#snippet share saturday

[autumnalwalker]

Snippet Share Saturday

Thank you for the tag, @late-to-the-fandom.

Passing the tag to @imbrisvastatio, @blind-the-winds, @silvertalonwritblr, @365runesoftheamalgamations, @cljordan-imperium, and an open tag for anyone else who may want to share a snippet (of any length) from your current WIP.

Here's a bit I wrote today from Empty Names. I had this idea stuck in my head of rapidly giving brief descriptions of a bunch of background characters a means of conveying the feel of a place rather than for the sake of the characters themselves being all that important to the story. Not sure how well that worked out, but it was a fun experiment nonetheless.

Later that evening, after having said goodbye to Sarah for the month, changing back into her usual red tracksuit, and calling to check in on Lacuna and Ashan, Eris is sitting on a barstool at 121813.  

“Twelve eighteen thirteen” is the generally agreed upon pronunciation of the bar’s name, although what the name means is less agreed upon.  The three most popular theories are that it’s either a date (usually speculated as either December of 1813), a scriptural reference (which scripture is a whole other debate), or a leftover address from before one of Crossherd’s major layout shifts.  Lacuna had suggested it might be a tarot thing when Eris told her about it.  The Hanged Man, the Moon, and Death.  An ominous spread, according to Lacuna, but Eris figures it makes as much sense as anything else. 

In any case, Fitzgerald Wilhelm von Harkenstein IV, the establishment’s clockwork owner, proprietor, and bartender always seemed to get too much of a kick out of the speculation to give a solid answer.  Make what jokes you like about a bartender with no taste buds, but Fitzy had drink mixing down to an art.  Then again, he claims to be at least as old as the city of Crossherd itself, so Eris figures he had plenty of time to practice if nothing else. 

For over a century now, 121813 has served as the closest thing to a centralized organization for American monster hunters.  Other parts of the world had holy orders, secret societies, and grand lodges stretching back generations, but in these parts everyone figured that a couple dozen thrill-seeking assholes who all frequent the same bar was good enough to get the job done.  Most hunters usually work solo, but the bar is a good place to brag about kills, show off trophies, swap rumors on potential quarries, and put a band together if you get word on something really nasty.

It’s not peak hours yet and regulars are still trickling in, but there were already a few familiar faces there to greet her when she walked in twenty minutes ago.

Golden-eyed Gretchen who had taught Eris German and how to wield a spear.

Bai of the braided beard who had taken over Eris’s old garbage collecting route when she signed up with Road’s new venture and ever since has been alternating between thanking her for the job referral and complaining that he couldn’t take his axes with him on shift.

Wyatt, whose eyepatch is actually an AR visor to aim assist his crossbow and adjust for weight and aerodynamic differences on specialized bolts.

The green-haired enby twins, Loregahste and Lornega, who favor halberds and hammers respectively but both carry swords as backup sidearms.

Chuck in his ill-fitting trenchcoat, a relative newcomer to the game who’s already earning a reputation for going off on insufferable rants about the superiority of katanas.

The grim-faced Preacher, who never shares his name for fear of theft, never touches a drink that isn’t water, and never hides his disdain for everyone else’s choice of archaic weaponry for the sake of sport when guns were so much more efficient at completing the important work of slaying beasts.

Old Vic, the elven immigrant from off world who’s always down to party like the college kid his face looks the age of.

Plus a handful of others that Eris either isn’t all that close to or doesn’t recognize at a glance.  High turnover rates have always been an unspoken truth amongst the monster hunter community.  It’s been said that there are five fates that await hunters.

One: You die early from a stupid mistake, biting off more than you can chew, or just plain bad luck.

Two: You finally catch up with that one monster that was your reason for taking up the hunt to begin with, and if you survive you walk away, vendetta done.

Three: You have your first near-death experience, confront your mortality, and make the wise decision to get out.

Four: You have your first near-death experience, confront your mortality, and realize you’re hooked on the hunt that will surely kill you one day more than you are on living a long life.

Five: The hunt gradually becomes your whole life and personality until one day you hit a tipping point that causes autogenesis to kick into overdrive, transforming you into a monster yourself in need of putting down by your former comrades.

Everyone at the bar tonight - except maybe Chuck and the other newbies like him who still think they’re invincible - has long since made their peace with the idea that they’ll probably be dead by forty.  Fifty tops.  Other than Old Vic, of course, who’s at least twice that age, but rumors that he’s already secretly met the fifth fate have been flying around since before Eris ever found Crossherd and 121813.  Having been on a funerary hunt with him herself and seen what a hunter consumed looks like, Eris doesn’t put any stock in that speculation.

[tracle0]

hey writerblr

Snippet Sunday? Is that anything? Post a snippet on a nice Sunday and maybe pick out a few - say, three or five - other snippets from others to comment something nice on? Could be cool and groovy? Oughhh you want to do this so bad

[daffi-990]

Fuck it Friday

Tagged by @diazsdimples who posted a whole ass fic! Go and give it a read, it’s a fun one 😁

Have some more from when your heart releases, you won’t fall to pieces aka the Eddie breakdown fic. The writing beans aren’t beaning for this wip, even though I’d really like them to be. Still .. thought I’d share something I wrote for it a little ways back (this is just after the scene from canon where Eddie says he’s scared he’ll never feel normal again.)

“What if I can’t find normal again? What if this is my new normal, Buck?”

“I’ll still be here. I promised to have your back and I meant it. Nothing is going to scare me away from you.”

Away from loving you.

