#thirty-nine days snippet

[andromacheofappalachia]

Aakwênt (Abish x Red Feather - Modern AU - Snippet)

Aakwênt - Shosone, meaning "Far Away From". Here is a snippet of the modern au I have been working on for Abish and Red Feather. I hope you all enjoy :) the full thing will be posted soon for the first chapter.

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Four hours. Twenty-seven minutes. Thirty-nine seconds.

That is how long it has been since Abish left—ran, ran away, ran, and still running. Jacob had gone to work just as he did every morning leaving Abish and his seven other wives within their home in Hildale, Utah. Four hours. Twenty-seven minutes. Fifty-two seconds. That was how long it took for Abish to get north of Ogden using one taxi, two Ubers, and three hundred dollars. She only had seven hundred roughly left to get a new start. Not nearly enough to do anything with as she had quickly learned, but it had gotten her into northern Utah. If she was lucky, she could continue to avoid anyone from the LDS Church. If she was unlucky, which she imagined she would be, someone from the church would notice her. They would see her navy dress and the worn shoes on her feet and the way her hair had fallen from its traditional braid and they would know she ran.

They would turn her in. Jacob would find her. He'd punish her and she would never be free.

Four hours. Twenty-eight minutes.

The walk to wherever she was now had left her feet bruised and swollen within her shoes. Her face was bruised from where Jacob had punished her the night prior. It made the teeth ache on the right side of her face. The pain curled within her jaw and cheekbone. Crawling up into the base of her skull into a low throb that would become a headache. Her hands are scuffed along her palms and her knuckles are swollen. When she looks long enough there is still blood beneath her nails.

The waitress at the middle-of-nowhere diner she is in takes notice of it. Being a woman, of course, she does. Abish knows even outside of the community that that is the way of things.

"Are you going to get anything?"

Abish had asked for more time two times now. She doesn't want to spend any money from what she has left in the worn red coin purse that now sits on the lamented table. But she knows if she is going to stretch her time in this warm shelter before it closes then she must.

"Can I start with a coffee?"

The waitress sighs. God, Abish is going to have to tip her.

"One coffee. I'll give you more time to pick a meal or a side. The owner is a prick, unfortunately, otherwise, I wouldn't care." The waitress leaves her to get the coffee pot. Setting down a yellowed mug on the table and a container of powdered creamer. The colorful packets of sugar flash like a neon sign as Abish takes a small sip.

The diner is nearly empty aside from a handful of occupants.

Abish didn't bother to look at any of them closely before, but now that she is she finds that one of them is staring. At least, she doesn't think he is watching her at first until she keeps looking up to find his eyes on her. An intense dark stare as he looks at her over his shoulder. He is unlike any man in the community—that is, he is not at all like any man in the community in every way possible. Abish knows that staring at someone isn't a good manner to have. Only he is watching her too, so it's only fair right?

The waitress blocks her view as Abish asks for an order of a cheeseburger and fries. Her mouth aching in a way that reminds her that she has not eaten in two days.

"Can I get a water too?" Waters come with refills. This she knows from movies and she hasn't had that either in two days, so it seems more feasible than the steaming coffee in her hands.

The waitress nods and moves to leave and he is watching her again.

The man has the remains of a steak in front of him. His steak knife is balanced between two fingers, the tip twirling circles into the plate as they lock into some kind of silent dance. He is older than her, but he doesn't seem threatening, no matter how much his face doesn't give any emotion to what he might be feeling when looking at her. However, she can see the smile lines on his face. The faint marking of crows feet shows a life of happiness that he has lived. His long, black hair is pulled into two braids and three black lines of tattoo ink mark his chin. He is Native American, like from the glimpses of old westerns that she has seen. His coat is black leather, his dark jeans have a chain hanging from the belt, and she can make out black military-like boots on his feet. Maybe he should intimidate her. Moreso given the intense way he is watching her rather than his clothes. Only Abish has seen monstrous men and this one doesn't seem to be one.

The waitress finally comes with her food. Cutting her green eyes to the man before looking back at Abish. There is a question there on her face that is quickly washed away.

"If you need anything just come to the counter." The waitress gives him one last glance, but he has already looked away.

Abish nearly chokes on hamburger meat the moment the other woman steps away.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she is certain that he is watching her again.

[goldflinches]

the same difference (snippet)

Summary: A friend is a friend, even a few realities removed.

(or: Hob meets a different Dream. He deals with it with as much grace as he can. Which is to say, not much at all.)

---

Square/Prompt: B3 - Obsession | @dreamlingbingo

Rating: Teen

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Notes & Warnings: Show!Hob meets Comic!Dream and Comic!Hob meets Show!Dream (Yes, Based On That Fanart by Alexxuun), First Meetings (Sort Of), Matthew Being A Menace

---

Hob’s day starts with a rude bird.

Matthew, the aforementioned rude bird, announces his surprise visit with a loud “INCOMING!” All before swooping into Hob’s small apartment through the open window, honing in on his toast, landing, and then tearing into it with gusto.

