell, Hen and Chim with Smith, Calley and Rosen in the other.

As they move through the flooded streets, they check every single body they come across and tag them so that another team can come through and collect them, ensuring the bodies make it back to their loved ones. Every tag they leave weighs heavily on them, but they can’t let the weight drag them down. People are depending on them. They have to keep moving forward.

No pressure tagging: @thewolvesof1998 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @athenagranted @exhuastedpigeon @puppyboybuckley @wikiangela @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @rainbow-nerdss @rewritetheending @the-likesofus @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @tizniz @prettyboybuckley @princessfbi @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sibylsleaves @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @fiona-fififi @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @homerforsure @hoodie-buck @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @king-buckley @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @captain-hen @bekkachaos @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz and as always, anyone else who wants to share something -> consider this your official tag ❤️

[pixelatedraindrops]

Goodness... I think this fic might be LONGER than HIWTHI o-o

[thychesters]

#wipwednesday! i’m going to challenge myself to keep up with these again since it used to keep me pretty on track. this time we have a fic that’s starting out in the east blue and going to branch across the series into the time skip, so i have my work cut out for me. ew. but also, cool.

anyway, luffy looked at zoro went yep, he will do. and then took a minute to figure out what else that could imply. zoro is banking on some solid naps and oblivious. (haha unless ... ? [oblivious.]) // text under the cut:

He’s still working out how to communicate to him that he can initiate physical contact too. Something that isn’t fishing him out of the water or in the middle of battle.

Right now he rests with his arms behind his head, and Luffy stares at him from where he has his head pillowed on his lap, clouds slipping by above while his gaze burns a hole into Zoro’s elbow. He can feel the ghost of it along his stomach, the phantom sensation of a hand at his hip the more he thinks about it. No longer content to simply lie there, he almost gives in to the urge to grab Zoro’s arm and wrap it around him himself when he cracks an eye open.

Luffy freezes under it, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he doesn’t even dare breathe for fear something dumb might slip out.

“You good, Luff?”

Too many options flit through his mind right that second, most of those unintelligible and screaming, and it’s all Luffy can do to nod his head.

That eye remains fixed on him for a moment longer, like he can see exactly what he’s thinking, and his stomach continues to burn. Zoro’s arm shifts and for a brief, fleeting second, he thinks yes and it’s immediately dashed to pieces when he just uses it to cover up a yawn.

“You’re too quiet,” he says, hand coming to rest on the deck beside him. If Luffy scooted his hips just an inch or so he might touch his thumb. “Something on your mind?”

He almost laughs because. Well. Where does he even begin. Every point of contact should be warm but he feels goosebumps raising against his flesh. Zoro’s looking down at him and if he’s not careful Luffy’s going to betray everything, because he’s a shit liar and always has been.

He thinks he’d like for Zoro to just touch him – sling an arm around his waist, ruffle his hair or rest a hand on his arm. He also thinks he’d like to clamber back up and straddle Zoro, knees on either side of him, let his hands skitter up his sides and then wrench his head back to get a full view of the column of his throat, but he can’t exactly just say that.

“I’m bored,” he says instead.