#sharing these snippets gives me motivation

[hey-august]

👀 it's time for another sneak peek...........

For once, the smarmy look on Buggy’s face flickered. Bushy eyebrows raised slightly in surprise and the corners of his smile fell before transforming into a hungry wolfish grin. Leaning back in his chair, the captain beckoned you closer with a tantalizing curl of two fingers.

This was your moment. As you walked forwards, Buggy reclined and spread his legs into an indecently dominant pose. Another twitch from his finger told you to lower yourself. You were more than glad to kneel before your captain. Trapped between his body heat and your desire, you barely noticed the rough wood floor digging into your bare knees.

A gloved hand floated over and cupped your chin. The leather from his performance gloves was rich and velvety. Softening into his touch, you felt a twinge of worry that you might melt completely. Meeting his watchful gaze, the worry dissipated. You wanted nothing more than to dissolve, to fall apart because of him.

[starbornsoulrider]

^ plays star stable just to rewrite it now

[beaconfeels]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by my beloved @pussyeatersamwinchester This is a snippet for a stetopher smut prompt I am doing for @iamaslutforjatp which I should have finished days ago, so let’s see if sharing a bit will motivate me to finally finish it!!

“Baby,” Chris says, his voice deep and low beside Stiles’s ear, “What Peter is saying in the rudest way possible is that you have nothing to be sad about, because we want you too.”

“Y-you do?”

Stiles sags back a little, and Chris wraps an arm around his waist, nuzzles up against the side of Stiles’s neck. “Oh we fucking do,” he rumbles.

Peter takes a step closer, but Chris holds his hand up. “But first we need to know how much you really want this. Now that you know you can have us, do you still want it? Maybe it was just a fantasy for you. That’s okay too.”

“I’d say that bulge in his pants is speaking for him,” Peter says.

“Peter Andrew Hale, you will behave yourself or you will spend the afternoon kneeling by my bed while Stiles and I spend time out here,” Chris says, and he sounds like he means it.

Stiles’s eyebrows raise, but he’s once again surprised and intrigued by Peter’s reaction. “I apologize,” he says. His eyes are flashing a little, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“You’re forgiven,” Chris tells Peter. His hand rubs a calming circle on Stiles’s belly–well Stiles thinks it’s meant to be calming, it’s not exactly calming him down–”Now, baby, do you want this?”

“I want it. Anything you’ll give me,” Stiles blurts. He means it too. If they want to ravish him and then drop him off by the side of the road somewhere, he’ll take it.

Peter’s eyebrows pinch together. “We need to work on his self esteem, Christopher. He meant that.” He steps into Stiles’s space, gently strokes his cheek with the back of two fingers. “You, my darling, are far too magnificent to offer yourself up like that to anyone, not even us.”

“He’s right, you know,” Chris says. He holds Stiles against him more tightly, and he thinks he feels Chris’s lips on the back of his neck. “You need to demand respect, ask for what you want. You’re allowed to have needs.”

Stiles closes his eyes against the feeling that rushes through his body then, something trembling and aching that he doesn’t want to name.

“You’re breaking my heart, kid,” Chris murmurs, and Peter moves those last few inches forward so that Stiles is now well and truly sandwiched between them.

“I told you he needed us,” Peter says, “I told you we should have talked to him sooner.”

“He was seventeen, Peter. We did what we could.”

[deliciousangelfestival]

New Light | B. Barnes

Character: Neighbors!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Y/N meets a mysterious neighbor in a stuck elevator.

A/N: I live in an apartment and often encounter different people. I wish I could start a conversation like the reader 😭

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Y/N had become a recognizable presence in her apartment building, exchanging greetings with familiar faces each time she entered the lift.

One tenant, however, remained an enigma—Bucky. Tall and always clad in a large black hoodie, he never uttered a word during their encounters.

One evening, after a long day at work, Y/N stepped into the lift, and to her surprise, Bucky entered just before the doors closed.

As the elevator ascended, an unusual silence settled between them. Y/N, feeling the need to break the ice, finally spoke up, "It's been a long day, hasn't it?"

Bucky, still maintaining his stoic demeanor, nodded in agreement. The hum of the elevator provided an awkward backdrop to their brief exchange.

As they continued in silence, the lift abruptly stopped, causing them both to shift their attention to the sudden halt.

"It's probably just a minor glitch," Y/N reassured, attempting to ease the tension. She reached for the Ring button, pressing it to summon help.

The building security's voice crackled through the speaker, providing assurance that maintenance were on their way.

With a shared glance, Y/N and Bucky exchanged a subtle acknowledgment of the situation. Y/N tried to strike up a conversation again, "So, Bucky, do you live on the same floor as me?"

Bucky, though initially hesitant, replied with a simple nod. The conversation was slow to develop, yet Y/N persisted, asking about his day and interests.

Bucky, gradually opening up, revealed snippets of his life. "I work from home most days, I'm a graphicdesigner," he admitted, his mysterious aura starting to unravel.

In turn, Y/N shared stories from her workplace, finding common ground in the challenges and triumphs of daily life.

In the middle of their conversation, Y/N noticed subtle movements within Bucky's hoodie. Curiosity getting the better of her, she finally asked, "Is everything okay in there?"

Bucky hesitated for a moment before revealing a small, furry face peeking out—the source of the movement. To Y/N's astonishment, Bucky introduced her to Alpine, his cat.

Y/N was awestruck when she caught sight of an incredibly adorable cat. Its fluffy fur and playful antics immediately captured her attention, eliciting a warm and delighted smile.

Approaching cautiously, Y/N couldn't resist commenting, "Alpine is such a sweetheart! Does he always greet everyone like this?"

Bucky, Alpine's owner, looked pleasantly surprised as he replied, "Actually, Alpine is usually quite reserved. He doesn't warm up to strangers easily."

Feeling a bit special, Y/N observed as Alpine continued to display an unexpectedly friendly demeanor, rubbing against her legs. Bucky chuckled, "This is a rare sight. Alpine doesn't usually take kindly to newcomers."

The atmosphere shifted as Bucky eagerly shared stories about Alpine's quirky habits and endearing antics.

Initially taken aback, Y/N found herself engaged in a lively conversation with Bucky about their shared experiences as pet owners. "Alpine loves to climb onto my shoulders when I'm working on my laptop," Bucky chuckled, his reserved demeanor giving way to warmth.

Sensing Bucky's willingness to share, Y/N asked about his hobbies. "Besides graphic design, what do you do for fun?"

Bucky cracked a faint smile, "I'm a bit of a movie buff, and I like taking Alpine for walks." Y/N's eyes lit up, "Really? I love movies too, and I've been meaning to explore the nearby parks."

As they exchanged stories and discovered shared interests, the once awkward elevator space transformed into a comfortable setting for connection. Bucky, now more animated, even shared amusing anecdotes about Alpine's adventures, eliciting laughter from Y/N.