It’s six thirty-nine on another gray, drizzly morning. Hob is still groggy and his lukewarm coffee is mostly on the floor, partially on his shirt. A talking raven is eating his breakfast. Surely, this has to be some sort of ominous thing and not just the actual baseline mundanity of his life. Talking ravens have to be harbingers of…something. Lost breakfasts. Crumbs. Friends who haven’t been in touch for the past three weeks and five days—okay no, it’s too early and he’s too caffeine-deficient for that train of thought right now. Sighing, he tries to pick at the piece of toast Matthew hasn’t devoured yet, only to be met with a quick snap of a beak. “Good morning to you too,” grumbles Hob as he gets up to make his breakfast. Again.

In the kitchen, he hears the telltale susurration of sand from behind him. Hob feels a smile steal across his face immediately, then bites it back almost just as fast. He continues making his second breakfast. As he’s adding another piece of bread to the to-be-toasted pile, he says over his shoulder, “Dream, your bird is eating me out of house and—“ "Oh fuck," croaks Matthew suddenly, “Shit, I forgot—“ Alarmed, Hob whirls around, butter knife and Dream’s favorite brand of strawberry jam at the ready. And he comes face to face with his friend. Or at least, some version of Dream. One with wilder hair and sharper angles, drawn like dancing shadows of tree branches. This Dream smiles with more fang in tooth when he greets Hob with a familiar, resonant tone. “Hello, Hob Gadling.” Hob drops the jam jar.

---

Hob’s day ends with a rude bird.

It had been a long day in a long line of long days and all Hob wanted to do was enjoy a nightcap before sleeping the weekend away. The loud, insistent tapping on the door was not part of the plan. Even as he’s standing in front of the door, Hob contemplates just pretending to not be at home. The hammering on the door gets more intense, almost as if sensing his thoughts. With a defeated sigh, Hob opens a door. And of all things, a raven swoops right in.

It flies down the hall, towards the rest of his condominium with a battle caw, doing a sweep of the space as Hob trails a few paces behind it, utterly bewildered. Ravens are…omens aren’t they? Bad luck or some shoddy housekeeping in this case. He wonders what his old friend would have to say about that, might bring it up next time he deigned to drop by—no, not something worth contemplating right now. At least without a good amount of alcohol in his system.

By now, the bird has perched on his leather sofa, making its mark on the upholstery. Hob slowly approaches it when it opens its beak and, in a clearly American accent, announces, “ALL CLEAR BOSS!” Another layer of confusion is added when Hob hears a deep sigh from the entryway. The raven continues on, “C’mon Boss, you know I had to vet this rando—,” and Hob cannot believe he left the door open. He tunes out the talkative raven as he makes his way down the hallway. On the way, he grabs an…umbrella. It has some heft at least but he’s definitely had to make do with less in the past. Twisting it around in his hands, Hob starts thinking about different scenarios and exit strategies and how he is not in the mood to move on to a new life, whoever is at the door better be ready for his ferocious umbrella backhand— At the doorway stands his friend. Or some other form of his friend. One with a softer lines and sleek planes, like a reflection on the surface of a still, fathomless lake. This version of his friend smiles with only a small curl of his lips, greeting Hob with a voice he misses despite himself.

“Hello, Hob.” Hob grips the umbrella tighter.

[clockwayswrites]

Black Smoke Custody- early snippet

John stared, betrayed, at the armchair that he had just stubbed his toe on. Yes, it was only nine in the morning and yes he had only gone to bed at four in the morning after being up for nearly thirty-seven… nine, what-the-fuck-ever hours, but that was fine. That was normal. The armchair being in his way was not.

He’d wandered the House of Mystery plenty of times when half asleep or with his face in a book or bleeding out… whichever. Point was, he never stubbed his toe on any of the furniture in any of those states. Him and the House got along pretty well these days. Sure it was a little rough in the start, but now the House looked out for him just like he looked out for it.

That meant that if he stubbed his toe— if the House let him stub his toe— then the House was trying to get his attention about something.

And that was never good.

John rubbed at his face as he spent a moment considering just going back to bed. He was trapped, drained, out of everything. He’d be no good if it was something actually dangerous. But if it was actually something dangerous, the House would have, should have, done more than just stub a toe. Maybe it was just a clogged pipe or some shit like that and the house was feeling bitchy.

“Right then House, lead the way, show me what you're having a mare about,” John said with a sigh and headed for the closest doorway. He trusted the House to put him in the rooms that it wanted him in.

----- AN: I've been thinking about this idea again... maybe once 'Shadow of a Bat' is wrapped. Have a little bit of sentient House of Mystery because I do so love a good sentient house.

[syoddeye]

wip wednesday

tagged by @stellewriites 🧡 snippet from the next chapter of like i'm winning it.