Eddie’s eyes widen slightly, his mouth going a bit slack as he stares at Buck in a way that looks an awful lot like awe. Buck’s starting to think maybe he said that last part out loud. It doesn’t matter though, because it’s true. Nothing he learns about Eddie will scare him away. Every bruised and scarred piece of Eddie that he’s ever been shown has been carefully gathered up and placed with the others, all held within the safety of Buck’s heart, their edges slotting in perfectly beside his own.

Buck clears his throat to break the moment, now is not the time for Buck to cut himself open and pour his love and devotion for Eddie out at his feet. Not when Eddie is so fragile and Buck has a girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

He has to keep reminding himself of that, which is probably not a good sign about the vitality of their relationship. But now is not the time to think about that either. Right now he needs to focus on Eddie and making sure he’s okay. Hopefully convince him to get some sleep, because he looks like shit. Buck thinks there may be bags under the bags under his eyes.

“Right. You’re going to shower and then you’re going to sleep. Everything else can wait until the morning, okay?”

“And you’ll be here? In the morning?” Eddie’s voice sounds so small. Buck’s heart cracks at the sound of it.

“I told you,” Buck reaches across the table and squeeze his hands, “m’not going anywhere.”

No pressure tagging: @steadfastsaturnsrings @hippolotamus @wildlife4life @nmcggg @puppyboybuckley @wikiangela @watchyourbuck @rainbow-nerdss @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @spotsandsocks @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @tizniz @rewritetheending @athenagranted @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @bekkachaos @lover-of-mine @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @captain-hen and anyone else I may have missed or who wants to share something!

[wikiangela]

inspiration saturday

decided to make a lil moodboard for the ryan/taylor fic I posted a snippet of yesterday - not really sure where exactly im going with it, but this is more or less the vibes haha - reuniting, sort of getting back together, long distance relationship, plus a bit of family vibes haha

prev snippet

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 @daffi-990 @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @disasterbuckdiaz

[thebigoblin]

Share a Snippet Saturday!

...no? okay, anyways, here is a snippet from a fic I started working on near the end of March in frustration of studying, and I have worked on/off on this since. I'm loving the 1st half of what I have written so far, so this is from near the beginning of the fic!

*

So, no. Dying is petty, so he wishes to never have existed. He knows he'll be missed. The better fate, for all, in conclusion can only be this then — tear off his skin from his body, his bones from its hollows, his feet from this earthly plane, and his existence from this universe.

The ultimate solution.

His skin itches with the power of his want. His blood is seething beneath his flesh, a live, angry thing, a counterpart to his melancholy. His fingers trace his skin, right hand on left hand's elbow and down, to the wrist. Then, frantic, a full body flail: he is his Tata's son, after all.

He itches all over, the sensation spreading like fallen gasoline. There's a throbbing pain at the base of his throat, a scream tearing out of his throat at the intensity of it. He had locked the door, privacy of space his to conquer in his state of being, his parents allowing him that space — but now, now they rush in, his dad's eyes red and lively, just like his blood felt a few seconds ago, his Tata's eyes liquid gold in the sunlight falling through the windows.

"Eli!" It's a roar, an Alpha roar. Fear and command, hand-in-hand. And then, a tearful, "No!"

[dearunreliablenarrator]

just a itty bitty writing share of some dialogue...

"Surely, you cannot wish to marry her? You must have heard the rumors that spread about, you cannot be so be gone with this woman to leave behind your dignity and honor! She is a charmer! A user!”

“Then let her use me! If the truth behind this marriage of that of lies and betrayal then so be it. As long as everyone remains well, that is all that matters. End of discussion.”

“But Your Grace, what of Ms. Yvette? You cannot expect her-“

“When I say end of discussion, you are to say ‘Yes, your grace’, give me your back and close that door. Not talk back, take this as your only warning.”

“Yes, Your Grace..”

[amaiguri]

Writing Share Tag

Thanks to @anyablackwood for the tag! This tag is simply to share some of your writing! I've been editing lately so here's what I've been doing:

Lord Giluniques would have been pleased just to see us alive after that last battle. He would have his next plan drafted and I would have been proud to play second fiddle in his symphony. Without him, there was no music. I sure as hell wasn’t planning anything. In all my two-hundred years, I’d learned you couldn’t save luminaries like him. You just had to let them burn and tell their story when they were gone. The Gods never deemed us worthy of real heroes — you might as well lie about it until people remembered them as such.

-- Ymver, The Eternal Bard

Let's hear from @maiemorrae (who know just had her first release!), @dragonprincedawn, @cee-grice, and I know @moonfeatherblue posted a short story on video the other day! 👀 Open tag to anyone else who wants to hop on!

[under-theweirwood]

Snippet Saturday

below the cut: a very early moment of Prongsfoot friendship and tenderness. tagged by @quietlemonhush to post a snippet and here i am, two days later, with a snippet. (also a reminder to read my other new wolfstar fic) 

tagging @newsom and anyone else who wants to participate ;-) gotta rebuild my repertoire of fic friends (tm) after a long time off tumblr so hit my line if you want to be best friends on this website. 

James awoke up to watery gray dawn light outside and the sound of someone nearby being very unhappy. It isn’t Peter, or Remus, who had both fallen asleep with the curtains ajar around their beds. It’s Sirius, whose bed is closet to James, who barely said a word since sitting down at the Gryffindor table. His curtains were drawn around his bed still, but from within them James could hear a wet gasping sound, as though Sirius were sobbing or breathing hard or both. 