Y/N thought Bucky was a scary person, but it turns out he's not. She sees him in a new light.

In the end, as the building security announced that they had successfully repaired the elevator.

Relieved, Y/N couldn't help but express gratitude for the unexpected camaraderie. Before parting ways, Bucky suggested, "You know, since we've become elevator buddies, how about we walk Alpine together to the park sometime?"

Genuinely pleased by the idea, Y/N smiled and replied, "I'd love that!" The invitation marked the beginning of a new chapter in their connection.

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

Tag list:

@thezombieprostitute

@scott-loki-barnes

@rebeccapineapple

@ordelixx

@winters1917

@kandis-mom

A/N: I'm sorry I couldn't tag everyone because I wrote and edited this on my phone.

[peachdues]

not gonna lie, motivation is so hard to muster lately when I feel like interactions are so low.

This is more a personal thought than anything — but I have so, so many asks in my inbox right now asking for various teasers and snippets, and when I do share them (or, certain ones), they rack up interactions. Sure, they’re more easily digestible/there’s less commitment involved with scanning a few hundred words, but those always prompt an additional wave of asks questioning about timelines for updates. Awesome! It lifts my spirit up! People want to read!

Except, when I finally do post an update, there’s few to no interactions with it. Almost no reblogs/comments. What makes me feel worse is that the full chapter itself ends up having far fewer likes even than the 200 word porn teaser from the same fic.

And then the cycle repeats. I post one small snippet and then a flurry of asks about the timeline for the next release, (better) interactions on extremely short (and usually, smutty) teasers, and then next to nothing by comparison when I actually post an update. Idk, so much about writing on here has changed since I joined last summer. Maybe I just need to give up the creative fic stuff and focus on doing exclusively requests and smut and keeping everything below 1-2k words.

TL;dr. It’s hard when the majority of your interactions are asking for updates because, when you do put them out, you only get more of the same questions.

[getouyuri]

I might as well just wait until I finish the fic before posting since this snippet is fairly long but I feel like sharing a sneak pic of a fic that I’m working on 🙂‍↕️ posting this might give me more motivation to actually complete it faster anyways. this snippet is a rough draft and I mean Rough

content: yakuza au, oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader, they’re married, fem!reader, whipped gojo cos he’s a wife guy, pet names (sweets, wifey, princess), hint of possessive gojo, beginning of 18+ content towards the end of the snippet, MDNI

word count: 1.3k

The door clicks shut behind Nanami and he puffs out a breath of relief at his wakagashira’s departure, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak of the leather beneath him. Satoru kicks his leg up over the other, the side of his calf resting on his knee, and looks you up and down. “And then there were two. Fancy seeing you here, wifey,” he drawls.

“You say that as if we don’t work in the same building,” you snort. Thwacking the folder against the wooden surface before scattering it among the pile, you then round Satoru’s desk and plant yourself in front of him. He inhales unsubtly, catching a whiff of your perfume that makes him go a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and your lips twitch as you take your throne on the lip of his desk. “Normally I’d only be here to scold you and make you do your work, hubby.”

Everyone here at headquarters is required to follow a certain dress code. Satoru outshines them all, of course, fitted in finely tailored slacks and dress shirts with either a crisp light blue waistcoat thrown atop it or an ironed suit jacket. And as one of the many secretaries flitting around the building keeping the well-oiled Gojo-gumi machine chugging, it’s important for you to look just as professional.

Especially since you’re his wife.

Which is why you look like an infuriatingly sexy librarian, decked out in a tight black pencil skirt that hugs your hips, a blouse with the top two buttons undone and the collar pressed open to flaunt the designer necklace he bought you that swings from your neck, sheer black nylon thigh-highs that he’d kill to feel around his head, and stilettos, cute little charms on the buckles giving your outfit a little bit of cheer.

(The thought of you making yourself look extra pretty today just for him has Satoru internally busting on the spot, his blood simmering beneath the fine layer of his skin.)

‘The oyabun’s wife’, his men always dreamily sigh when you walk past them— only to whip around and stare at the wall when he slinks by not even a step behind you, his blue eyes cold and caustic like sapphire when he glares at them in warning. Gorgeous, breath-taking, a prized jewel— and you’re all his.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in my near future,” Satoru muses aloud, raising his eyebrows at you in question.

“No. Just a ‘however’.” Instead of being two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyy’, they’re two smartasses fashioned in the same factory, complete with warning labels.

“Yeesh. Can I ever be right with you, sweets?” He plasters his hand over his heart and gives you a simpering moue.

You roll your eyes, a wordless ‘duh’. Satoru's lips slant upwards into a Cheshire cat smile as you reach forward and slowly loop his tie around your fingers before giving it a tug, coaxing his chair to roll forward on the sleek hardwood floor. He uncrosses his legs and allows himself to be pulled up and out of it, heeled like a dog, stepping forward to stand between your legs after lightly kicking his chair away with a soft clatter.

Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any spreadsheet that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.

Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife. Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.

Woof, he thinks unintelligently.

“However,” you finally continue, finally fully smiling. You keep a hold on his tie and tap his nose with the pointer of your free hand, which he wrinkles at you. “I’ve decided that I’ll spare you the lecture for today.”

Satoru's hands come up to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the sleek nylon covering them. Your inviting warmth bleeds through the thin fabric. He so badly wants to sink down onto his knees, brush them down and sink his teeth into your plush skin until your skin pinkens. He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I thank you, oh great and benevolent goddess of the yakuza underworld,” he proclaims, delighting in the fondly exasperated groan that rumbles low in your throat. “Well, I gotta say, I'm grateful for the reprieve, sweets. Though I suspect your mercy is short-lived," he adds with a chuckle. “So give it up already. Spill.”

Fucking hell. There goes a tiny fraction of the element of surprise that you thought you were holding over him like an anvil in a cartoon.

You silently curse his eerie perceptiveness. And his newfound x-ray vision, apparently, since he leans back a fraction to take you in again, his focus lingering on your skirt. But hey, the ball’s still very much in your court, and you’re playing to win.

Not letting it faze you, you heft your legs up, his hands shifting with you, and drape them around Satoru’s waist. His desk creaks beneath the distribution of weight. “Yeah, yeah. What I mean to say is that your husbandly duties are calling to you, not your obligations as oyabun.”

Satoru’s blue eyes search yours and he tilts his head, adorably puppy-like in a manner that suggests he’s more innocent than his ruthless reputation paints him to be. Though he’s the epitome of laxness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his expectancy that’d make lesser men quiver and confess to their every sin.

You stare right back at him. “I don’t have any panties on,” you explain simply.