"Such a shame we won't 'ave ya on the trip," Ghost doesn't look at you, but you feel his eyes in the wall's reflection. "Sunshine, spa days, little umbrella drinks by the pool. That what you thought would 'appen?" You stiffen, say nothing. He doesn't need a reply to keep going, though. "Hate to break it to you, but 'e's never gonna introduce you to 'is old man. Never was. Thought you'd have caught on by now." The numbers flash—forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight. Your stomach knots tighter with every floor. "I keep tellin' ya. You're a distraction. Flavor of the week. Eye candy for Junior when 'e's got downtime. You're on the menu, not the itinerary."

no pressure tags! @gemmahale @391780 @dragonnarrative-writes @soapcloth @dwarvenagenda

[lilmissnatcat24]

pushing electric sheep back another week (i have a really busy day saturday i need to drive all around town) but here's a little snippet to keep you warm in these trying times

Garrus spent more time in the MedBay than he did in the Battery nowadays. He should have found it incredibly hard to sleep. Constant beeping of machines, lights that never seemed to want to dim, the near constant chatter just beyond the window into the Mess. Not to mention Chakwas and Mordin’s constant poking and prodding, and the whispers between Kaidan and Kal that were so loud the two of them would have been better off shouting. He should have been an insomniac, a zombie that would be lucky if he got more than thirty minutes of sleep at a time. 

Despite it all, he slept more than he had probably in his entire life in that MedBay. Turians typically only needed five hours of sleep a night, and the way Garrus had constantly pushed himself, he was more accustomed to three. But when he would close his eyes on those stiff human cots with the turian pillows that itched at his mortar, he would be out for eight, nine hours at a time. Once, he even slept a full twelve-- he had missed six different meal services just in the Mess that night. 

All of that sleep, he should have been refreshed. Rejuvenated. Healed. But if anything, the extra sleep made him even more lethargic. He could barely get up to take a piss without his eyes itching with tiredness. He tried once to heat himself up some reserves and eat them in the Mess, just for Chakwas to kindly tap him on the shoulder as he fell asleep with his elbow propping him up at the main table, Gardner and Kenneth staring at him as if he had grown an extra head. For the next few days, he didn’t go on one mission. Normally, that would be something that bothered him immensely. He heard that he had even missed out on some rogue AI that had taken over a research base, just for that AI to be strapped to the consciousness of the lead researcher’s brother. Really, he should have been pissed to have been sidelined. 

Garrus couldn’t find it in him to care. Getting hit with reaves at least once a day was exhausting. It’s all Chakwas would allow, and secretly he was thankful she was so firm. For only about three minutes a day, he could be himself. He and Shepard would talk as fast as they could, nearly garbled. He would tell her everything he could remember, she would keep him updated on any leads. Yes, they all knew who Elx was. No, she couldn’t tell how they could leave the Citadel on house arrest. No, no new leads on Saleon. They only risked kissing one other time, but when Garrus nearly coughed blood directly into Shepard’s mouth, they mutually decided it was too much of a risk-- both from a secrecy and a biohazard standpoint. 

[spiritedstars]

Spirit Meets the Bones [ Masterlist ]

How’s one to know? I’d meet you where the spirit meets the bones In a faith-forgotten land In from the snow Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow Tarnished but so grand

- Eris and Iris. Son of a high lord. Daughter of a fiend.

An arranged marriage brought them together and beneath all the fight, the two are more alike than they’d like to be. Follow Eris and Iris as they navigate a relationship that neither of them asked for, the politics that dictate so much of their lives, and what happens when feelings start to find their way between them. / Tropes to expect: arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, dislike to love, slow burn. / Read on AO3

Eris x Iris inspiration | SMTB inspiration | Iris | playlists | Art | Asks | Headcanons |  Family List | Vanserra Brothers | Moodboards

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven 

Chapter Twelve 

Bonus Scene 

Chapter Thirteen 

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen 

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Bonus Scene

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Epilogue ~

Eiris Prompt - Iris on her cycle. 

Snippets

Drawing Up the Plans - Eiris Valentine’s Day Modern AU

Roots in My Dreamland [ Eris Week Day 1 ]

Smokehounds & Surprises [ Eris Week Day 4 ]

In the Shadows of War [ Eris Week Day 5 ]

Moth to a Flame [ Eris Week Day 6 ]

✨SJM Writing Masterlist

***All my writing belongs to me with a disclaimer that any character that isn’t an original character belongs to their authors. Do not copy or claim my work as your own. Do not feed my work into AI or third-party platforms. Do not translate my writing without my permission. I do not consent for my work to be reposted anywhere.

[sofa-king-lame]

Maybe it'll Be Done By the End of the Week Monday

Or whatever lol. @dangerpronebuddie tagged me in a Several Sentences Sunday but it's after 9pm on Monday so...here's a snippet of the Nanny!Buck epilogue that will hopefully be finished by the end of the week.

--

“Okay Buck,” Christopher agrees with a shrug. He follows Buck down the hallway and only fights him on brushing his teeth for a minute, climbs into bed, and curls up against Buck’s side. They read Christopher’s three favourite stories – well, one and a half before Christopher falls asleep. Leaving Buck with his crushing anxiety and no service on his phone to check in with Eddie. And it’s only eight-thirty. 

There’s nothing left in the house to clean, Buck washed every cushion cover and steamed the curtains two days ago so there’s really no use doing that again. The dishes have all been washed, dried, and put away. Buck could cook up a couple of big batches of...something, but with the way his hands are shaking he doesn’t trust himself with their sharp knives right now. 

So, he sits on the couch with his book and reads the same page five times before he gives up and tosses it to the side. He loses his place but he doesn’t care, because he still has no service and it’s now nine-fifteen. Eddie won’t be home for another twenty minutes or so if he’s finishing on time, but Buck knows he probably won’t be (doesn’t even know where the fuck Eddie is right now). So he settles for leaning back and staring at the ceiling, half dozing off. 