James considered his options. It was far too early to be awake, and his soft sheets and fluffy blanket called to him, to curl back up and leave the other boy to whatever it was that he was doing. At the same time, though, his Mum had told me to always make sure to check on the people he cared about, and sure he didn’t know Sirius well (yet, he added to himself) but he was pretty sure he cared. 

“Alright, mate?” James whispered quietly, leaning across the gap between beds to get as close to Sirius’s curtains as he could. 

In response there was a mumble, wet and low. Then, Sirius pulled back the curtain to peer out at James. Under his heavy dark fringe, his grey-blue eyes were wide and full of tears. His face was wet, too, like he’d been crying for ages. James wondered how long he’d been awake, so sad and all alone in his bed. 

“It’s really early,” James whispered, because he needed to say something. “I don’t even think the birds are up yet.” 

Sirius half-nodded, and started to make a whimpering noise before clapping his hands over his mouth to silence it. “Please don’t tell,” he said, and his voice was squeaky. “You can do what you want to me but don’t tell anyone-” He broke off in another whimper. 

James was confused. It was so early, and Sirius was so sad, and James was getting hungry, which certainly wasn’t right for the situation... “Do what to you? What would I be doing?” He felt like maybe he’d missed something. 

Sirius considered for a moment, taking quivering breaths. “Don’t tell the others that I’m weak,” he said, rubbing at his eyes like he could erase the evidence. 

“I won’t,” James said solemnly, before repeating it in a whisper. “I won’t.” After a second of thinking furiously, he added, “Why would I do that?” 

“Because I’m weak and stupid and I don’t belong here.” His voice broke halfway through and then he was crying again, hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking. 

James was quite alarmed. “I don’t think you’re any of those things,” he said kindly. Feeling far out of his depth, he added, “If the Hat says you belong here of course you do. The Sorting Hat magic is even older than Hogwarts, my Mum says.” 

“Do you want to come lay in my bed?” He asked. “My mum always told me to do that when I got sad in the night.” James crossed back to his bed and patted the space next to him. 

Sirius eyes him again, suspiciously for a second as though it might be a trick, before sniffling and hopping across the gap to settle next to James. 

Up close, James was even more worried about his new friend. Sirius’s lips were bloody and cracked, like he’d been chewing them, and his nails were bitten down to the quicks. Everything about him was raw and pink and sad. James couldn’t imagine feeling so sad; everything he had wanted at Hogwarts was already coming true. Sorted into Gryffindor, found some friends-- nothing could dampen those twin joys, even knowing he couldn’t try out for Quidditch for years and years. 

“Thanks,” Sirius mumbled. 

“‘course,” James replied easily. “It’s what friends are for.” 

Sirius smiled at that, and it was like his face cracking open and light flooding in everywhere. “Friends?” He asked, tentatively. 

“Of course friends.” 

Sirius smiled even wider.

[stellamancer]

snippets from shine on the sea part ii —

feat. the Satoru Gojo experience

[lady-grace-pens]

WIP Snippet: ETNB

•••

I savor the final puff of my cigarette before handing it off to Rebekah.

“Here. Finish this for me, doll.”

”I’m not your doll,” she reminds me before taking a long drag and passing it to Blake.

While I return to my prior position, hunched over the bar with my arms crossed, Teddy begins tapping a hole in the floor with his foot. The longer I force this moment to drag on, the worse it gets. The only thing that puts the matter to an end is a weight being lifted off my belt, right where my dagger should be sheathed.

Teddy turns it over in his hands, studying every millimeter of intricate details. The blade, how it shines so greatly it’s synonymous with a mirror. The chill of the metal, and the way it threatens to pierce his skin if he presses any lighter than a butterfly. And the handle, best of all. Crowning gem of the thing, really. Gothic silver with gritty black shading to highlight the vines wrapping around the guard fancier than they already are. The dead center is home to a lustrous ruby, about the size of a pencil rubber and cut to resemble a rose.

That dagger was a gift from Rebekah and Blake, for the Winter Celebration of Seasons last year. If anybody dares to damage it, I’d kill them on the spot. No, that doesn’t exclude a certain whining, prissy little brother who flaunts around the fact that he’s a prince.

“Lovely dagger you have here,” he says calmly while his eyes are busy telling a different story entirely. Hungry they are, drinking up the blade and whispering to it a thousand promises of bloody, violent visions. “Gorgeous design. One of a kind, I believe. Am I wrong?”

I don’t answer. There’s nothing right about my body anymore. I’m all fucked up, like… every muscle feels like a bone, while all my bones feel like soup. I don’t think I could move even if I tried. The air stings my eyes, raw from my unbroken glare deep into my brother’s pupils.

“Ah, I’m right. Wonderful.”

The devil grins.

•••

[sashakielman]

Share Your Snippet Saturday

From my NaNo writing session yesterday:

She hoped the group of rebels she was about to meet would agree. But they weren’t really rebels, were they? It was her father who rebelled against Orabellan tradition. Who rebelled against the notion of a good leader treating everyone with respect and dignity, even if they could not provide anything substantial.

If you like this snippet, I would be honored if you considered donating to my Mighty Pens fundraiser for We Need Diverse Books! You can support me and donate here.