If Satoru was aroused before, he’s now hornier than a pent-up nun. He hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy. “So you’re on that type of timing, got it,” he notes through his suddenly dry mouth, playing it cool as if his brain chemistry isn’t actively warping with this new information.

Suddenly curious to see if you’re hiding another surprise elsewhere, one hand leaves your knee and drifts up to the undone buttons of your blouse, popping another one open to expose more of your soft skin. Satoru bites his lip as his eyes snag on the lace of your bra. A shame that you’re not bra-less, but he’s fine with seeing you wear half of the set he commissioned for you from a designer in France that you like. He’s more than okay with this, actually.

You make no move to scold him or cover yourself up— you just amusedly stay fixed on him, your eyes gaining that telltale gleam when you’ve got him all tied up in knots. He’s walked into a honeytrap, hasn’t he?

Despite the clear desire emanating from him, there's a tenderness to his touch, a reverence for your body as the hand on your knee skirts up. He slides it higher up your thigh until the hem of your thigh-high gives way to skin and disappears beneath your tight skirt to ascertain your bold claim. When Satoru’s knuckles graze your bare folds, which are slowly slickening, he whines as if he’s the one being touched. “Fuck, princess... you're actually not wearing anything at all, huh?” He groans softly, half surprised and half not that you were telling the truth.

(+++ more here)

Breathing starting to pick up, he drops his face into the crook of your neck and drowns himself in the cocktail of the spritz of that floral perfume you favor and your natural scent. “++++,” he murmurs, blindly tracing your slit all the while.

You cup your husband’s nape as Satoru nuzzles into your neck more urgently, feeling him shiver against you as your palm rasps over the short prickly hairs of his undercut, petting him. Your legs part a bit, skirt inching up as you rut your cunt against Satoru’s exploratory fingers and smear your wetness on him.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

It honestly makes me cry how Padmé in her dying moments and as she’s giving birth was aching and yearning for Anakin to be by her side. Just as Vader was in anguish and pain, and longing to see Padmé, to know if she’s safe.

In the last scene where she’s giving birth she’s in such a haze due to labor, and in such a state of “heartbreak” that she doesn’t recognize her surroundings and doesn’t even realize that people were beside her because she’s so focused on Anakin (+giving birth ofc) we see it clearly in the ROTS novel

We see here that OW is holding onto Padmé’s hand which he described as being “still and cold” clearly her lack of strength from giving birth, but also because she’s heartbroken and is somewhat becoming numb (as she dies 💔) she’s not at all responsive nor does she react to human contact. Then we see that she’s clearly muddled and completely unaware of her surroundings as it describes that her “eyes rolled blindly” and yet, she’s still thinking of Anakin (as she’s giving birth) when she says what the gender of the baby was, and that Anakin thinks it’s a girl, so Padmé thinks so as well.

Then, despite her lack of strength and motivation, we see Padmé pick up all the strength she has left to reach up to her newborn son, Luke.

After she’s given birth, again all of Padmé’s thoughts just round back to her aching and yearning for Anakin. Once again, not even aware of her surroundings or even able to hear anyone in her vicinity due to how heartbroken she is over losing her husband and this precious moment with him (the birth of their babies) OW clearly tells Padmé that Anakin isn’t there when Padmé calls out to him, yet she can’t hear him, Padmé continues to constantly call out to him, telling him she loves him, and that she’s sorry for the misunderstanding that happened between them (even though absolutely NONE of it was her fault.)

Then we come to this part where it reveals that Padmé with the same hand she touched her new born babies with, was actually clutching onto the Japor Snippet that Anakin had given her this entire time she was giving birth. Part of me believes she was holding onto it as a substitute for Anakin’s hand, hence why she was in such a daze, unable to recognize anyone around her, and kept calling out to Anakin. She desperately wanted him by her side, and holding onto the Japor Snippet was like a solace for her.

It was only in the last minute where the novel describes her eyes to have finally cleared for only a moment, and she recognized OW, and even in that last moment of hers, her thoughts are of only Anakin. And of her undying, unwavering faith, trust, and love for him. Telling OW with full conviction that there is still good inside the man she loves, and she’s putting the very proof of it into his palms 💔

OW shows Yoda the Japor Snippet Padmé put into his hand, and Yoda can immediately tell right away that it was a possession that was precious to Padmé, and that she must’ve cherished it a lot. He suggests that she should be buried with it, and OW taps into the Force at that moment and can also feel the “soaring echos” of the love shared between Anakin and Padmé to which he describes as “transcendent love” and can also feel what he describes as “a bleak, black despair of an unendurable heartbreak” (clearly referring to Padmé.) He agrees that Padmé should also be buried with the Japor Snippet, so that Padmé can at least go away in peace, with a remnant of the man she truly, deeply, loved, still with her.

[mysterious-musings]

Ask & You Shall Receive…

Summary: Tim Rockford and Neurodivergent!OFC are brought together while attempting to solve a rather puzzling murder case. As Tim and OFC work more closely with one another to find their suspect, the line between them blurs, creating a complex dynamic between the two as they both try to navigate their evolving relationship, the demands of the case, and their safety. There will be smut and given that they are solving a murder case, it will have darker themes relating to that.

Hello my lovelies,

As you know, I’ve been kicking this idea around in my ole brain for a bit. I was torn between writing it with Tim or Javi P. Well, per our discussions and your voting, the consensus is that we need both. So, with that said, Tim is up first. No ETA yet as I’m still planning, but I wanted to share an update and give you a chance to get on the tag list so you do not miss it.

I’m not yet sure if this will be a oneshot or have a few parts. We shall see, but if you’ve been with me thus far, you know how I am. I do plan for this to be written in my usual style with alternating POVs.

Our neurodivergent!OFC will be high functioning and seen as being a bit quirky and misunderstood by her coworkers. Tim, however, gets it. He knows what’s going on without being told and becomes her biggest supporter. Going so far as to ask for her to be on his high priority case after not making any headway as the body count rises. They will have a bit of an odd dynamic at first, but he puts in the effort to learn and earns her trust.

📝 Snippet:

I stood staring at the messy board, having trouble focusing because of the disorganized mess of pinned documents. There did not appear to be any rhyme or reason to it. The only thing I could think about was ripping everything down and putting it all back up in a way that made sense. When instead, I should be focused on what it all meant and how the pieces fit together.

Then I realized it didn’t make sense because they had no direction. No suspects. No real evidence that pointed to a motive. They were completely lost.

My attention was drawn to the incessant buzzing of the harsh fluorescent light above, making my left eye twitch. I glanced up at it in annoyance, now realizing it was making me anxious as I closed my eyes and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. I could feel Tim and Tony’s expectant stares, like they were waiting for me to pull the answer out of my ass based on the mess of haphazard materials they had gathered. The thought made the twitching worse.