--

Tagging anyone who wants to participate!

[remapped-soul]

for the fic title thing i'm roughly translating part of an italian indie song

"where i'm from a kiss and a goodbye are the same thing"

in Italian: "da dove vengo io un bacio ed un addio sono la stessa cosa"

brocedes? rosquez? it's your pick, i'm in a angsty mood 😃

so. i know im half a year late. but. i hope this little ficlet i got for you will be worth it. all the angst and all that. i took the kiss part and ran away with it. inspiration suddenly arrived after ghosting me for months. also, this snippet is part of a bigger universe, set in the 5+1 au (the fabio fic on my ao3), sometime in the future.

Marc goes looking for Fabio, but he finds Valentino Rossi. Draped across the couch like he owns the place, Valentino looks up when Marc enters the motorhome as if he expected this all along. He merely blinks in Marc's direction before his focus shifts back to scrolling on his phone.

The door closes behind Marc with a soft sound. Fabio is nowhere in sight. Neither is Tom. No one enters Fabio's place without Tom's approval, but with Valentino here, Marc guesses Tom has been updated on the latest arrangements.

Marc stalls, unsure what to do. He planned this with Fabio a weekend ago. The time, the place. Did he forget? The idea sits wrong in the pit of his stomach. Marc could leave, try another time, but he has an interview in thirty minutes, a meeting with his team right after. Training and physio later in the evening. Beauty sleep at nine if he wants a decent race tomorrow.

Fabio wouldn't stand him up unless it was important.

Marc could leave. "Do you know where he is?" He asks instead, choosing English as his language, even if he speaks Italian as well. Neither here nor there, but meeting on neutral ground. They always yelled at each other in Italian. Valentino shrugs. "Do you know when he will be back?"

Valentino shrugs again. Doesn't even look up. Marc grits his teeth. He breathes in and remembers his agreement with Fabio, his love not finite, but so abundant he feels the need to share. At the end of the day, Fabio returns to him no matter what, but as Marc looks at Valentino, he is not so sure anymore.

Marc tries again. He always did. For Fabio he will always try. "Can you tell Fabio I looked for him? We had something planned. He…he knows why."

Valentino looks up at that, finally putting his phone away.

"I speak Spanish, you know?" He smiles, Spanish words rolling easily on his tongue. "I'm not sure when blondie will be back, but--" His eyes glint, and Marc bites his tongue to keep himself from snapping at Valentino. Valentino smiles like he knows this. "Can I help you with something?"

"It's fine," Marc replies in stilted English. He needs to get out of here. "I'll talk to him later." He needs to go before--

"I can help you with the arm."

Marc wants to scream.

"No, thank you." Marc had enough. He turns to leave before--

"Marc."

Before something happens. Something like this.

Marc freezes, ignores the stirring in his veins. Valentino hasn't called him by his name in so long. For fuck's sake.

"What?" Marc's Italian has always been harsher than his native tongue, than English. It's a blade sharpened to cut. He spins on his heels, feels his nostrils flare as he looks at Valentino, at the unreadable expression on his face. "What do you think you can do?"

Valentino gets up from the couch, hands raised slightly as if he is facing a rabid dog. Marc feels like one, heart pulsing on his ears, in the back of his throat. He searches Valentino's eyes and doesn't find hostility, nor mockery.

"Fabio has told me he massages your arm sometimes," Valentino continues in Spanish. "Whenever the weather changes. When it gets cold. Whenever you injure it." He doesn't mention the accident in Sachsenring.

"The Netherlands have always been cold."

Valentino sighs and stops a few feet away from Marc. "I'm trying," he says, still in Spanish. It grates on Marc's nerves. "We--"

"You don't need to do anything," Marc says. "I don't care what you do with Fabio as long as he's happy. Just leave me out of it." Marc pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down. He doesn't want to yell. He did that enough when they still told each other i love you in Spanish. Now, they're strangers, and Marc wants to keep it that way. "It's not like you can change anything."

"For Fabio," Valentino continues as if he didn't hear Marc. "We should at least try for him. At some point we're all going to be in the same room. He deserves more than-"

Marc raises an eyebrow.

"This." He gestures between them. "More than us yelling at each other."

Marc raises the other eyebrow too.

"We won't be friends again, Rossi."

"We don't need to," Valentino says. "Just let me massage your arm. You have to race tomorrow."

Marc keeps close to the door as he watches Valentino, waiting. They both know the massage won't do jack shit for him. That's not why he asks Fabio to do it. But Valentino wants something and uses Fabio as an excuse. Marc can ignore everything but that. So he nods, smiles, and closes the distance between them, brushes against Valentino as he sits down on the couch and unzips his jacket, revealing his arm. Indulging, inviting. Holding his breath. Valentino follows.

Valentino's hands are cold on Marc's skin. He tenses his whole body, forbids himself to give even the smallest of tremors as Valentino's callused fingertips run down his biceps, pressing into the ridges slowly, as if Marc is made of glass. As if Valentino cares.