[charliemwrites]

…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

Next

Masterlist

[hoshinasblade]

second best |2| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 2.5K trigger warnings: author's note: hello, reposting the part 2 because of hiccups from saturday when i posted it first (tumblr blocked my blog lol). likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated but please do not copy or steal my works. in celebration of this blog reaching 100 followers recently, i have written a bonus part 3 which will be posted within this week. my taglist form is here, and feel free to let me know your thoughts by sending me an ask through here. using my degree correctly by writing hoshina fanfics yes

you aren't sure when things changed between you and hoshina soshiro.

when you were young, you would have understood that he didn't have the attention span to deal with you. he wasn't exactly shy, but you wouldn't call him friendly too - unlike you, who has taken it upon herself to be friends with all the children in the small neighbourhood. unfortunately for you, only the hoshina brothers are at the same age as you are, and at that time you thought that was a sign that fate was giving - you ought to be close to them.

you won't deny that you were fonder of the hoshina brothers than anyone when you started school. if you are being honest, you like them more than any of your expensive dolls or toys. being an only child, you thought it was only natural to want someone to be with - to want someone to share things with.

the brothers would have their endless training sessions every day, and though you did not know how to swing a sword then, you insisted to your parents - and theirs - that you must join them. sometimes you would be sitting on the floor just watching them, and frequently you would be the one keeping count of the score between soshiro and soichiro when they spar.

soshiro has never won a single match against his brother when they were kids.

but you didn't mind. you still preferred him over soichiro.

in fifth grade, you bought him the biggest cake your meagre savings could buy. it wasn't much really, but you won't forget how wide his eyes went when you lighted the candles and sang him the happy birthday song albeit out of tune. the next year, you gifted him a small keychain - a teddy bear in a purple kimono. you never saw him use it.

it wasn't until years after that you worked out what your feelings for him were. the girls from your class would make small talk and ask if you have a boyfriend now and then. you would say no all the time. at sixteen, you felt like you didn't need to be in a relationship - because you have soshiro, you said to yourself - and that was when it hit you.

every time soshiro would talk to you after that, you would peek in your little compact mirror, worried he had miraculously discovered your secret, afraid that maybe your face had given it away. he caught you doing that once, and he accused you of attempting to be pretty for him.

"is it me ye're trying to be cute for?" he volunteered to carry your bag on your way home but you declined. you didn't want to start assuming things; you knew he was just being nice.

"ya wish," you deflected effectively.

"well, whoever it is for, they're in for some trouble", he commented, and you chose not to read too much in his words. you realized how the walk to your house always seemed to be shorter when you were with soshiro.

when you turned eighteen, you asked your mom what it meant to be in love. she was the last person you had wanted to ask - your parents had broken their perfect marriage not long ago, your father choosing to abandon your mother and you. soshiro taught you the basics of kendo during those hard months. "i'll even let ya beat me", he said to you.

"it's when you care for them so much that you will go as far as to let them go because you wanted them to be happy," your mother answered.

soshiro did not have the decency to say goodbye when he left himeji. you wanted to celebrate with him, and it wasn't like you weren't familiar with his plans to move after graduation. you used to stay up late with him, and inevitably the conversation would steer to his dream of getting out of your town. he would say that it's to expand his horizons - for his growth - but you like to give yourself some credit because you know him too well to simply believe that. you can tell that he needs a place to stretch his wings and be the best - somewhere he can be better than his brother.

and maybe you are really your mother's daughter - you let hoshina soshiro go because you thought it would make him happy.

"vice-captain, platoon leader said ye're needed at operations." you saluted and walked inside his office. "get yer ass in there, were the exact words actually," you added, intending it to be a joke.

soshiro didn't even look up from the file he had been staring at since you came in. he's been like this for days after you were sworn in the defense force. you would bump into him in the hallways of the training building or sit at the same table with him for lunch, and he wouldn't speak to you at all. if you didn't know better, you would think that finally, after all these years, he is now aware of your feelings. but that would be impossible, because not only the other recruits would not dare to rat you out, but also because soshiro would not be acting this way if he knew.

"v-vice captain?" you repeated.

soshiro hummed. "i heard ya the first time, officer," he said, his glance on you so cold you felt it from where you stood. it wiped off the smile you were wearing that morning.

"ya can go," he said once more after he noticed you didn't move. "or d'ya need anything else from me?"

"no, vice-captain." you were almost out of the door when you remembered something else. "one more thing, hoshina-san," you faced him again, the way you said his last name soft against your own lips. "soichiro-kun will be visiting again tomorrow so we can go to himeji together -"

"do ya belong to the sixth division?" soshiro cut you off. "i didn't know ya transferred."

"i - i'm not -" you were still trying to look for the appropriate response when he interrupted you again.

"then why are ya spending so much time with him? d'ya wanna move to his jurisdiction?" soshiro is standing now, whatever he was reading earlier long forgotten.

it was difficult to reconcile this distant man in front of you with the boy you used to chase after during your childhood days. the one who would bring you an extra boxed lunch because you told him before that his bento tastes so much better than yours. the boy you fell in love with. you had both grown up, and taken different paths at a time, yes, but you did not expect to struggle so badly to find common ground with him. "im sorry, vice-captain, i'll be off now." it felt like a huge chasm had opened in the middle of the room that determined to keep the two of you worlds apart. you turned to leave, and you heard him mutter something.

"if ya wanted to keep going on dates with my brother, ya shouldn't have gone here."

there is only one thing sharper than his katana and it is hoshina soshiro's mouth.

pain swirled inside you, threatening to spill over. when you couldn’t keep the turmoil in any longer, you snapped.

"what is yer problem?!" your pitch reached a high octave that soshiro was shocked at the outburst. "did i do anything? cause yer being mean, soshiro," you pressed on, stepping closer to him. it didn't escape him how you dropped the title off his name, and the honorifics, too. he was about to respond, but you didn't give him the chance. "look, i know yer not on good terms with soichiro-kun, but he’s my friend."