My eyes fluttered open and were drawn to Tim, who was looking at me with furrowed brows. He scanned my face before shifting his gaze upward toward the ceiling. Without a word, he turned, flipping on the desk lamp beside him. Then moved across the room to switch on the tall floor lamp before turning the overhead fluorescents off.

“The fuck you doing?” Tony asked.

Tim gave him a pointed look, “I’m getting a headache. Deal with it.”

Tim’s gaze was back on me as my nervous system felt instant relief. His lips pursed slightly, eyes squinting as examined the subtle changes in my tense posture. There seemed to be a hint of a smile as he reached to rub at his bottom lip before turning to shuffle through the files on his desk.

Does he know?

I’m excited to explore the relationship between these two under very stressful circumstances. It’s going to be a ride. I’ve hidden some sneaky clues in the banner to give you an idea of where this is heading because you know how I love to tease. I can’t wait to hear your conspiracy theories on this one!

💜Mysty

🐦‍⬛ If you would like to be added to the tag list, drop a message in the comments.

🔎 For more context:

[tellmegoodbye]

Hello everyone! I wanted to do a bit of a "WIP checkup" in which I share a snippet from all of my wips and update you on how they're going.

This is a queued post. I am currently away on vacation and I will look at all of your posts when I get back!

---

Sports Fic

Title: "the memories we leave behind"

“What are they doing?” Jonah can hardly contain his excitement as he grips the seatback in front of him, giggling as he points down towards the skaters on the ice. They look so small from where they're sitting up in the nosebleeds, but the distance doesn't seem to matter to Jonah, who is seemingly entranced by the game he barely knows anything about. There's a huge smile on his face as he watches every face off, every line change, every shot, clearly trying to decipher everything that's happening. “They're trying to get the puck in the net,” TK explains, pointing to where the New York Rangers are currently swarming the Dallas Stars like bees, their offense fluid and fast paced – as is the nature of the game. “We're rooting against the green team. Remember?”

This fic is a bit on and off again at the moment, but I'm still enjoying writing it! I have no prediction for when it might be finished as it is not a priority at the moment. This snippet is brought to you by a new scene I added, inspired by this headcanon.

Spicy Fic

"Do you want me to take care of you now, my love?" Carlos’ voice drips with adoration, smooth as he speaks slowly, carefully, and commandingly. There's a hint of teasing in his tone that he keeps a tight hold on, always waiting for TK to guide him and tell him what he needs. They don't always do this with the pretense of sex, and tonight certainly wasn't a night where TK was having anything that would even resemble a horny thought, but he feels so light inside of his own body. His blood flows through his veins like honey, desire simmering beneath the surface, but not with purpose. There's no ache. No rush. No need. But TK thinks about these ropes coming off before he can fully silence the darkness, he hears the way Carlos' voice dips and feels the way his body reacts on instinct, and he decides that it doesn't matter. He doesn't just want to hide away in freefall. He wants to float. He wants to feel everything that is good and right and wonderful, and Carlos is clearly willing to help him do that.

This fic still has an incredibly loose outline, but it is my first venture into writing a D/S dynamic and I'm just kind of going with the flow for this one. I hope to finish this one soon, especially since @heartstringsduet has been my biggest cheerleader for this fic and has been giving me endless motivation!

Detective AU / Murder Mystery Fic

The bullpen is smaller than he's used to. The absence of the New York City chaos cycling in and out of the room is evident. The ever-present, steady stream of chaos keeping the building alive on an unstable fuel is muted and mellow in comparison, reflecting the nature of the state of Texas. Slower, calmer – even in its capital city. TK thinks he might just like it here after all.

This one is regrettably, extremely slow moving. I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself for this one because it's an idea I've had for years, and I want to take my time with this. It's definitely overwhelming, and there's no chance of me finishing this in any less than a few months, but I think it will all be worth it in the end!

Super Secret Angsty Fic

Title: "sinking in slow motion"

He attempts to look again, and a sharp pain pierces through his skull like a sleek blade, barely noticeable until it hits him all at once and he has to let his head fall back against the concrete again, wincing at the sudden movement.

It’s no use. He isn’t going to be able to treat himself down here. He runs through the checklist in his head, skipping over what he can’t do and focusing on what he can.

Keep pressure on the wound. Check. Slow down your breathing. Check. Check your heart rate. TK lifts two trembling fingers to the pulse point on his neck, undoubtedly smearing some of his own blood against his skin as he presses down.

Fast, but steady. Check.

This fic is brought to you by The Angst Train, aka the collaboration I'm doing with @certifiedflower and @neversleepuntilfive 👀 who I have immensely enjoyed working with. I'm so excited to finish this and share it with you all for @911lonestarangstweek at the end of the month!

Therapy Fic

“Hey, babe,” TK greets him, his voice faltering when he catches a glimpse of the laptop Carlos so ungraciously tossed to the side when he walked through the door. “What are you reading?” “Nothing,” Carlos says, immediately realizing how unconvincing he sounds. He avoids TK's knowing gaze as he stares towards the ground. TK slowly comes towards him and sits next to him on the couch, close enough to be there, but putting enough distance between them so that Carlos can decide whether or not he wants to have TK in his space right now. “Well that wasn't suspicious at all.”

I admittedly have not worked on this one in a while. I can't even remember if I've shared this snippet before. I don't think I have, but if I did I apologize. I'll get back to this one once I get some of these other wips finished.

S1 Carlos Fic

Images of the man who laid in his bed for the first time, his silver medallion stark against his heaving chest – a symbol of his family from before, begin circling Carlos’ mind as he slowly digests the gravity of such a revelation. He isn't as close with his own father as TK is with Owen, but he couldn't even imagine the pit in his stomach that would open up if he were to learn that his dad had cancer. “I'm sorry, TK,” is all he can think to say. He knows it can't help much, but he hopes it's enough. He hopes he can offer some sense of peace for someone who's gaze he can't seem to escape, his eyes brimming with tears that threaten to fall, Carlos’ dim porch light reflecting off of shimmering green oceans. TK looks about as lost as Carlos feels, his weary figure standing against the backdrop of the night sky and empty streets. His vulnerability is vast, and Carlos aches to protect it.

This fic is also low priority, and since it is essentially a collection of moments throughout season 1, this one is probably going to take me a while to write.

Tagging: @strandnreyes @paperstorm @bonheur-cafe @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlos-in-glasses @ironheartwriter @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @literateowl @eclectic-sassycoweyes @captain-gillian @thisbuildinghasfeelings @alrightbuckaroo @theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @everlastingday @carlos-tk @henrygrass @carlossreaders @rangersoup @futures-tense @heartstringsduet @goodways @whatsintheboxmh @lightningboltreader @welcometololaland @liminalmemories21 @reyesstrand @butchreyes @firstprince-history-huh + open tag

[makesometime]

Look. Hi, hello. It's my birthday and I'm being self-indulgent because if not now then when?