Marc scoffs. Side by side on the couch, he sees Valentino looking up from the corner of his eye. "You can press harder," Marc says. "I won't break. The scar tissue is dead anyway."

Valentino doesn't say anything. He keeps working the muscles, prodding and kneading the arm, breath warm against Marc's skin. If Fabio or Tom came, Marc doesn't know what his explanation is going to be. He mulls over words inside his mind, willing time to go faster, willing his heart to beat slower. Treacherous body, always acting erratically around Valentino. Marc focuses on keeping a steady hold on himself, so he doesn't notice when the air around him shifts, when the couch dips next to him. He snaps back to attention when Valentino presses his lips against Marc's scar, where healthy skin meets the dead tissue.

Marc's breath hitches.

"Vale--"

Valentino kisses down his arm. Slowly, reverence held in the corner of his mouth. He shifts closer, fingers closing around Marc's wrist, around Marc's thigh, caging him in, as if he is afraid Marc will spurt wings and take flight.

"Vale, what are you doing?" His voice breaks, a strange tune he doesn't recognise. Or one Marc chose to forget, reserved only for the nights when Valentino took him apart in the humid Spanish nights.

Valentino's mouth slips down his arm like silk, dry lips catching around Marc's scar, hot breath living goose flesh in its wake.

Marc shivers, leans towards the heat, head turning to see where Valentino is kissing his skin, so strange, so familiar. Valentino looks up at him through his eyelashes, the blue of his irises a whisper around his blown-out pupils. They breath in unison. Valentino leans back, reaches up, and Marc tilts his head down, thinking, thinking-- They haven't kissed since 2015. They haven't touched since 2016. Valentino caresses the edge of Marc's jaw, careful, careful. Marc pushes his cheek against his fingers, thinking, thinking-- is Valentino the same with Fabio? Careful, because he could break? Or rough, the way sometimes Marc is, pushing Fabio against walls, biting under his ear to get him to shiver, because that's how Fabio likes it, because Marc loves--

Marc wrenches himself away before Valentino can kiss him. He pushes himself to the other end of the couch, almost heaving, still looking at Valentino, at the flush on his face that probably matches Marc's own.

"Marc--"

"I'm done here," Marc says in English. "We're done." He leaves without looking back, door almost slamming behind him.

Marc announces he won't race after he leaves Assen early morning on Sunday, and doesn't see Fabio before that. Not in the morning, not the night before, after his duties are done. The only thing Marc gets from him is a text.

Valentino is here. I'm spending the night with him. Fabio doesn't ask for permission. Marc is not his keeper. He's just his boyfriend. So he texts back, Ok, take care. He doesn't text, I know. I almost kissed him. Marc puts his phone on silent and sleeps alone that night.

[hh-jackie]

Bucktommy and Sea of Light? This sounds so interesting! <3

Here’s the funny thing, there are actually two fics with this title. I suppose whichever one I manage to complete first will be the one that gets the title in the end. I’ll give you both.

The title is for a OneRepublic song, and the line goes “I'm in a sea of lights and all that I can see is you.”

1. Started right after we got the teaser for Buck and Tommy’s awkward date (before it aired, so nobody knew it was about Buck pretending they were just hanging out as friends). The general idea was that Buck was just awkward during the date, and he thought Tommy wouldn’t want to see him again after that, so he texts Tommy. That draft has 1.6k words at this point. Here’s a snippet:

Thirty-nine minutes.

Buck taps the screen of his phone and unlocks it to re-read for what may well be the millionth time his own words, in which he’s wholeheartedly apologising to Tommy, providing the most pathetic of excuses, because performance anxiety has never been something he truly needed to concern himself with, and promising to deliver next time, if it ever happens. He’s almost begging Tommy to give him another chance, preferably not out in public, because he’d hate to provide Tommy with yet another miserable experience.

If only he could have Tommy alone in the safety of his loft again, maybe he could make a better impression.

The phone dings.

Buck almost jumps in his spot. His heartbeat speeds up so much it becomes uncomfortable, but he wastes no time on finding his breath before checking the notification.

2. This idea is what I feel fits the title more. Tommy and Buck spend the two days off they have together, in Buck’s loft, during a heatwave, with a broken AC unit, so it’s all shorts and open (if any) shirts.

The idea was to have it from Buck’s POV as he looks at Tommy in the golden light of the setting sun coming in through the windows, a lot of descriptions of Tommy being absolutely gorgeous before smut ensues. I swear I had the file somewhere, but I cannot find it!

Thank you for the ask 🩷

[ofduskanddreams]

The Embers of Us — Snippet

requested by @thelovelymadone

CW: REFERENCES TO DOMESTIC VIOLENCE & CHILD ABUSE (below the cut)

✦ ✦ ✦

Eris’s breaths cloud with every exhale before dissolving into the early April air. The rising sun will peek above the feathered crowns of the fir trees lining the far side of the river any minute.

He’s twenty-nine today. A year from now he’ll be thirty.

If his twenty-year-old self could see him right now—still in Wyoming, still single, running Autumn Crest Ranch of all things—he’d think it was a nightmare come true. But Eris has learned to love this place.