"like i needed to be reminded." sarcasm coated his retort. "ya know what? ya can marry the guy and i won't even care. do whatever ya want", he said, dismissing you in a harsher tone

your forehead scrunched and your eyebrows met in confusion. "what are ya talkin' about? no one is getting married -"

soshiro's laugh was bitter. you recoiled at the offensive sound. "i'm not the one going around telling everyone she's in love with soichiro-kun.”

there was a loud ringing in your ears; you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, and you were suddenly afraid that this conversation is unfolding into something else entirely. “i never said that,” you protested. “i never told anyone i was in love with him. i don’t know where you’re getting this from.”

soshiro’s expression remained stoic and unreadable. “i heard you say it at the izakaya”, he murmured.

breath was knocked out of your lungs and panic started to rise within you. “i never told anyone i was in love with him”, you repeated. you tried to rewind every second of what happened in the party thrown for the new officers nearly a month ago. everyone was drinking and having a good time after the sworn-in ceremony. commander ashiro and the vice-captain had to leave ahead. your fellow newbies grilling you on your history with hoshina soshiro.

“save it.” hurt was evident in soshiro’s voice; his eyes glimpsed at you briefly, and you saw an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher flicker. soshiro’s expressionless mask faltered for a moment, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability. although you don’t have a clue how he would have heard it when he went with commander ashiro that night, the desire to straighten things out overtook you.

for a split second, the burden of the truth hangs heavily on your tongue. you gave in to the desperation.

“i never told anyone i was in love with him”, you reiterated, hoping he would understand this time. “because it’s you i’m in love with.”

there were multiple occasions in the past where you almost admitted what he meant to you; you had pictured a thousand scenarios in your head where you declared your love, but all of them did not include the part where soshiro would respond.

you thought confessing would ease the ache in your heart, but it was the opposite. "i didn't know how to tell ya, and that's my fault. but how could i? ya didn't even bother to say goodbye to me when ya left home." it was taking everything of you to hold your tears back, and ignoring the obvious tremble in your voice, you continued. "did ya know i taught myself how to pray after ya were gone? i thought it was the only thing i could do for ya."

"i didn't know", was all soshiro could say. he looks in distress, still grappling with your bold confession.

a loud knock on the door broke the tension. “vice-captain, they made me fetch you,” okonogi said from the hall.

“well, now ya do.” you turned away just when soshiro strode towards your direction, running after you. you were faster than him, and despite the possibility that you would be seen coming from the vice-captain’s office crying, you twisted the doorknob and ran.

it is still hot when you sit down on a bench at the rooftop of the third division's training building.  you welcomed the cool breeze, however, and you noted that at this altitude, everything from far away looks considerably smaller.

you missed two important briefings this afternoon already, and your team is most certainly searching frantically for you everywhere. you are definitely going to be scolded by your superior. yet you couldn’t bring yourself to discard the little comfort being alone had given to you, especially after such an emotional confrontation. you sighed, exhaustion slowly crawling all over you. lost in your thoughts, you did not notice the soft footsteps approaching until a familiar voice tore through the silence. the cold breeze blew, making you shiver a bit.

“hey,” soshiro called out. you freaked out, immediately looking for a space to hide at. “i already saw ya,” he let you know.

he held out a keychain in front of your face, a tiny bear in a faded purple kimono with the string attached to its head dangling from his forefinger. you recognized it instantly - you got it for him when he turned 12 years old. he sat beside you, not concerning himself with asking for your permission.

“the first few days were the hardest”, he began, and you listened. “i was too used to seeing ya every day, but when we were apart, i convinced myself i would forget how ya look like. i didn’t.” he offered the keychain to you and you took it - the bear’s fur worn out and old to your touch. “i hold that thing whenever i start to miss ya.”

shock was etched on your face and your gaze darted to him. “is it too late now to say that i love ya?” he whispered, his face mirroring the sincerity of his tone. sunlight bathed the rooftop as soshiro’s words hung in the air, leaving you breathless and stunned. you gasped. “maybe i should have told ya sooner. but i have been in love with ya for a while now.”

you leaned into his shoulder, and you quietly cried.

“i don’t think i have been anybody’s first choice in anything, so it didn’t enter my mind that ya would probably feel the same.” his hand found yours and you relished on the warmth.

“your brother advised that i tell ya, ya know?” you said between sniffles.

he chuckled. “he didn’t do an excellent job at that, did he now?”

silence ensued; his thumb tracing patterns on the back of your hand, your head on his shoulder still - your breathing still a mess from everything that has been said. “i’m sorry i hurt ya. let me spend my whole life making it up to ya,” he proposed. the promise made your heart skip a beat.

for the first time in a long time, you gave him a smile - the one you have reserved just for him, the one you made sure to convey everything you wanted to tell him. there are a lot of other things you feel the need to ask him, but this will suffice for now. this is more than you ever had in your whole life.

“i can’t believe we wasted so much time dancing around our feelings. that one time i wanted to hit one of our classmates because he was being pushy with ya, d’ya remember that?” he reminisced. “anyone can have everything in the world, and the only time i would crack is if it is ya being taken away from me.”

all your dreams pale in comparison to your reality now.

out of the blue, you heard soshiro giggle. “does this mean ya were telling the newbies that night that it was me ye’re into?” he stared at you, and you can’t help but see him as the little boy you grew up with. this is the man i love, you said to yourself. you squeezed his hand.

you didn’t respond. all you know is the color of your cheeks surely rivals the pink of the skies as the both of you watch the sun sets.