I am in the process of writing a fix-it/AU fic for Verso and Sciel, a pairing that I have discovered to my distress is not particularly popular. But that has not stopped me before, and it shall not stop me now!

I am, for my sins, quite proud of it. So I'm sharing a little snippet of it, because it's becoming a bit of a beast and I need to keep my motivation up to actually finish the bastard.

Enjoy <3

“My parents don’t care about what I do with my days.” He says. Not the truth, but not a lie. “I’m sure they’d rather I was home painting, but I think I’d rather be here.” Also true. He’s doing very well at this.

The mention of painting does nothing to her expression, which makes him feel almost giddy with relief. Maybe she actually has no idea who he is.

“And besides.” He says, all in a rush. “What makes you think our stations are that different?”

“You really don’t know?” She asks, then gives him a long, lingering look down from his head to his toes and back up. “Look at the state of you. Of course I can tell. Those shoes look like they’ve never touched a speck of dirt and I’m sure your butler is proud of that.”

He wants to protest, but he can’t. His shoes are polished to perfection every morning whether he asks for it or not. That’s just part of his life. He’s never considered it as strange before.

“I, uh.”

Very eloquent Verso. Outstanding.

“I’m Sciel.” She says, taking pity on him. “And my farm isn’t too far from the city. It can even be a nice walk, if the day calls for it.”

“Verso.” He says. “Verso Dessendre.”

“Ooh, very fancy.” She says, leaning forward to flick a petal away from his shoulder. “Well, Monsieur Dessendre. It was a pleasure to see you again. But some of us need to work.”

Help, I am unwell.

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

One to One: John & Yoko Thoughts

Overall I really enjoyed this documentary! The style was very engaging and it did a good job of painting a picture of the various political causes John and Yoko threw themselves behind during their first two years of living in NYC. Plus, I'm pretty sure there's some genuinely new footage in it? If not, at least I had never come across it, so it's not widely shared.

The documentary is mostly sympathetic towards them as activist figures, but I like the nuance the framing device of television brings with it: through presenting the various issues of the world as snippets one might zip through while changing channels (often cut-off before you can fully take in what's going on and sandwiched between daytime television fluff and relentless advertisements) there's a subtle question being posed concerning how much John and Yoko really understood the causes they were advocating for, without resorting to pure hindsight-steeped condescencion. Conversely, the stylistic choice also helps the viewer understand the unbridled distress they must have felt about the state of the world they were in. I also enjoyed the more lighthearted moments that made them both more personable and let them exist outside these activist roles.

I'm also compelled by the time spent dwelling on the loss of Kyoko. It's a short sequence but distinctly highlighted, and a part of me wonders if the doc in some form is suggesting that John and Yoko threw themselves behind these causes to fill the void of the family they tried and failed to have. There is also a mention of Yoko's miscarriages and Sean's birth is given a lot of prominence in the final sequences as well as Yoko's 1994 reunion with Kyoko. This would to some extent recontextualize the specific motivation for the One To One concert, as an act of solidarity with more or less abandoned children. I'm not sure to what extent I agree with that notion, and it's definitely only one of many factors (for one, as the footage itself shows, John and Yoko's activism predates the loss of Kyoko), but I had never thought of it that way before and will continue pondering it. I was also, while watching, a bit confused what the point of the primal and "Mother" sequence was, because I didn't see what retreading John's childhood trauma really added to this particular documentary, but this lens of (failed) parenthood actually gives a lot of dimension to that slightly worn-out story.

Even if this framing isn't all that accurate, it might be revealing of Sean's influence on the documentary that his parents are framed this way.

The whole thing sometimes heavily leans on the Ballad narrative, especially in the way it completely side-steps the Lost Weekend that follows directly after the period covered, but it doesn't stoop to falsehoods to paint that picture and spends minimal time on the Beatles (and their break-up).

I'd recommend this documentary for its execution alone, but I also think most people will come away from it having learned something new!

[steviewashere]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

I wasn't tagged by anybody, but I am stealing @wheneverfeasible's word that they put out! (Because I really want to be motivated to write). My word is CORDYCEPS (which, btw, I hope you enjoy the TLOU finale...I didn't watch season 2, but I know the depressing shit that lies within mwahahaha)

Not all of these are from the same WIP! Also, definitely going to do some longer snippets because I love them too much to separate them <3

CW: Mentions of Death/Grieving/Mourning, Disordered Eating, Steddie Breakup (none of these are too bad or extremely graphic, but I thought I'd give warnings anyway!)

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 C

“Can you help me?” Eddie musters, croaking, “please, Steve, can you help me with this? I trust you and I…I know that this is kind of a lot to ask, but you…you usually know how to get me through this shit. Please?”

current WIP title - "eddie recover wg"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 O

Other people who wanted to touch him. Other people that weren’t Steve. He had wandered back to the door, tried to lift it from the bottom, and eventually gave up when it wouldn’t budge. They had locked him out. Eddie’s sour—sour like rotten milk—scent still filtered out to the driveway. There were still a cacophony of displeased noises. And Steve knew they were talking Eddie down, they were telling him to leave, they were telling him that…that Steve was dangerous—they have to be, Steve had thought, they don’t fucking want me. Steve’d left then. Got back in his car, drove himself all the way home—to that echoing, silent, empty home—and put himself to bed.

current WIP title - "rejection sickness steve"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 R (this one's a longer one)

Retirement home down in Louisiana. Place located more rural, tighter to the bays and the tall grass rather than a bustling New Orleans sidewalk. His mama, bless her, fading into herself, sinking into the deep wrinkles of her brain. Forgetting. She’d been young going in—to his standards—only seventy-two. Now, though, she was leaving the world at eighty-six in—coincidentally—1986. Hardly had the time to know and remember her only grandson. Barely any time at all. He’d always known that she’d die, as is the course of all life. What he had expected was her to be a thin takeout bag of a woman, carrying inside his grandpappy’s youth in Appalachia, the deconstruction of her religion deep within the Bible Belt, and a million stories she keeps circling like coupons in the paper. With her Creole and seventeen ways to mince and serve an alligator’s soul. He wasn’t prepared to lose her once to her mind, and once more to her succumbing—and to also realize the loss had been impending, always in his peripheral. Though, in hindsight, he never thought he’d witness it in his own going age. Honest to God, he thought he’d be taking the stairway before her, even as unlikely as it now seems. She’s leaving behind a legacy. And she’s also leaving him. Too young, too stubborn, too him. He isn’t a crier. No, damnit, he isn’t. Sitting on his sorry excuse of a couch, in the damp rich darkness of a silent living room, no woman’s cheek to kiss and no rope to tether…it’s about damn time the hurricane came sweeping in. ‘Bout damn time for the levy to break.