It turns out that it wasn’t the ranch he hated; it wasn’t the small town that made him feel like the walls were closing in even under endlessly blue skies, it was his father. Beron Vanserra was the rot in the roots; a poison, slow and insidious in its creeping.

Eris ran off to Seattle for university when the chance presented itself. It had been a selfish choice, a desperate one if he’s being honest, but a choice that he loves and loathes with equal measure.

Those had been four years when he’d left his mother and brothers here under his father’s fist and unprotected. Those four years had also been the first time he’d felt truly alive—truly himself—for longer than a few stolen hours at a time.

Beron died when the ranch was about to go under three years prior. Eris thinks that if he didn’t have those precious few years to learn and live the way he wanted to, he would have failed his family when he inherited the ranch. Instead, he turned things around.

It is still a “working” ranch by all technical definitions but their cattle herd is mainly for show. After all, tourists come to Starlight Creek from all corners of the world to get an “authentic” experience at Autumn Crest Ranch.

Does it make him a sellout? Potentially. But Eris would rather take the judgemental looks from the other ranchers in the area than be unable to provide a comfortable life for his mother and brothers.

And there’s the added bonus of this: of the sun climbing and setting fire to the treetops, of Cinder and Vulcan chasing after a rabbit, of Candy’s warmth seeping through his jeans into his calves as they walked parallel to the gravelly river bank.

It’s these moments that fill him with an inundating sense of peace, of home, and Eris marvels that this is the same land he grew up on. In the absence of Beron’s shadow it’s a different world: one where his mother is often smiling and never concealing bruises, one where Lucien does his homework at the kitchen table and Maddox can read a novel in the living room instead of hiding away so as not to be noticed.

In this world, Eris flies a Pride flag right below Old Glory and flips the ground the finger whenever he leaves the house and sees it on the pole. He hopes his father is rolling over in his grave at the fact that his ranch is more successful in the hands of his bisexual son than it ever was when he was alive and throwing slurs at the TV whenever a man appeared on-screen that didn’t match his definition of the word.

In this world, Eris’s home and family are flourishing and he wakes up looking forward to the day ahead. When this is already so much more than he’d ever imagined for himself, what more could he want?

[narrans]

A Tall and Small Collection | S2 |

It has been some time since Ashlynn has seen her Borrower companions - Soren, Dorian, and Rey. Why did she leave? Will she come back? What will have changed? Soren has been living with his brothers in the same old apartment for years, even after Ashlynn left that day. So much has changed. How is she doing? Will they see her again? Read and find out.

Chapter One | Snippet/Tease

Chapter Two | One Word

Chapter Three | Recognition

Chapter Four | Reunited

Chapter Five | She's Back

Chapter Six | Soren

Chapter Seven | Last Night Home

Chapter Eight | Good Bunny

Chapter Nine | Moving into the Unknown

Chapter Ten | Welcoming Committee

Chapter Eleven | Is Honesty the Best Policy?

Chapter Twelve | Tense

Chapter Thirteen | Baby Sitting

Chapter Fourteen | Settling In

Chapter Fifteen | Dorian's Small Forte

Chapter Sixteen | ... Have You Been?

Chapter Seventeen | Feeling Loopy

Chapter Eighteen | Dorian's Lament

Chapter Nineteen | Unspoken Confession

Chapter Twenty | An Unexpected Guest

Chapter Twenty-One | Confronted on the Countertop

Chapter Twenty-Two | Afraid to Catch Feels

Chapter Twenty-Three | Making A Musician

Chapter Twenty-Four | Sick Day

Chapter Twenty-Five | Recovery and Discovery

Chapter Twenty-Six | Ambushed

Chapter Twenty-Seven | Confessions to the (Un)Conscious

Chapter Twenty-Eight | Worth the Wait

Chapter Twenty-Nine | Forward Together

Chapter Thirty | Cloud Watching and Admissions

Chapter Thirty-One | Mailroom Promises

Chapter Thirty-Two | From Fun to Fright

Chapter Thirty-Three | A Jarring Night

Chapter Thirty-Four | Music and the Prelude

Chapter Thirty-Five | Saving Our Hero pt. 1

Chapter Thirty-Six | Saving Our Hero pt. 2

Chapter Thirty-Seven | Saving Our Hero pt. 3

Chapter Thirty-Eight | Harrowing Heroism

Chapter Thirty-Nine | A Little Theo-ry

Chapter Forty | Inventors Exchange

Chapter Forty-One | Field Trips and Feelings

Chapter Forty-Two | True Colors Revealed pt. 1

Chapter Forty-Three | True Colors Revealed pt. 2

Chapter Forty-Four | True Colors Revealed pt. 3

Chapter Forty-Five | True Colors Revealed pt. 4

Chapter Forty-Six | True Colors Revealed pt. 5 (FINALE)

Chapter Forty-Seven | Epilogue

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

One-Shots An A-Mayzie Christmas Wish

[kitausuret]

Maybe writing is fun, actually. (: Little snippet from an upcoming fic I hope to finish in the next couple days:

-----

“You know, most people go out in groups, or at least in pairs.” She criss-crossed her legs and then stretched out. “Though I guess people like us don’t really have that problem, it still remains a fact that there’s an average thirty-seven-point-nine percent chance of success in a pair, and fifty-two-point-three-four in any given vigilantism situation with three people. That continues to go up slightly until you get higher than six or seven, depending on the roster.” 