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters [teaser!]

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

teaser word count: 1.7k

teaser warnings: swearing

release date: saturday, august 3, 10 PM EST

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

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A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

note: this fic is my BABYYY so I really hope it’s well received and you all have a good time with it. it’s probably no surprise that still monster is one of my absolute favorite enha songs, and this story is essentially (my interpretation of) it in written form. this is going to be a multi-part story, and as of right now, the first part is almost ready to share. for now, enjoy this snippet!

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Crossing a dark line through the word you just penned, you sigh. 

This is the fastest you’ve put a story together in ages. It’s cohesive, and the writing is solid. Your use of metaphor is strong and concise, and the prose feels true to your identity as a writer. 

But something in you withers a bit with every new word you commit to paper. It’s not that you hate your topic. If anything, it’s just that you have no stake in it at all. It doesn't feel innovative or exciting or representative of your creativity. 

No matter how easily the words flow out of you, something about it just feels… flat. One dimensional. 

You need something new. A different angle or an alternative perspective or… Or a fresh set of eyes. 

Struck with a sudden idea, you pull out your phone, plan taking form in your mind. The literature club at your university hosts bimonthly peer review sessions, and you haven’t taken advantage of them nearly as much as you should. They’re a chance for any writer, literature major or otherwise, to come together and workshop any piece of writing of their choice. 

Tapping your finger impatiently on the table, you wait for the page to load. The fall semester did end almost a week ago, so it may be a long shot. You’re not sure if the club typically holds sessions over winter break. But as you pull up the club’s calendar of events, a small smile tugs at your lips. 

Luck seems to be on your side this time. It’s written there in plain, bold font that there will be a session this upcoming Friday evening. That means that if you attend the session and get some solid ideas for revision, you’ll have exactly five days to refine your draft before you present it to Professor Kim. 

The idea of having not only a topic, as the schedule outlined, but an actual complete,  well-written draft to show him next Wednesday, turns your small smile into one that overtakes your features. 

Energized with a new vigor, you reach for your pen again. It doesn’t have to be perfect, you remind yourself, even as a turn of phrase makes you cringe. Even as a piece of punctuation feels out of place. It just needs to be written. You just need to have as much content as you can to share on Friday. 

Besides, you’re sure that a second opinion will help you fine tune this story into something you’re proud to share, something you’re excited to attach your name to.

The afternoon is quick to blur into early evening, and you’re still bent over your favorite corner table. Coffee long drained, you’re full of a new confidence. The thought of proving yourself suddenly doesn’t seem like such an unachievable, out of reach task. 

And when you do finally gather up all of your belongings and make your way back to your apartment for the night, you’re sure that this is the exact boost you needed. 

That same stroke of self-assuredness carries you all the way through a finished first draft. It’s rough and messy and littered with loose ends, but it’s tucked away in the bottom of your tote bag with a smile as you haul it to classroom number 105 in the university liberal arts building Friday evening. 

You pause at the door to the classroom, only for a moment. The inhale you breathe in is deep, full. Nodding to yourself once, you push open the door. 

You haven’t been to one of these workshop sessions since the second semester of your first year, back when you had just switched to a literature major. You remember being wide-eyed and incredibly protective over your work. It was hard to part with it, to let anyone else read over the sentences you were so unsure of. The writing you had little confidence in. 

But your partner had been kind. Another girl in her first year, she had nothing but gentle feedback to give and reassurance that your writing was worth reading. Honestly, it was such an overwhelmingly positive experience that you would have come back for more sessions if you weren’t constantly struggling to find minutes to spare in the day. 

You’re hoping that tonight will be just as rewarding as you enter the classroom, tote bag in tow. But as you survey the space around you, your face falls flat, easy going smile dropping from your lips. 

You weren’t expecting a big crowd, considering that it is winter break and most students are deliberately avoiding campus right now, but you were hoping there’d be more than one other person in attendance. 

Well, you think, deciding to look on the bright side of things. At least you’re not the only person. 

The other attendee is sitting in the far corner of the room, occupying a desk near the front of the classroom. At the sound of your entrance, they turn to face you. 

With that, your small disappointment is quick to snowball into an intense wave of exasperation. Because why is the universe so hellbent on playing games with you?

Your mouth drops open without your permission. “Heeseung?” 

Your sudden outburst fills the room and lingers long into the awkward silence that follows. You hadn’t meant to say anything, but really, what are the god forsaken odds?

If he’s bothered by your reaction to seeing him, Heeseung doesn’t show it. Instead he looks strangely… relieved. It makes absolutely no sense for him to feel any sort of relief at the sight of you, but it’s hard to put a more apt descriptor to the way tension drains from his shoulders, crease between his brows softening as he looks at you, scans you from head to toe. 

A moment of stilted silence passes between the two of you. Another. Your heartbeat feels too loud in your chest.

You exhale, a cross between a scoff and a laugh so humorless it could freeze a flame. Weighing your options, the most tempting by far is to just turn on your heel and exit the way you came. 

Heesung seems to read your intention before you can commit to it. 

Breaking the heaviness in the atmosphere, he acts as if you’ve greeted him like an old friend, not as the source of all your recent headaches. 

“Hi,” he nods, so tentatively you almost want to let your jaw drop open in shock. Almost. 

Because what the fuck does he mean by ‘Hi?’ This has to be some kind of mind game, some way to get in your head and ruin this for you. 