current WIP title - "wayne grieving"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 D

“Do you…”—his voice is dead from disuse, broken just as his heart is—“…do you love me?” “Wh—of course I do! You’re my best friend in the entire fucking world, Steve!” “Will you—can you say it?” Robin brings a hand to the right side of his face, cradling him, drawing him over to look at her. “I love you, Steve,” she murmurs, “you’re my best friend and I love you.” “When does that stop being true?” Her fingers tense on him. Tight and shaking. “It won’t,” Robin states firmly, “it just won’t.” He bounces his gaze between her eyes. Tears replenish just as fast as they dried out. His cheeks are the surface of the sun, the sobs molten from the crater inside him. He wants to scream, shout maybe. That’s not a promise, Steve wants to say, and you know you can’t promise that. Why are you lying to me? Why does everybody fucking lie to me?

current wip title - "lavender marriage stobin"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 Y

“You’re home,” Wayne gruffly says—his voice is rougher than his hands, rougher than decades of work and grit; as if he’d been busy scooping shards of glass to the back of his throat—“how’d your date with Steve go? He give you”— He steps forward, hands splayed wide at his side in a cautious motion. His eyebrows, he can feel them, disappear behind his bangs in a look of what he hopes comes across as incredulity. “Wait,” Eddie interrupts sharper than he intends, “we’re not just…that doesn’t matter right now.” The steps through the living room are faster and grander than they’d been any night before. Like he’s simply gliding across the carpet to sit down. Even faster than when he rushed to Chrissy’s tiny body, her blank face, that trembling ponytail. Wayne’s breaking down in this quiet, demure sort of way. It nauseates him. His body wound tight, gently curled into himself like he’s being scolded. Eyes so big they take up more than half of his face. Spilling snot and tears into his facial hair. Eddie takes his right hand between his own as soon as he’s close enough. He sits down, too close and too warm, not giving them a chance to drift. “What happened?” Eddie says softly, “you were bright as day when I left a couple hours ago.”

current WIP title - "wayne grieving"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 C

“Can I make you some food?” Eddie nods. “Yeah…yeah, thank you. Do you need any help?” Steve tosses him a soft smile. “No, baby. Just keep talking to me, your conversation is all I need.”

current WIP title - "eddie recover wg"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 E

“Exactly what I said. I don’t love you the way I used to. Something’s missing. Or something left. Or something died—I don’t know.” And Steve had held his knees tighter, ramrod straight to the couch, unblinking. “But we made plans? I picked up the tile to redo the bathroom? And I rented our favorite movie and”— “Don’t do this”—which Steve felt like Eddie had no room in the universe to say something like that—“please don’t make me regret my decision.” He’s not sure what Eddie would regret in that moment. Leaving? Being honest? Or was it the falling out of love part? Steve didn’t ask. He bit his tongue and he didn’t blink and he just stayed still. “I’m packed up,” Eddie had said, “I’m moving back to Wayne’s. There’s…um…there’s a pint of ice cream in the freezer for you. I didn’t know what the other person was supposed to do afterwards, I guess, so I just went with the rom-com cliche. It’s that brownie batter one, though, your favorite.” And then he had left. Two suitcases in hand. His engagement band on the coffee table. Where it still sits. Black and shiny and unmoored by the tangible grief written across Steve’s existence.

current WIP title - "lavender marriage stobin"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 P

Proteins and carbs and extra little things he could toss together—something, they had said, he needs to be doing something to get back on track. To get away from a precipice he isn’t strong enough to climb back up. One wrong step, one misplaced foot— He sighs, weakening into himself for a moment.

current WIP title - "eddie recover wg"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 S

Steve: I just need time to think. I found some stuff that’s making me rethink a lot of moments in my life, I guess. Steve: That sounds serious and bad. I promise it’s not. I’m just confused on some things, but I don’t think you’ll be able to help me on this stuff now. You won’t be able to connect with it the way we talk about girls. Robin: okay, dingus Robin: I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready Robin: and if nothing comes from you’re thinking, then that’s okay, too. It’s okay to be confused and then not come to any conclusions.

current WIP title - "text fic pt2"

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

Okay, oh my god, that was a lot tougher of a word than I thought it'd be! Also...there's definitely a couple of these that I completely and utterly forgot about...looking at the Wayne Grieving fic and the Lavender Marriage Stobin fic! But, hey! They're alive right here, right now!

Gonna tag some people now! No pressure!

Your word is: UNPLEASANT

(that's got some oddball letters in it...maybe it'll make for some fun?)

No pressure tags:

@alwaysurvalentine @adverbally @queenie-ofthe-void @sidekick-hero @hotluncheddie

@scoops-aboy86 @marvel-ous-m @thefreakandthehair and a tagback @wheneverfeasible

[chickycherrycola]

snippet sunday~

kicking off the sunday snippeting train this week with another preview of KOMH Ch 7! This time, featuring the appearance of a certain older brother of Soul's:

“I was starting to think you were dead.” Wes’s voice in his ear feels even more surreal, his words reaching across the many thousands of miles that separate the two of them to instantly transport Soul back to a bygone era, a chapter of his life he’d long-thought closed. “Would it have killed you to send like, one text message?” “I guess now we’ll never know,” Soul says flatly. “Life holds so many mysteries.” On the other end of the line, Wes snorts in reply. “I’ll say,” he snickers, and the mischievous undertone in his voice has Soul bracing himself. “Like how the fuck did you manage to bag a princess?!” There are several reasons why Soul has kept Wes at a comfortable distance all these years— reasons why he only checks in occasionally, only answers his calls about twice a year. Reasons why, even when he does begrudgingly speak to his older brother, he’s painstakingly selective about the information he offers up about his life.  Firstly, Wes is a complete ass ninety-five percent of the time. Incapable of taking anything seriously, incapable of having a conversation without giving Soul shit for one thing or another, incapable of responding to anything and everything without a heavy dose of aloof whimsy and that signature Evans family sarcasm. In a way, it’s like looking into a mirror— an unwelcome reminder of Soul’s own shortcomings, and he gets enough of that without the ordeal of speaking to his brother.  Secondly— and perhaps, most importantly— Wes doesn’t know the truth of how Soul has been supporting himself financially for the past several years— the truth that he’s been working as an escort.  “You know, most people start a conversation with ‘how are you?’.”