Normie stared at her blankly. Did you get that?

“Rascal thinking about chocolate.”

Of course you are. He sighed and looked around. His voice reverberated with the dual-tone indicative of their bond. “How do you even know where we’re going?”

“Well, let’s see…” Lunella started counting on her fingers. “It’s after eleven. You’re gooped up. You’re using the bell tower instead of a normal entrance. You don’t even want anyone to know your name, much less where you are going, and Devil isn’t picking up any indication that you’re hungry.”

Normie stared at the dinosaur. “How can he tell?”

“I could explain it to you, but the odds that you’ll only get annoyed are roughly eighty–”

“Okay, okay; forget I asked."

[the-flaming-nightmare]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag, @snowviolettwhite! 💙

Here's a tiny snippet from Day 17 of Regressuary:

Judd glanced down at his watch, the time reading 8:41pm. Owen told him TK's bedtime was at nine-thirty, but if experience with putting his own daughter to bed was anything to go by, Judd knew that getting a head start on the bedtime routine was always the best bet when handling a toddler. Especially a fussy toddler who was missing his daddy something fierce.

Owen had left just this morning for a fundraiser in Dallas being held by a group of fire captains from the surrounding areas, and since those things usually tended to run well into the night, he hadn't had much choice but to book a hotel for the night. With TK having been regressed for the last couple of days, though, Owen asked him and Grace they'd mind looking after him until he returned. They happily agreed to it, since it had been a minute since they had some time with their favorite nephew, and since were currently an empty nest while Charlie was spending the week with Grace's parents.

But with this also being TK's first time being away from Owen while regressed for an entire day and night, the drop off went about as well as any of them had expected. TK had been inconsolable for the first hour after Owen left. No matter what Judd and Grace did, the kid just wouldn't stop screaming and crying his heart out. It wasn't until Grace found a recording on her phone with Owen on it from the last get together they had. Mercifully, that had managed to calm the boy down. So long as they kept playing it on loop, at least.

A combination of the early morning and all of his crying inevitably led him to an exhaustion induced sleep, though. It was while he slept that Grace ended up getting a call from her supervisor at the dispatch center called her and asked if she'd be willing to go in today, since apparently three people called out due to a case of the Rona. Grace reluctantly agreed to go in, but not before Judd told her not to worry, that he and TK would be just fine.

By the time TK woke up three hours later, Grace had already left for work, which left Judd to find ways to keep the boy occupied long enough not to focus on Owen's absence. Somehow, with the Lord's help, he managed to do just that. It hadn't been an easy feat, and there had still been some tears along the way, but overall the rest of the day turned out pretty alright.

Tagging (if you wanna): @angelique-of-the-volturi-guard, @snarkythewoecrow and anyone else who wants to join!

[reyesstrand]

food fic, you say? Say more.

food fic my beloved that’s fighting me. basically it’s going to end up being various milestones in their relationship depicted through the act of sharing food and how that becomes more natural for them as years go by. completely inspired by the 4x08 lunch swap and the absolute canon that carlos’ love language is food and how that rubs off on tk through their relationship!! a little snippet seems fitting, maybe?

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” Carlos tells him, laughter colouring his words as he feels TK’s breathing even out from where he’s laying against him. “I brought you a surprise, baby, you gotta be awake for it.”

TK presses his face into Carlos’ chest. “A day off means sleeping past nine at least, dude.”

“It’s almost nine-thirty, dude, and I brought you breakfast from that new place on Fifth,” Carlos replies, hand at the back of TK’s neck so he can stroke his thumb along the very top notch of his spine.

“Twiggy’s?” TK asks, fingers dancing over Carlos’ abdomen, now. His voice seems more full of life; more awake than he had been moments before. Still absently drawing shapes on Carlos’ stomach, TK tells him: “Nance says it’s amazing.”

“We’ll never know if you sleep all day,” Carlos jokes, jostling TK a little as his fiancé grumbles cutely and slides his leg between Carlos’. “Babe, I swear we can spend the whole day here if you want, I just really think you should eat something first. You’ve gotta be hungry.”

[live-laugh-loverpool]

😭😔🥰 for the ask game!

thanks for the ask hana!!!

this is a long one so i'm using the read more thingamajig (continue reading under the cut!)

😭 angst or sad WIP snippet:

Nine years later, he held him in his arms, like old times. Like old times, he wept in his arms, insisting that he'd failed him, failed his legacy. Like old times, he brushed the tears off his cheeks, cupping his face in his hands.

"You gave everything that you possibly could give, Mein Junge. That's all I ever asked of you, and you did it."

The rivulets slowed to raindrops, and his grey eyes became less stormy. "Did I?"

"You made mistakes, and you've been hard done by. But you're my little warrior, Marco. I'm so proud of you."