“Right.” Your lips pull into a tight line. You don’t bother to return his greeting. “I’m just gonna go, then.” Hiking up your bag on your shoulder, you turn to do just that. Your first draft will just have to be unpolished. Oh, well. You’re sure Professor Kim will have better feedback for you than Lee Heeseung ever would anyway. 

Once again, Heeseung’s voice cuts across the classroom. “Wait.” There’s a command in his voice. Gentle, but firm. Insistent. So pervasive that you find yourself following without really meaning to. 

Mind made up and dead set on leaving, now you’re just annoyed. What a waste of a Friday evening.

“What?” You turn back to him. You’re not sure if there’s more venom in your voice or your eyes. 

And Heeseung, who commands a classroom with quiet grace, with his steady, unwavering presence, suddenly looks so damn unsure. As if tormenting you is uncharted territory. As if he’s never once left you in the cold with flaming cheeks and a thoroughly shattered ego. 

“I…” he trails off, not quite meeting your furious gaze. “Didn’t you come here to get feedback?”

“Right.” You scoff again. “Because I’m sure you’d love nothing more than to tear my writing to shreds. Forgive me, but I’m not interested in being the butt end of your joke tonight.”

“What?” If you didn’t know any better, the ignorance he feigns would be rather convincing. “That’s not why I’m here.” He shakes his head. “I brought something I want reviewed too.” 

Your brow arches. He can’t be serious. “Even if I did stay,” you counter, “you’re actually the last person I would want to read my work. Feel free to be offended by that, by the way.”

For a solid minute, Heeseung just looks at you. He wears that same damn deer-in-the-headlights expression he had after you brushed him off when he intercepted you in class the other day. He pauses, weighing words on his tongue. “Look, ____.” The sound of your name on his lips strikes a strange chord in you. Until now, you were certain he didn’t even know it. “Did I do something to offend—”

And no. Absolutely not. No way are you rehashing that day in the quad with him now. 

“You know what,” you interrupt. You need to go. Now. You need an out. “I’m actually, like, super tired. I think I’m just gonna head back, and—”

But then it’s his turn to cut off your train of thought. “It’s your piece for Professor Kim, isn’t it?” Heeseung takes your silence as confirmation. “Publishing is a big deal. A second set of eyes will only make your work stronger. And if you hate my feedback, it’s not like you have to use any of it.”

You hate it. You despise the way his reasoning matches your internal monologue nearly word for word. The way your thoughts align exactly. 

You pause, a decision weighing heavy on your mind. He is an excellent writer… There would probably be substance to his feedback. Real, actual, good substance that you could use to make your writing bloom into something truly amazing. He could be the exact spark you need to make your story come to life. 

You purse your lips. “What’s in it for you?”

Heesung smiles, a nearly imperceptible quirk of his lips. He knows he’s won. “Like I said, I brought something I’ve been working on.” There’s an intention you can’t quite read behind his gaze when he adds, “I want to know what you think of it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

With a grumble, you take reluctant steps towards where he sits on the opposite side of the classroom. And if you slide down into the seat next to him with a little more force than necessary, well, it’s just because you’ve had a long week. No other reason. None at all. 

“Fine,” you relent, reaching to pull your notebook out of your bag. “You get twenty minutes.”

“That’s not nearly long eno—”

“Thirty,” you concede. “And don’t push it.”

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TO BE CONTINUED...

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note: thanks for checking out this little snippet! I can't wait to share the full first part soon. this one is going to be so much fun I'm buzzing already. I don't have a tag list, but I will most likely update this post and reblog it once I have a confirmed release date. like I said in the note at the beginning, I'm anticipating it will be ready to go by this sunday (august 4 EST) at the latest. woo!

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter seven

Summary: Baby, bye bye bye?

Warning: Mentions of John Walker.

Word Count: 1252

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A/N: The NSYNC gif tho. I love Sam Wilson. Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @thetorturedbuckydepartment

By the time Sunday evening came, you felt rejuvenated. Thanks to your family and friends, and some relaxation, has worked wonders on your frayed nerves. 

Yet, as Monday approached, the familiar anxiety crept back. You knew you had to face him again. The thought gnawed at the edges of your peace, like a shadow lingering in the background. 

The office was gradually coming to life with the hum of morning conversations and the clacking of keyboards. Settling at your desk, you took a deep breath to steady yourself. A mix of anticipation and uncase grew as the minutes ticked by. Your gaze kept darting to the entrance, waiting for his inevitable arrival.

But, as the clock struck 9:00 AM, he had not walked through the doors. By 9:30, whispers began to ripple through the conference room as your colleagues glanced at each other. Puzzled by his absence, catching snippets of their conversations - questions about his whereabouts, if anyone had heard from him.

You couldn’t help but feel relieved, but, you couldn’t help but wonder: had something happened? Was this just temporary? Was someone more intense to come?

As the morning dragged on, his absence was both a blessing and a cause of concern. The office turned into full-blown speculation by lunchtime. Theories were being exchanged in hush tones, their curiosity spiking. You tried to focus on your mind, yet your mind kept drifting back to him, especially after the mumbled accusations aimed at your brother. 

~

It wasn’t until late that afternoon that you finally got some answers. Your phone buzzed with a notification from the local news app. Out of habit, you took a glance at the screen, your heart stopping as you read the headline: Police department asks for help in locating a missing man. 

Your pulse quickened as you clicked the notification, bringing up the article. The picture accompanying the story confirmed your speculations - it was John. According to the report, his wife reported him missing after not being seen or heard from since Saturday evening. 