My motivation to write these days kinda waxes and wanes and comes to me inconsistently in spurts. I'm trying to get back into the habit of it without forcing it. Slow and steady wins the race. 🐢

Tagging @mellancholy-morose @silluuuu @worldismyne and @blackbloodteeth! Share those words if you got em! 😎

[f1-stuff]

VICTORIAN CHARLOS ROYALTY ABO you have sent me into chaotic overdrive with that sentence oh boy am I excited to read that!!!!!!!! Thank you to your brain as always

Hehe I'm glad you're excited!! So am I... 😏 which is why I'm going to share a bit of it now!!! 😝 (sometimes, I simply can't help myself)

For some exposition, Charles is the crown prince of Monaco and an omega, Carlos is the alpha son of a Spanish duke (but distantly in line for the throne, which also makes him a prince). Their meeting has been arranged by carlos' father & cousin and charles' uncle, which makes this a sort of arranged marriage AU, except that Charles still gets to choose his husband in the end. Charles is almost twenty-one, and he's looking forward to certain freedoms that will award him. All of this was inspired by The Young Victoria (2009).

Behold, a 1.8k-word snippet:

Charles’ eyes scan over the chess board, carefully considering his next move. He can feel the looks of the rest of their party burning into the side of his face. He glances sideways to confirm his suspicions, and notes several people averting their eyes in a hurry.

When he looks back to Carlos, the other man is giving him a conspiratorial smile. Charles sighs, his lips curving up at the edges as he settles on moving his rook.

Ever since their walk earlier that afternoon, Charles’ feelings have...softened slightly toward the Spaniard. He much prefers when the man isn’t feeding him answers that he believes Charles will like, and luckily, it seems they’ve mostly done away with that nonsense now. There’s no doubt that Carlos is...handsome. Or that his scent seems designed to tempt Charles. But he’s smart enough to know that Carlos has his own motivations for being here, and that it would benefit him and his family very much indeed if they were to wed. Charles has no intention of finding a mate yet, not when his freedom is so close at hand.

As Carlos decides on his next move, Charles’ face begins to burn once again from the others’ returned stares. His jaw clenches.

“Do you ever feel like a chess piece yourself? In a game being played against your will?” He doesn’t bother to lower his voice. It would likely be futile, not to mention that he would welcome his words having a shaming effect on their company. If only. 

Carlos’ curious gaze rises to meet his own. He takes a moment to respond, brows furrowing as he considers Charles’ words.

“I hadn’t thought of it. But I suppose so, yes.”

“I do, constantly,” he sighs. “I feel their eyes assessing me, their fingers moving me round the board.”

“Your parents?”

“Everyone. My uncle, brother, advisors, politicians... They’re all ready to seize hold of me and drag me from square to square.” He chuckles to lighten the tone, and Carlos’ lips make an effort to smile, but fall short. 

Carlos glances over at the others, before his attention returns to the board and he finally makes his move. “Then, you had better master the rules of the game until you play it better than they can.” 

His eyes meet Charles’, and they hold there, candlelight flickering within their depths in a hypnotizing pattern. It feels like it takes all of Charles’ willpower to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“You don’t recommend I find an alpha husband to play it for me?” he asks, raising a brow as his rook takes Carlos’ pawn.

“I should find one to play it with you, not for you.”

Charles feels delighted surprise drip down his spine as he considers Carlos’ words. He’s never really...thought about marriage like that. It had always seemed like another prison he would be forced into. But if he were to choose a mate and a husband as an equal, someone who would play with him, like Carlos suggests...

They continue playing for a moment in silence, as Charles decides how to respond, but he’s been thrown off slightly, Carlos proving once again to be unexpected.

“You know, my father wants me to marry King Torger’s nephew, George.” He sees the flicker of distaste that flashes across Carlos’ face, and has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Hm,” Carlos grunts, picking up his bishop. “What’s he like at chess?” He knocks Charles’ pawn aside, then looks up and grins.

Charles stifles a laugh, glancing over at his family. His uncle and mother are smiling contentedly down at their laps, his mother with her embroidery and his uncle with his newspaper. Charles’ good mood dims slightly, realizing how easily he’s playing into their hands by enjoying Carlos’ company.

And yet he can’t help the affection and attraction that simmers within him when he looks back at Carlos and the scent of dewy grass and fresh oranges caresses his nose, so refreshing compared to the usual dusty stale air of the drawing room.

He wins their first game because Carlos underestimates him, like so many others. But Carlos requests a second match, and this time, manages to take the win. The excited buzz of a good challenge fills Charles with a restless energy that he hasn’t felt in years, and they play a third game, then a fourth, and a fifth. Eventually, as the others are beginning to nod off in their chairs, they decide to retire for the evening.

He’s just taken Andrea’s hand to begin his ascent up the stairs when his name is called out behind him, followed almost immediately by that damn scent. Charles looks over his shoulder at Carlos, who almost appears out of breath, like he’d rushed to catch up to him. They had already said goodnight in the drawing room, but perhaps he’d thought of something else to tell Charles.

“It’s alright, Andrea. Carlos can take me up.” 

Andrea’s eyebrow twitches slightly with displeasure, but he would never protest. He steps aside, Carlos taking his place.

“You’ll have to hold my hand,” Charles explains. “It is a ridiculous precaution, but Maman insists.”

“Of course,” Carlos says, bowing slightly.

He offers his hand to Charles, who takes it after the briefest of hesitations. It’s the first time their skin has touched, and Charles suppresses the shiver that rolls through him.

For a moment, they simply stand there, feet unmoving, as Carlos’ thumb settles gently over his knuckles. His hand is warm and large, his fingers slightly calloused, from riding or shooting perhaps. He holds onto Charles’ fingers just tight enough to reassure, but not so tight as to entrap him. It’s a delicate balance, and Charles wonders how he’s managed to find that sweet spot so gracefully.

With some effort, Charles forces his feet to move, and they begin their climb.

“Did you want to tell me something?” he asks.

“Ask you, actually. Your father - he didn’t join us tonight.”

“Yes. He is...his health is poor,” Charles says, pushing through the sadness and worry to give Carlos a polite smile. “We...do not know how much longer he has.”

“Ah.” Carlos swallows, and in his gaze, Charles sees the man’s love for his own father. His brown eyes dip at the outer edges in sympathy. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” he mutters.

“I would have loved to meet him.”

The sentiment makes Charles smile for real. He isn’t certain what his father would think of Carlos, but so far, there hasn’t been much to object on.

They climb a few more steps in silence, and only when they’re about to reach the top does Carlos speak again.

“I wanted to say that I may not entirely understand what you are going through, or just how much of a pawn you are feeling...” They pause on the landing. “But I know a bit of what it’s like to be moved around like a chess piece in someone else’s game. And I know a bit of what it’s like to feel as though your life is not your own.”

Charles studies him. He seems sincere, but it’s hard to imagine this alpha knows an ounce of what Charles has been through.

“Does your mother also assign someone to guide you up and down the stairs?” he asks, brow arched teasingly. Carlos lets out an amused huff, glancing down at their still clasped hands.

“No, indeed I do not shoulder that particular charge. But I do know how duty and obligation to one’s family, one’s country, can eclipse even your sense of self.”