😔published lines or a section of a fic that was super sad, angsty, or difficult to write?

funnily enough, it was this section from "Sunshowers" (the fic about kloppo's last week at liverpool):

Klopp watched everything from the back of the hall like the proud manager he was. By now he had to admit that the bond he shared with everyone was far more than even the friendliest and warmest of workplace relationships, but he had not expected to grow this close to everyone. Now, almost nine years later, saying goodbye felt impossibly painful, even though he knew it was the right thing to do. Of the things he’d done for and with the club, this was by far one of the fundamentally easiest ones. But how could something so simple in theory be so hard now, when the final day was here? He’d always thought football was a simple thing. Every player made their debut, then the first goal. If said player was a keeper, then it was their first big save. Then came the first win, the first club trophy, and then the first individual trophy. If the player was lucky, they’d get their first international call-up, then an international trophy. Then the lasts started pouring in: last international trophy, last international call-up. The last personal award, the last club trophy, then the last win. The last goal or save, then the final whistle blew on the last game, closing the curtains. But football wasn’t a simple thing. He’d seen so many players, some with all the above and some with none. Some had won a trophy before even making a debut, or had won the most valuable international trophy of all time before winning a single personal award. Some hadn’t scored a single goal yet but had won nearly every trophy available to their blub. Some should’ve logically remained goalless all their careers, yet they weren’t; likewise, some should’ve logically remained saveless all their careers, yet they weren’t. Sometimes short people scored headers, or tall people carried the ball from one end of the pitch to another and slotted it in. Sometimes the “new” team members were already in their thirties, and the “old” members were still below twenty-four. There were so many stories, and each was different, yet tied together in a spindling banyan tree of fate. The best part? They never ended. They were all just beginning. Despite how long it felt, nine years paled in comparison to the sixteen years the youngest of his boys had been alive, much less the amount of time they would know each other. Maybe they would meet some other time in this life, and maybe they’d work together again. Maybe they’d even meet each other in another life, or on another planet. Their futures, both as individuals and as a whole, were as unknown as they were bright. His work here was done, Klopp realised as Van Dijk sent him back for another guard of honour. He’d helped another team be happy again and changed the peoples’ outlook on things without changing the fundamental fabric of their history. And he’d not-so-accidentally adopted a whole family on the way. Well, there was still one thing left to do. “AAARNE SLOT! ARNE SLOT!”

🥰 a fluff WIP snippet

funnily enough, there's not much fluff amongst the WIPs now... 😂 i'm behind on parody-reporting the Euros and Copa America! but i DO have a hurt/comfort fic ( @anfieldroad i'll get to it i promise!) and a fluff fic coming up before mid-July!

[pascalispretty]

wip title tag game

thanks to all the love peeps who tagged me:  @ghotifishreads

RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

Look, this is out of hand I admit....

Trouble is My Business

Stranger in a Strange Land

Harmartia

Savages

Sonny baseball fic

National Anthem song prompt

The Feeling is Mutual

Bonnie & Clyde dress-up

Sonny Angst (pregnancy loss)

Swallow

Let Me See Those Eyes

Touch Yourself

I Will Never Get Enough of You

Tell Me What You Want

Sonny is a S L U T

Busy Thinking 'Bout Boys

Good 4 U

Nick Angst (high)

Sonny Smut (handsy)

Idylls

Let's Kill Tonight

Day Six: Leash and Collar, Miguel Galindo x Reader

Day Seven: Somnophilia, Joel x Reader

Day Eight: Sex Pollen, Dom!Din x Reader

Day Nine: Squirting/Cumshots, Javier Peña x Reader x OFC

Day Ten: Anal Sex, Kissing & Crying, Miguel Galindo x Reader

Day Eleven: Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Daemon Targaryen x Reader x Rhaenyra (Modern AU)

Day Twelve: Orgasm Denial/Control, Lingerie & Role Reversal, Joel x Reader

Day Thirteen: Wrist Restraints, Sonny Carisi x Reader

Day Fourteen: Uniform, Nick Amaro x Reader

Day Fifteen: Spanking/Flogging/Whipping/Caning, Joel x Reader

Day Sixteen: Speech/Movement Restriction, Din x Reader

Day Seventeen: Breath Control, Din x Reader

Day Eighteen: Bloodplay, Joel x Reader

Day Nineteen: Biting/Scratching, Marking, Joel x Reader

Day Twenty: Thighfucking, Joel x Reader

Day Twenty-One: Hair Pulling, Nick Amaro x Reader

Day Twenty-Two: Sexual Exhaustion, Javier Peña x Reader

Day Twenty-Three: Fancy Dress, Sonny x Reader

Day Twenty-Four: Bratty Sub, Joel x Reader

Day Twenty-Five: Daddy Dom, Miguel Galindo x Reader

Day Twenty-Six: Crying, Joel x Reader

Day Twenty-Seven: Wax Play, Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader

Day Twenty-Eight: Temperature Play, Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Day Twenty-Nine: Pregnancy, Miguel Galindo x Reader

Day Thirty: Gape/Fisting, Double Penetration, Javier Peña x Reader x OFC

Day Thirty-One: Free for All (Student/Teacher), Mr. Ben x Reader

The Girls Next Door ch 2

half agony, half hope

Unhinged Anthony Bridgerton breeding kink

Angsty Nick (assault)

Some no-pressure tags: @thatesqcrush @beccabarba @escapingrealtiylovinginsanity and anyone else who wants to play!