The article mentioned the police were investigating, specifically, Officer Fury would be leading the case. He was appealing to the public for any information. Your mind began to race with questions. Had he simply vanished? Despite everything he had put you through, the news of his disappearance left you with an uncomfortable mix of emotions. 

Sitting back in your chair, you tried to process the revelation. As the office continued to buzz with the news, you decided to share the article in the Avengers group chat: Have you heard about this? - you asked, with the link attached. 

Within minutes, you received replies:

Nat: “Why am I not surprised he was a cheater too?”

Wanda: “Yeah, it just came on the news at the bar. Everyone is talking about it.”

Sam: “*NSYNC ‘Bye bye bye’ GIF*”

Stevie: “Sam, no! 🤣 Yeah, I’m with Wanda and EVERYONE is talking about it, had to tell them at least 10 times we had nothing to do with it.”

Bucky ❤️‍🩹 : “Good.”

~

The usual office chatter was overshadowed by the unfolding mystery as the rest of the day passed. Whispers in corners, and gazes fixed on his empty cubicle. As much as you tried to focus on your new project, your thoughts kept returning to him and the article. 

By the time you returned home, the sky darkened, and a cool breeze swept through the city streets. Unlocking your apartment door, you felt a shiver run down your spine. The weight of the day pressed down on you as you settled on your couch, your thoughts drifting back to Saturday morning, cuddling with Bucky.

Turning on the TV, you caught the last few moments of another news report about him, the anchor repeating details you already knew. Seeing it on the screen made it feel even more real. Leaning back, your mind swirled with possibilities. 

The buzz of your phone interrupted your thoughts. Glancing at the screen, you expected another report about John, but instead, it was a message from Bucky: “Want some company? I’ve got pizza… and cola.” 

You felt your cheeks flush as you smiled down at your phone. “You know the way to my heart. Doors open for you,” you replied as you stood from the couch, heading to your apartment door to unlock the latch. 

Within minutes, the door opened, and your gaze snapped to it. You managed a smile as you watched Bucky enter your apartment with a pizza box and a small crate of cola bottles. You noticed the first thing he did after closing the door was put the latch back into lock. 

“I don’t like you having that unlocked, even for me,” he mumbled as he set the food and drink aside on the dining table. 

~

After dinner, the two of you settled on the couch, the aroma of takeout filling the apartment. Bucky had kept the conversation light throughout the early evening, you recounted funny stories from the bar and shared the latest gossip from your friend's lives. He was a welcomed and comfortable distraction. 

The TV played in the background, and the same news article from earlier began to play once again, snapping you out of your Bucky-induced haze. His jaw tensed as he reached for the remote, swiftly turning it off just as they showed a photo of John. Bucky turned to you, his expression serious. “How are you feeling about all this?” 

Sighing, you put your cola back on the coffee table. “It’s strange,” you admitted as you brought your knees up to your chest. “I should be relieved that he’s not, you know, around, but instead, I feel… unsettled.” 

Bucky nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “I get that, Sweetheart, it’s hard for you to switch off your feelings,” he reached out, wiping a tear you hadn’t realized had spilled. “Even if the person who caused them was… well, him.” He sighed, pulling you into him. 

A sniffle escaped as you rested your forehead against his, “Thank you, Bucky. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.” you mumbled, trying to steady your breathing. 

He smiled, his thumb still wiping the tears. “You don’t have to find out.” 

~

Bucky stood in your doorway, making sure you were truly asleep before, he glanced down at his phone, dialing a number. Once he was positive you weren’t going to wake up, he closed your bedroom door and quietly slipped back into the living room. 

Keeping his voice low, “Fury,” he said as the line connected. “Yeah, she’s asleep,”

There was a pause as Fury spoke on the other end of the line. Bucky’s jaw tensed as he listened intently. “She’s doing alright,” he continued, keeping his voice steady. Another pause, during which Bucky glanced toward your bedroom again, ensuring you were still asleep. “You got any updates?” 

Bucky nodded slightly at Fury’s response, keeping a calm demeanor. Listening as Fury outlined the state of the investigation his responses were brief and measured as he reached for another slice of pizza.

“Got it. I’ll keep an ear out,” he spoke before giving Fury another moment to speak, his eyes narrowed. “Sure, I get it.”

Bucky ended the call, finishing the pizza. He turned the TV back on, the news report still covering John’s disappearance, the same details they’d had all day replaying. 

Sitting back on the couch, his thoughts churned, the weight of the situation pressing down. Yet, his resolve to protect you was tireless.

---

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[sunfl0w3rmoon]

saturday snippet <3

ty for tagging! @velanavis @sixlane

from an upcoming fic :)

James flips it open, and there, on the title page, reads: Property of R.A.B. in Regulus’s neat scrawl. He flips through the first few pages, and notices that Regulus’s writing continues throughout the story — underlining passages, scribblings in the margins. It isn’t just Regulus’s favorite book he’s given James. It’s him. His thoughts and feelings about it. The parts he liked, the parts he hated. He’s bearing his soul to James in the margins of a book. And, oh, James loves him. Loves him so much he can’t stand it. Loves that he’s willing to share this part of him, loves that he wants James to have it. Loves that he’s still looking at him, with his eyes wide, waiting for James’s response, as if he has no idea what reaction he’ll have.  “Regulus,” James breathes, leaning towards him. “I —” He almost says it. It’s right there, just waiting. But at the last second, his tongue changes the words: “I love it.”

np tags: @poetskings @always-reading @staringathesunbabe @levelofyoureye @angel-daydreams @moutainrusing @quiethauntings and open tag for anyone else!!!