That strikes a chord within Charles, who has wasted hours and hours of his life wondering who he really is beyond an omega, a prince. If these things were stripped away, who is he underneath?

“And yet,” Carlos continues, before Charles can formulate a response. “I am finding my current duty to my country to be much more enjoyable than I had anticipated.” Smiles spread over both of their faces, and something giddy and dangerous alights deep in Charles’ stomach.

Do not fall for it, Charles.

“Did your father instruct you to use all your charms on me?”

“My cousin, actually,” Carlos admits, startling a laugh out of Charles for his honesty. “He also told me not to let your beauty distract me. Yet, I confess, I have never been so distracted in my life.”

Charles wants to roll his eyes at the transparent attempt to romance him, but all his lessons in etiquette restrain him. Instead, he presses his lips together to prevent a smile, not wanting to give Carlos the satisfaction. Unfortunately, Carlos is watching his expression closely enough that he notes Charles’ attempt and responds with a smug grin of his own.

For a moment, they stand suspended, hands still holding one another’s, both unwilling to let go. And to his slight shame, it is Carlos who ends the stalemate, bowing at the waist to barely graze his lips against the back of Charles’ hand, his breath warm and startling. Charles’ heart stutters, but he schools his expression as the other man straightens once again, releasing his hand.

“Goodnight, Monsieur.”

Charles is afraid to speak, worried his voice will betray just how overcome he is by the barest touch of lips on his skin - not even a kiss, really. Embarrassing.

So he simply nods, then turns and strides toward his rooms without looking back. It’s only when he’s almost through the door that he glances just one time over his shoulder to see Carlos descending the stairs. 

He doesn’t wait around long enough to see if the other man looks back.

His attendant helps him undress while Andrea readies his bed. Charles brushes a thumb over the back of his hand, feeling the ghost of lips there.

“Will my lord miss the prince and princesses when they’re gone?” his attendant asks.

“Don’t be impertinent,” Andrea admonishes. Charles just smiles to himself as he undoes his necktie. “That young man pesters you.”

“Please, Andrea,” Charles sighs, shouldering off his waistcoat. “After all this time, you really think I’m going to walk straight into another jail?”

He’s taking off his shoes when Andrea eventually responds. “You must marry one day.”

“Well, I don’t see why I must,” he says, shaking his head. “But if I do, it shall be to please myself, and no one else - not Maman or Uncle or my father.”

So what if he never has children. There will always be another heir somewhere. Sure, it would be dangerous to remain an unmated omega. But if anyone could do it and survive, Charles thinks a sovereign prince, with more protection than anyone else in the country, could succeed.

He’s not marrying anyone just yet. Not even the charming Spaniard with the kind eyes.

[cas-backwards-tie]

🍻 I'm so ready for this next chapter I would love to see a snippet :)

Ahhh! I'm so happy that people are excited about my writing ❤️ It truly means the world! Admittedly, for whatever reason (life, maybe?) I haven't been as inspired lately to figure out the mess of a chapter that I've had drafted up for awhile now. This definitely gives me a reason to continue figuring it out, however, so thank you! Also, picking only three sentences (which would be intriguing) was really hard for this one! [fyi: I know this is technically 4 sentences, but bc you've had to wait so long, I decided to put the last one, bc I felt it tied this moment together better]

This snippet comes from this series, if anyone wants to check it out!

wip motivation game

when someone sends you the corresponding emoji, share three sentences of that wip before writing three more.

The Omega Pack Plan, Chapter Two: Reap What You Sow - poly!taskforce141 x omega!reader

------------

“Going out with a bunch of guys you don’t know?” Kyle tacks on. His arms crossed in front of his chest in a disapproving manner.

“They’re unmated! No way,” Soap protests, now standing before you, obviously unpleased. “You’re not serious.”

“So what?! I’m unmated- who cares? That doesn’t inherently make them evil,” you argue.

Want To See My WIPs?

[sins-of-the-father-au-official]

The Data Base, A Preemptive Q&A:

What Is This?

This is a side blog for my Batman Au entitled Sins Of The Father as the name and tagline might suggest. For right now it is a way to motivate myself through sharing snippets and lore as well post links to the updates when they come.

What Is The Au About?

Sins Of The Father will hopefully be a Jason Todd and Damian Wayne-centric long fic. This fic is my personal take on the Jason Todd and Damian Wayne meet in the League tag on Ao3. Although it borrows some tropes and dynamics I wanted to hone in on the idea of what would happen if Jason was the one the bring him to Gotham instead of Talia. Not only looking into how this would effect the Under The Red Hood plotline but also their relationship with Bruce as the name might give away.

Note: I will post a more informative and concise blurb soon I just wanted to to lay the bare frame work out.

Why Was This Au Made?

This Au was born out of my frustration at Jasons revival and Damians introduction not only being so close to together but the fact both of their shared backstory threads never being interconnected. It’s almost always glossed over except for an extra ending in Death In The Family & Young Justice very briefly. Correct me if I am wrong and there's more I don't know about.

Regardless I feel that is missing out on such a good story opportunity but I digress. Hence this whole Au things may have gotten out of hand a touch.

( Also yes I know the title of the Au comes from A Batman & Robin Adventures episode I named it before I remembered where it had been last used.)

What Continuity Is This In?

I am sad to disappoint the animated Batfans as well as those who enjoy the comics but this is taking place in my own version of the universe. Somethings will be taken from those versions of the plot or character but I wanted the freedom to both write the plot I wanted and reinterpret characters if needed.

Now please do be warned this could be a bit ooc at times but comic cannons is like a slinkie falling down stairs into play doh anything can happen and I want to build something. So sit back and relax as this isn't a official comic but Ao3 & Tumblr where cannon goes to die. Lets have fun!

What Will This Be Posted On & What Is The Rating?

Sins Of The Father will be posted on Ao3 and I will share the link when updates are posted. For now there is none yet as I am still writing the first few chapters. I do plan to update once I am done writing them so they might be a bit spotty.

As for the rating I am planning on Teen. it does have some cannon compliant violence, dark themes/ moments and possible exploration of generational trauma.

Is This A Batcest Thing?

No, there is no shipping between any of the brothers with the only ships that play out being things like Barba X Dick and the like. I really wanted to focus on the family bonds such as Jason being a semi but not really Father figure to Damian.

Will The Outlaws Or Extended Batfamily Show Up?

Sadly this is a second no as I don't know enough about them nor really have any plot points for them as of now. The cast consists of The Al ghuls/ a handfull of The League related characters plus the core Gotham or Batfam characters. ( I.e Alfred Jim, Bruce, Babs, Dick, Jason, Tim & Damian) as well as a few rouges.

Can I Send Asks?

Yes of course I would love to gush or share info based on the Au that has taken my brain over. You're more than welcome to ask the Batcomputer something!

That’s All Folks! (For Now…)